#like. okay. not what i asked at all but. go off i guess

[gyubakeries]

svt x what is 💌

stop wallowing in the past about shitty exes and wishing for that one whirlwind romance to sweep you off your feet. focus on the present. focus on what is.

follow the cupid of valentine's present to show you the beauty of living in the moment with person right in front of you. [happy endings only!! for this one at least]

check out what stories the cupid of valentine's past has to share over here <3

choi seungcheol 💌

it had all started when seungcheol offered to lift your heavy boxes and carry them all the way up to the seventh floor on moving day. “it’s no big deal,” he had smiled, but you were sure you saw him wincing in pain later that evening.

then he started inviting you over for dinner almost every night. “neighbour obligations,” he had said with a sheepish smile when you asked him about the five-course dinner he had prepared for you.

“you’re obliged to make me dinner three times a week? for six months?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“if i was your boyfriend, i could make you dinner every day,” seungcheol replies. “forever, hopefully.”

now, three years later, when you’re struggling to carry a heavy box into your new living room, seungcheol quickly takes it away from you and carries it inside, setting it down with a loud thud.

“babe,” you protest. “one box wouldn’t have killed me.”

“i promised i’d be lifting your boxes forever, didn’t i?” he says with a cheeky grin, and you don’t think you mind spending forever with seungcheol.

yoon jeonghan 💌

“try again. it’s 君はとてもかわいいね,” jeonghan repeats. 

you’re so cute.

“okay, uh, 君はとてもかわいいね?” you repeat after him, trying your best to mimic the intonation of jeonghan’s voice. 

“much better,” jeonghan nods, shutting the kids’ japanese exercise book. “i think we can conclude our lessons here for today.”

“what does it even mean?” you ask him as he lays his head in your lap, your hand automatically coming up to play with his hair.

“it means, there’s a cockroach in your shoe,” jeonghan snickers, faking a pout when you playfully flick his forehead.

later that night, when he’s just about to fall asleep, you join him under the covers. your bodies meld together instantly, out of habit, much like the way jeonghan has perfected the way he speaks japanese over the years.

“i figured out what it really means,” you whisper, and jeonghan laughs softly.

“愛してる,” he whispers against your lips, words as soft as the kiss he leaves there.

i love you.

hong jisoo 💌

“honey, what about the red ones?” joshua’s voice sounds distorted and crackly, likely because of the bad service in the small shop he stumbled into in italy.

“shua, you already bought two fridge magnets, the wall decorations, and like a thousand keychains,” you sigh. “do we need tiny espresso cups? we don’t even like espresso.”

“but they’ll look so cute next to the miniature tuk-tuk showpiece i bought from thailand!” joshua whines. “please?”

you sigh. even shitty video calls can’t mask the pout on joshua’s face.

“at this point we’ll need an extra room just for the souvenirs you buy on tour,” you tease. “buy them, they’re cute.” 

a few weeks later, your mother says, “nice fridge magnet. where’d you get it from?”

“italy,” you reply, busy washing the dishes and putting them away.

“when did you go to italy?” your mother asks, sounding a little surprised.

“oh, i didn’t,” you smile. “joshua got it for me.”

wen junhui 💌

“meow.”

a human-sounding meow sounds from behind you, and you turn around quickly, only to see a tall figure crouched in the cramped alleyway you are crouched in as well, feeding mr. twinkles, your unofficial cat son.

“wait, jun? is that you?”

you recognize the man you’ve been going on dates with for the last two months, feeding mr. twinkles’ girlfriend cat food.

“oh! do you feed the cats here too?” junhui asks, and you shuffle to the side to reveal mr. twinkles.

“yeah! this is mr. twinkles,” you introduce the cat to junhui.

“you’ve been feeding susan’s boyfriend?” junhui’s eyes light up in recognition. “i guess even the cats want us to end up together, don’t you agree?”

you can only smile bashfully as mr. twinkles stalks over to susan to snuggle up to her. you look over to junhui, who sends you a flirtatious wink.

when junhui leads you out of the alleyway for a coffee, you can only thank the cat gods for approving of the man who has irreversibly captured your heart.

kwon soonyoung 💌

“are you tired? we can go to bed now,” soonyoung offers, and you nod. it’s the first time you’re sleeping over at his apartment since you started dating, and you can’t help but feel nervous and excited.

you follow him into his bedroom, and the sight of the bed makes you freeze in your tracks.

“where am i supposed to… sleep?”

you gesture at the soonyoung-shaped empty space on the bed surrounded by tiger plushies of all shapes and sizes, taking up the remaining space.

“oh,” soonyoung mumbles. he’s quick to push all the plushies off the bed, but he keeps a particularly large one at the foot of the bed.

later, when you’re wrapped up in soonyoung’s arms, he speaks in a soft voice, his earnest eyes sparkling. “i’ve never removed all my tigers from my bed for anyone else.”

“oh, you can put them back if-”

“it means that i think you’re the one,” he cuts you off. “do you think you could feel the same way?”

you giggle at his question, because you know that you already do.

jeon wonwoo 💌

a tap on your shoulder distracts you from the notes you had just started taking down. you turn to the side to see your classmate-slash-campus crush, jeon wonwoo, looking at you apologetically.

“i’m so sorry, but, can i borrow a pen from you?” he whispers.

had anyone else asked you that question, you would’ve felt annoyed. your pens were precious and pricey, and you didn’t like parting with them too often.

for wonwoo, however…

“sure!” you agree, hoping you didn’t come across as too eager. you take a pen from your pouch and hold it out for wonwoo.

the second reason for your easy compliance is this—the feeling of wonwoo’s fingers brushing against yours as he takes the pen.

the fluttering in your heart lasts till the end of the lecture, when wonwoo holds the pen close to the end facing you, just as keen to feel a brush of your skin against his.

“wonwoo,” you say that day, trying your best not to laugh. “if you want to hold my hand that bad, just ask me.”

in a few minutes, you walk out of the lecture hall with wonwoo, along with matching smiles and intertwined hands.

lee jihoon 💌

“here’s the edited version,” jihoon says, dropping a folder on your table. “let me know if you need me to look over anything else.” that’s all he says before he’s walking away, hands stuffed in his pockets.

you don’t notice the red tingeing the tips of his ears.

“oof, jihoon is tough with his edits, all the best,” soonyoung winces, and you frown.

“but he’s always so nice in my edits?” you say, and soonyoung gasps.

“he’s becoming a softie,” soonyoung shakes his head. “absolutely down bad for you.”

the next time jihoon is returning an edited draft of your new short novel, you excitedly flip to the last page.

saturday. my house. story-outlining for new plot. you and me? - from, your writer :) 

and in jihoon’s neat handwriting, that matches the hearts he’s been leaving in your drafts for all these months, there’s a reply.

i’ll be there at 7. buy me some diet coke. i’ll bring you coffee - from, your editor <3

lee seokmin 💌

“this next song is perhaps love, by eric nam and cheeze,” seokmin announces to the cafe. “i’m dedicating this to the person who i might be falling in love with. perhaps.”

the audience laughs, and seokmin lets his eyes focus on your busy figure, serving the patrons with a smile, before he takes a deep breath and starts singing.

the lyrics of the song seokmin is singing latches onto your brain, and you try not to read too much into his kind eyes and bright smile, but you can’t help the way your heart beats rapidly around him.

“hey,” seokmin says from behind you, and you turn to face him with a smile, hoping that your blushing didn’t look obvious.

“hey! you sounded really great tonight,” you compliment him sincerely. “do you want your usual ord-”

“did you listen to the last song?” seokmin cuts you off, suddenly sounding nervous.

you nod, unable to form words.

“it was for you,” he blurts out. “every song has been for you, and it’s okay if you don’t feel-”

you cut him off this time, with a kiss. the twinkle in his eyes tells you that he knows.

kim mingyu 💌

“what’ll you be having today?” mingyu asks, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“surprise me,” you smirk, and the man instantly turns away to concoct a new drink for you.

while you wait at your table, you shamelessly ogle at the way mingyu’s biceps are bulging against the blue polo he has to wear as uniform as he shakes up your surprise drink. and you can tell he likes the attention, judging from the way he’s looking right back at you with a flirtatious grin.

you’re a little disappointed that someone else brings your drink to the table, but when you read the text scrawled onto the paper cup, you quickly find out why.

it’s been three months of staring. let me take you out? - mingyu 

the brush of your hands against his is just as sweet as the drink he made you as you slide the empty paper cup, adorned with some more text, over to mingyu before you head out of the cafe.

xxx-xxx-xxx. let me know when you’re free for a date. i’ll surprise you this time ;)

the text comes in within fifteen minutes, and you smile to yourself on the way back home.

xu minghao 💌

“any personal recommendations?” you ask the cute cashier, minghao, as you check your books out, hoping to strike up some conversation with him.

“uh, i don’t really read,” minghao replies with a shy smile. 

maybe it was the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, or maybe he’s just down bad for you, but by the time you’re walking into the bookstore again—two thursdays later, like clockwork—minghao has read both the books you bought from your last visit.

he lurks around the bookshelf you’re currently examining, and attempts to lean against it in a cool way. clearing his throat to grab your attention, he says, “so, what are your thoughts on the weird pigeon?”

“i thought you said you didn’t read?” you smile, amused at the reference, and minghao scratches his nape.

“ever since you started coming in, i’ve been wanting to talk book to you, so…” minghao trails off awkwardly.

you laugh at his choice of words, but then say, “if you really want to delve into the book, maybe we could get a coffee sometime soon?”

“my shift is over soon,” minghao says. “it’s a date, then?”

hopefully, the kiss on his cheek is enough of an answer.

boo seungkwan 💌

“i’m out of tea,” you bring up one day, when seungkwan is over at your house to help you assemble the new bookcase you ordered from ikea.

“buy some,” he replies in that no-nonsense tone of his, and you groan and roll your eyes for dramatic effect. he looks over at you, his gaze softening. “have you been having trouble sleeping again?”

you nod, and seungkwan curses himself for not noticing your pale skin or tired eyes earlier.

two days later, you’re greeted with the smell of fresh tangerine tea when you enter your house.

“boo? you didn’t have to make me more,” you sigh, seeing your best friend in the kitchen, brewing his special ‘sleeping potion’ for you.

“baby,” he calls out in his soft voice. “of course i had to. someone’s gotta take care of you.”

that night when he sleeps over at your place, holding you close to his chest, it goes unquestioned. just like the non-platonic nicknames, or the jars of tangerine tea in your fridge.

whether he’s just a best friend, or something more, your sleepless nights are much calmer with seungkwan by your side.

vernon chwe 💌

you’re panting when you bust into the shop, having had run all the way from your apartment to the vinyl store when hansol had sent you the text.

“where is it?”

hansol laughs as he takes in your wheezing figure. “i told you i put it aside for you, you didn’t have to run all the way here,” he shakes his head, ducking under the counter to retrieve the vinyl you’ve only wanted for the last six years.

“she’s real,” you gape at paramore’s ain’t it fun ‘half’ vinyl in awe, taking it from hansol for a closer look.

“this one’s on the house,” he says, and your head snaps up.

“no way, your boss will fire you,” you shake your head. “i can pay for it.”

“but i don’t want you to,” hansol refuses. “there’s a reason i haven’t let you pay full price for any of the vinyls you’ve bought. you’ve got to know by now.”

you do know. you’ve never missed the longing glances from hansol, not when you’ve been looking at him that way too.

“how about a kiss in exchange for it then?” you ask, leaning over the counter to get closer to the man standing behind it.

“just one?” hansol grins. “you’ve got a lot of vinyls to make up for, y’know?”

lee chan 💌

lately, you’ve been visiting the pool more often just to get a glimpse of lee chan, the cute lifeguard. you know it’s borderline-illegal of you to be taking pictures of him, but you can’t help that the sun hits his broad shoulders, perfect hair, and bright smile just the right way.

but you knew you were bound to get caught some day.

“hey,” you look up to see chan standing in front of you. for a moment, you think you’ve been caught, but then he smiles and asks, “can i borrow your phone to ring mine? i can’t find it.”

“s-sure!” you nod eagerly, handing your phone over. only when chan is already scrolling through your phone, you realize that your secret pictures are out for him to see.

you look at chan, who grins at you knowingly, and you blush violently. “look, if you saw the- uh, pictures, i’m so sorry. i’ll delete them right away-”

“i don’t mind a pretty girl taking pictures of me,” chan cuts your rambling off. and then, his phone starts ringing in his pocket.

“oops!” he giggles. “guess my phone was here all along. you don’t mind that i put my number in yours anyway, right?”

before you can respond, he’s winking and returning to his station, smiling at the text, containing the promise of a date, you’ve already sent him.

vote for your favorite what is and the cupid of valentine's present will give you a little sneak peek into their past or future together!

major thanks to kae, a, ally, and serena for your contributions! i wouldn't have been motivated to finish if it wasn't for you guys hehe <3

kae and serena, thanks for enabling every silly little idea that crops up! you guys are the real ones fr 🤞🤞

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@of-swords-and-words @gyuhao365 @flickhurstyles @bibblemiluvr @valvoria

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[r1nstaaa]

matching tattoos [j.jk]

masterlist

warnings: none!! just some jungkook fluff for my beloved @zzzmayalol i wld recommend listening to amoeba by clairo while reading <3 enjoy!!

“Hey baby.” you said, slipping into the space beside him on the couch just as easily as you did into his heart. He put his phone down and motioned you to get on his lap. 

“hey, pretty.” he had an amused grin on his face, eyes shining bright as if he was looking at a star plucked right out of the solar system. “what’s up?”

“So, um. Funny idea, actually. You can absolutely say no-“ you started.

“Yes.” He deadpanned. “What?” “I said yes, pretty. You have my permission.” He grinned at you. You could’ve sworn your heart did somersaults.

“But you don’t even know what i’m planning to do, kookie.” you said through a chuckle. “What if i was planning on harvesting your organs to go out and sell them?” “With an eyeshadow palette? I don’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, though your action had no bite to it. Man, he had you right where he wanted you. Always. He never even had to try.

“Alright. You caught me. Can i colour your tattoos?” “You know the answer, baby.”

It had been about twenty minutes since then. You decided just the eyeshadow wouldn’t be enough so you went and looked for the markers you swore were in your room somewhere. You were straddling his lap, holding his wrist in your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. His tattoos were mostly all bold and intimidating, all sharp lines and deep ink. But right now? they were covered in all different hues of blue, pink and little stars and doodles here and there.

“You think this one deserves a permanent spot here?” he said, motioning towards the little star you’d drawn where his palm connected to his wrist. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, not quite looking up. You were so focused. He found it adorable. 

“I’m saying, I wanna make it real. Let’s get matching tattoos? I’ll draw it on your shoulder. Or wherever you’d like. If you want to, of course.” You were malfunctioning. Your boyfriend of a little over a year just suggested getting matching tattoos with you? while you were sitting on his lap? your heart felt like it was purposely trying it’s best to thump right out of your chest.

He just watched you with a lazy smile as you visibly froze up in his lap, but his expression softened a little when you didn’t respond. “Hey, it’s okay if you d-“ You cut him off with a soft kiss. You didn’t really trust your words as of now, totally caught off guard by his suggestion to even think. 

One thing was for sure, though. There was absolutely no one else you would rather do this with.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes, then?” he chuckled against your lips, going back to kissing you with a tenderness that made you wonder if he thought you were made of glass, or something so precious that he wouldn’t even dare to taint it with his touch.

Well, atleast to him you were.

“You might have to start charging for this. You’re too dedicated.” he teased.

“You could never afford me.” You said through a chuckle, eyes focused on the part of his forearm you were busy colouring. 

His fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your knee. “If it means you’ll keep touching me like this, I’d give you everything.” 

Your hand paused, warmth rising up your neck. But before you could react, he leaned in and kissed your nose. “Keep going, Picasso.” he murmured.

You tried pretending to be unimpressed, but the way the corners of your mouth tilted up just a little gave it away. “Fine, but no smudging my masterpiece.”

He just chuckled, letting you turn his tough tattoos into something entirely yours, just like he was.

[enigmaris]

Lois writes the article. The Justice League freaks out. Investigations are done, meetings are held. In the mean time, a suspected connection between ghosts and the lazurus pits means that there is a very specific person who wants a one on one with Phantom even though all of the heroes agreed to not approach phantom until the anti ecto acts are gone. Jason never follows the rules anyway:

“Daniel Phantom, do not even think about it.”

Her tone of voice made every bone in his body yearn to turn invisible immediately, Lois jumped up trying to catch him. Danny grinned and got ready to fly away, a game of tag would keep Lois from questioning him! Right before Danny’s plan could commence, the sound of Lois's phone ringing cut it off. Danny froze as Lois pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

“It’s Batman. Wonder what he could possibly need.”

Danny let himself fly all the way to the ceiling, until his back was pushed up against it. He looked down as Lois answered her phone, helpfully putting it on speaker.

“You’re on speaker Bats, what can Lois Lane and her plucky new intern do for you?”

“Intern?” A voice Danny didn’t know answered back. “I thought Superman was the only one for you. I guess you move fast, Lois.”

“Nightwing.” Lois said. “What are you doing calling from Batman’s phone?”

“If B didn’t want me to use his phone, he should have called you himself. You know how he is, Lois. Won’t ever ask for help unless he’s about to die and not even then.” Nightwing snarked back. “Gotham’s got a bit of a supernatural concern that I think I need a consult from your intern for.”

Danny tilted his head, not moving closer to Lois when she looked up at him.

“What sort of concern? I’ll pass along your message if it's interesting enough. My intern’s got enough on his plate getting me coffee to watch after you birds.”

“Fair enough.” Nightwing allowed. “We think one of our own is ecto-contaminated. To be entirely fair we all might be a bit, not that we’ve gotten our hands on a GIW scanner. The real concern is with Red Hood though. I know your report said that ecto-contamination is harmless but Red Hood has had some interesting side effects since he took a bath in some glowing green goop.”

“A bath?” Danny asked, his voice echoing out from the ceiling.

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Nightwing spoke again.

“Yes. A bath. Do the words Lazurus Pit mean anything to you, Miss Lane’s Intern?”

“Never heard of it.” Danny said, trying not to let himself sound ashamed by it. “But I don’t like the name. Sounds spooky.”

“Aren’t you a spook?”

“Different kind of spook.” Danny defended.

“Well. We think it might actually be the same sort of spook actually. The Lazurus Pits are pools of glowing green liquid, no one knows where they came from. There are a dozen or so dotted around the planet. If a sick or dying person goes into it, they are healed sometimes with side effects. If a healthy person goes in, they die.” Nightwing said. “Sometimes if people go into, they don’t come out again.”

Danny... might actually know what those are. Huh.

“What kind of side effects?”

"Homicidal rage. Memory loss. Temporary increased strength. Glowing eyes.”

“Okay. And how long has Red Hood being dealing with this?”

“On and off for about five years.” Nightwing answered.

“I might actually know what’s going on.” Danny said. “But I’d have to see him. I’m not like a ghost doctor or anything, but if it's what I think it is, then I can fix it for sure.”

“Fix it?” Another voice from the phone asked.

Danny could hear a scuffle over the phone as two people wrestled for it. He exchanged looks with Lois until the second voice seemed to get the phone under his control completely.

“What do you mean by fix it?” the second voice demanded.

“Erm. Who is this?”

“Red Hood. Who the fuck else?”

“I don’t know who has access to Batman’s phone dude, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. Tell me what you mean by fix it.”

"Dude. I have ice powers I absolutely can tell you to chill.” Danny shot back making Lois snort.

"Start. Talking.”

“He wasn’t kidding about the anger issues huh?” Danny asked Lois instead of answering. Danny grinned when he heard a growl over the phone. “Look. Red Hood. I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I need to see you in person before I can tell you anymore. Do you know how many glowing green goops there are in the universe?”

“Do you?” Nightwing asked, voice muffled as he was further from the phone. Danny listened as Red Hood told Nightwing to ‘shut the fuck up’ with a hiss.

"I’ll send Lane an address in Gotham. Meet me there in an hour.” Red Hood instructed.

“How do you know I’m free in an hour? I’m a busy intern you know. You’re not being very polite.”

Danny could hear the teeth grinding on the other end. He grinned as Red Hood took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Can we please meet in an hour?” Red Hood asked.

“Yeah sure. I’ll fly by.”

“Now what do we say to people who do nice things for us?” Lois asked. “Especially poor lowly interns who have an entire branch of the government hunting them?”

“Would you like me to blow up a GIW base for you?” Red Hood asked.

"Hood no!” Nightwing shouted.

“Hood yes.” Hood said.

The two vigilantes started arguing with each other, so Lois just rolled her eyes and ended the call.

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[satinprose]

letting pervy!loser!ellie touch you for the first time… inspired by this post. mdni. cw  ;  inexperienced!ellie,  loser!ellie,  perv!ellie  adjacent.  tit  play.  thigh  riding. for some reason, this is longer than i intended.

subtlety was never ellie's best natural ability. no, really, it's not. walking into poles on the footpath, laughing too loud when she shouldn't—especially if it was something you said—and well, it's mainly you that voids her of subtlety. ellie isn't the wisest, and when she's crushing hard, her brain dissolves into fucking mush.

ellie's never felt so... nasty. when it comes to you, she has the most utterly insane thoughts imaginable. she's even thought about trying to steal a pair of panties out of your laundry hamper, but knew she couldn't pull it off clean enough.

when she sees something she likes, ellie can't help it. can you blame her? you had to know what you were doing to her, surely... that tank top looks like a second skin on your body, it's obvious you aren't wearing a bra either. the outlines of your nipples are prominent, the low neck of the tank revealing a fucking heavenly amount of cleavage. considering ellie's only had her imagination to go off—and she's been imagining what your body looks like naked—this is the closest she's ever got.

of course, what ellie wants to do right now is take a picture and let this last forever. but what she wants to do even more, is pin you down against the couch and take a proper look for herself. ha, as if.

this poor baby. she's been staring for so long, thinking you won't notice. of course you noticed! she's working herself up so much, shifting and squirming in her seat, trying to subtly press her hand between her thighs, and her eyes dart from the tv to your tits over and over.

it's a little tricky to decide how to act in response. she's your friend, and she just looks so worked up that you can't help feeling a little bad, almost like you owe her some for being the cause of her current issue. and she's vehemently reassured you that she's totally fine, just a little hot every time you've asked if she's alright.

"els?"

this time, when ellie looks over at you, prepared to force herself to make eye contact only, she unfortunately fails immediately. because you're holding your top up.

her face feels on fire, red filling her cheeks. she gasps upon initial reaction, but she still doesn't flinch or look away. she's practically stuck. that doesn't stop her from stammering a concerned question, though.

"how— why— would you do this?"

"oh." you tilt your head, drawing your lip between your teeth. the lip biting, your doe eyes, and your current state of indecency, it has ellie fucked over. "i just, i guess i noticed you were staring n' i felt like i owed you a look!"

"ohh." no, ellie doesn't understand you at all right now, but that doesn't make her ungrateful. she's trying not to act on pussy-whipped sentiments, but it's extremely hard. and what does she say in response? "you got.. niiiice boobs."

"thank you."

"can i..." ellie trails off, wiping her sweaty hands over her jean-clad thighs. "can i touch?"

her voice broke saying that, and she feels ridiculous. but you? you've never had a girl be genuinely nervous to touch you before.

"of course you can," you murmur, feeling warmth spread into both your face and panties. "i want you to."

"okay." you don't think you've ever heard ellie sound like this before. but she's reeling. you want her to do this. "i've never touched.. a girl before, never touched any boobs before, sorry."

"oh, reaaally?" you ask, giggling. somehow that only made your panties dampen more. "it's okay! just c'monn..."

"yeah, okay." ellie nods as if to psyche herself up, and then she moves closer to you. she makes sure, one more time, that her hands aren't clammy, before cupping your breasts.

she takes pretty firm handfuls, and her hands are shaky but so warm. ellie herself has to bite back a whimper, feeling your plushness in her palms. your skin is soft as silk. she's slow with it at first, massaging the supple flesh with slender fingers. the longer it goes on for, the more she discovers she really, really loves it.

ellie starts squeezing. she's hit gold when she brushes her thumbs over your nipples, because your entire body shivers. she lets out a shaky laugh before rolling the hardened buds beneath her callouses, watching you start to breathe a bit heavier. she experiments; pulling, tugging, pinching. she's squeezing your tits so roughly, pulling on your nipples a little too hard and yet when she does so, it makes you moan.

prettiest sound on earth. need to hear that more. ellie wants to hear that in her freaking dreams at night.

this feels like a dream altogether.

ellie doesn't really have any concept of gentle versus rough. she's plainly new to this and just a little over-excited. especially when you start to whimper. she's gone when she notices you start to rock your hips against the air, and she licks her dry lips.

"h-hey, come.. sit.. on my lap if you want..."

when you do, and ellie feels your thighs squeeze around her own, she feels her breathing speed up. she has her crush perched on her lap, grinding against her leg, and she's playing with your tits.

you drag your clothed cunt over ellie's thigh, back and forth. to hold yourself up you grab her by the shoulders and hold your top up between your teeth so ellie doesn't have to worry about a thing. you only want her to have the most perfect time manhandling your tits, so you'll be good and make sure your body is completely readily accessible to her.

"ellie, ellie!"

said girl is completely winded. she's wide-eyed, looking up at you like you aren't even real. you're squeaking out her name so sweetly, she's starting to think she won't make it. all this blood is rushing downwards and she can feel her pussy throbbing against her boxers. it feels like she's going to pass out.

"w-what's wrong?"

"nothingggggg, just keep doing that, s'feels sooo nice."

"oh! okay." honestly, ellie was also not so confident in her abilities. so to know that she is, somehow, making you feel actual pleasure? she's ecstatic. can't stop grinning so dumbly, bouncing her knee to stimulate you further.

and the way that your tits bounce right in front of her face? it's just so erotic. ellie relishes in the sounds of your weak whining, the fact that you're starting to sweat a little, and panting like a puppy.

"you're so fuckin' cute," ellie rasps, looking up at you. "you're doing so, so good."

now, ellie is no expert, her only 'training' is just the copious amounts of porn she's watched (and pretended was you and her). but she can tell you're getting close.

she also thought she'd be a little more suave with her words. she's trying so hard, yet for some reason no good dirty talk can make its way out. it's just getting stuck, as if she's really afraid to say it.

your orgasm builds up so fast. you hadn't even intended for it, but it hit you like a freight train. so hard and fast that when you cum, you pull ellie close and effectively suffocate her against your chest (by accident, of course), squeezing her tight whilst high moans and shrill gasps leave your mouth.

you slowly come down from the high, now panting into ellie's ear.

finally, she feels brave enough to speak up. that doesn't stop her voice from cracking, however, her shock evident. bless her.

"th–that's a good girl."

[alwaysanundertone]

high sex drive | poly! marauders x fem! reader

hurt/comfort + smut

TW: NSFW, piv, non-protected sex, oral (f/m receiving)

Sirius was drawing patterns on your thigh, the tips of his fingers grazing the supple skin there ever so slowly while his head rested on your belly. Your other two boyfriends were cuddling each other, they were all spent after coming many times, so why weren’t you?

You found every touch maddening, it didn’t make sense for you to be so wound up; it wasn’t like you hadn’t gotten off, because you had, and plenty of times.

The problem was your sex drive. Your desire wasn’t something that your ex boyfriends accepted, nor did they deem it normal, one of them even suggested to go see a sex therapist one time, and you did. The session failed to give you answers, and after some time you just gave up, resigning yourself to a life of not voicing your own needs.

It went good, as good as faking being satisfied would go, but it wasn’t that bad after all. With these guys, though, it was really difficult to just pretend.

“Love?”

You looked up, finding three pairs of eyes focused on you. “Mh?”

“Where did you go, dove? You’ve been awfully quiet. Sirius just asked you if you are hungry, we thought about ordering something, is pizza good?”

You refrained from blushing, hating the fact that you weren’t able to mask your true feelings even in a peaceful moment like that. “Sorry, I’ve just been lost in my own thoughts, I guess” You chuckled, sounding suspicious even to your own ears. “Pizza’s good, thank you”

You felt Sirius mouth closing over your inner thighs, its teeth piercing the supple skin there, making you gasp. “Come on, darling, you know you can tell us anything”

The thing was that every boyfriend you had started this conversation like this, telling you that it was okay, that he would have taken care of you, and then when they found out that they couldn’t change you, they’d start to call you a nympho, making you ashamed of yourself. So no, you weren’t sure you could tell them anything.

“You’re doing it again, love” James was looking at you through pleading eyes, it was really hard to resist him when he was acting like this, but you had to. The guys were the best thing that happened to you in a long time, and you weren’t willingly letting them go for something as stupid as your sex drive.

“Oh, uh” You blushed. “I think I’m just kind of tired, you know? Nothing crazy”

There was a moment of silence, then Remus spoke up. “This thing won’t work if you’re keeping stuff from us, dove. You have to understand the importance of trust, if you don’t want to talk about it now, fine, but at least tell us the main topic that’s bothering you so much you’re not even listening to us when we’re talking to you”

His words felt like a harsh slap to your cheek, bringing true tears to the surface, which you tried to fight against, to no avail.

“Sorry, I don’t want to bother you, I do trust you, it’s just-“

“Was sex too much? Were you unconfortable? You’ve been like this since we had sex, did we hurt you?”

Sirius sounded horrified, and you couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of your mouth, you had to fix this.

“No, no it’s quite the opposite actually” They were all looking at you expectantly, you sighed. “It’s just- I have a high sex drive, okay? And I hate it, I know it’s twisted and disgusting and not right but I need to get off multiple times a day and sometimes having sex worsens the situation because then I keep wanting more and I hate it, you evet got me off so many times I’m the worst girlfriend ever.” Now that the words were comung out of your mouth, you couldn’t seem to stop them. “And I’ve been to sex therapists but they don’t know how to turn this off and just- I’m so sorry you’re probably regretting even-“

“Do not finish that sentence for the love of God”

You furrowed your brows. “Sirius what-“

“No, I should be the one saying sorry, I’ve been torturing you for the past hour and I didn’t even notice it.”

“And you’re not disgusting” James piped in.

“Dove, it’s nothing crazy, we can just-“

“No you can’t fix it.” You couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth even if you tried, years of shame weighting you down. “Every ex that I had told me that they could fix it but it just doesn’t go away and I know it’s a burden” You pressed your hands to your face, hating this situation and hating yourself even more for letting it happen.

“Dove, would you please let us finish?” You nodded, your hands firmly locked in place. “Okay, I was trying to say that you can tell us if you’re needy and we’ll be really happy to help. There’s three of us, and if we aren’t available, there are your toys, you know? I don’t know what douchebags you dated, but this would never be a burden to us” His eyes were pleading you to believe him, and you found yourself wanting to.

“I think it’s anything but a burden, darling” You blushed slightly at Sirius, who was now laying on his belly, his head hovering right above your centre. You squirmed unconfortably, he smirked at you. “I’m being mean, aren’t I? Hovering just above you, so close yet so out of touch” His lips were now grazing your earlobe, making you shiver head to toe, the movement of his hands on your inner thigh maddening. “Such a pretty little thing, so flustered, what do you want now, love?”

You tried to tell him, but being vocal about your needs was something you weren’t used to, especially after years of slut shaming in your past relationship. You tried to avoid his question, wriggling your hips. “You know what I want”

He tsked. “No, I don’t. Do you want my mouth?” He lightly kissed you above your panties and shorts, making you grunt. “Mh, interesting. Maybe it’s my fingers that you want?” He caressed your nipples over the thin fabric of your -James’s- shirt. “My cock?”

The moment was interrupted by a pornographic grunt, coming from a very flustered James. “Fuck that’s so hot” He palmed his dick over his boxer briefs, making you blush.

“Look at him, darling, you’re making him needy. I think we should give him a show.”

You whimpered. “Sirius, please”

“I can give you everything you want, love. Just ask me”

You swallowed your pride. “I want your mouth, please”

He tutted. “Where do you want it? Here?” He grazed your forehead, the slightest touch sending you ablaze with need.

“No, Sirius, fuck, I want it on my pussy, please eat me out, I’m begging you” You couldn’t recognize your own voice, it sounded breathy, restrained, too close to begging.

“Gladly, darling” He pushed your shorts down, ripping the soft fabric of your panties in two. You didn’t have time to complain, his mouth immediately landing right on your clit.

His tongue started massaging the little bud, making you gasp as he flicked it repeatedly, moaning while doing so.

“You’re so wet, darling, I’m kind of mad, you know? You were really trying to keep this from me, from us” You shivered as you felt his index finger teasing your hole slowly, making you arch your back.

As he entered you, Remus was right above you, his dick in his hand, stroking your cheek with his free one. “Open up, dove, make me feel good”

He didn’t have to ask twice, your mouth opening right as Sirius thrusted into you with his fingers. “Fuck, she’s so wet James, fuck the show come here”

Suddenly, all three of your boyfriends were on you, James lining the crown of his cock at your entrance as Sirius lips closed right on your clit, sucking on it hardly. You felt one of Remus’s hands right over your right nipples, pinching it slightly, making you arch your back.

Your head was spinning, you felt awfully close to orgasming. “Fuck, love if you squeeze me like that I won’t last”

“That’s fine” Sirius piped in. “That’s why there’s three of us, to keep her satisfied” He tutted as you tried to close your thighs. “That isn’t nice now love, is it? Keep them open for us, stay still”

You loved when he was mean during sex, loved how he made you feel like you were at his mercy. “Sirius, close, god”

He chuckled. “You’re already coming, aren’t you? You’ve been such a good girl, telling us what you need, I think you deserve to come” You felt Remus’s cock swelling in your mouth, you rushed to swallow every drop of him, trying to focus on it, but it was difficult when you had two of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen between your thighs.

“Come now, darling. Be a good girl and come for us”

It was all it took for you to explode, your mouth wide open, eyes shut as you gripped Sirius head with all your force. He wasn’t complaining, though, still lapping at you, while James got off inside of you, his thrust loosing force and rhythm.

Just as you were coming down from your high, you felt another cock probing at your entrance.

“What…”

“Hush, love, I think you got one more in you, don’t you?”

You weren’t able to respond, your long-haired boyfriend immediately started rutting into you, his hips hitting the back of your thighs at a punishing rhythm.

“You’re so hot, fuck” The sounded that came out of you were pornographic, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, you could already tell that this orgasm was going to shake you thoroughly.

All you could manage to do, to say, was chant your boyfriends’ name like a prayer.

“Come on now, dove, give us another” Remus leaned down to kiss you, his tongue caressing yours, you couldn’t help but moan in his open mouth.

You obliged, drenching Sirius’s cock as your brain completely shut down. You could feel your boyfriend coming inside of you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself down to Earth.

You found yourself in a hot tub, James massaging your shoulders behind you while Remus stood kneeling outside of it, rubbing your feet.

“How do you feel? Good?”

You hummed, looking up at your long-haired boyfriend, your hand reaching up caress his face.

“Really, love? Me and Remus are both cuddling you, and it’s him you reward?” James’s tone had no bite in it, still you reached your other hand behind his head, scratching his scalp.

“Hey, it’s me who ate her out, it’s only fair, really” He winked at you.

There was a bit of silence, then you felt Remus hands wondering up your thighs.

“What-“

He smiled at you. “I think I can get another one out of you, just relax against Jamie and let me do the work”

You moaned lightly, nuzzling against your boyfriend’s toned chest, wondering what you’ve done to deserve them.

[gold-onthe-inside]

with love, from reid

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: after a case ruins spencer's carefully planned valentine's date, he does his best to make up for it. but all you needed was him. and all the gifts in the world are nothing compared to yours. word count: 3.3k based on: Valentine’s Day Request - Spencer and his partner are separated for Valentines Day (maybe he went to go visit his mom or he was on a special assignment like in Minimal Loss and a storm grounded flights) but he uses every method possible to give his partner the most amazing Valentines Day ever. a/n: i'm so sorry for sitting on this request forever, but inspiration struck today i guess. hope you like it anon.

Spencer’s not like other guys. It’s the mantra you have to keep using to keep your head on straight. But being cheated on by someone you had been about to marry changes your whole perspective on things. Makes it harder to trust, even the most angelic man you’ve ever met. You have to take a deep breath every time he gets a call from JJ or Penelope, have to remind yourself that there’s a valid reason for every missed date, every morning you wake up without him. Because it’s scary how much you like him, how often you think about him.

The scarce amount of time you both get makes the little moments more important, and he knows it. In his head, he’s been building it up, down to the cardigan he would wear on the 14th. He’s calculated the exact amount of time it takes to get from Quantico to your hospital, chosen a restaurant within walking distance — something right up your alley with exotic food and a quiet atmosphere. He knows how many footsteps it’ll take to get there, how many topics you can cover, all of it, down to miniscule details. The flower arrangements that would wait for you both. The menu he had memorised in his head, knowing exactly what you would order. The average time it would take for you both to finish eating while talking. The train back to his apartment, where your favourite movie would be waiting.

If only he could control this unsub the same way. But they were no closer to finding the unsub on the 13th as they were two days ago. He’d been putting off the call all day, staring at his phone until Alex had pointed it out, unravelling the first stitch of his sealed lips. The seam split and he told her everything — the date he’d planned, the flowers he’d bought in advance, the reservation that was waiting for you. He receives the pat on the knee he’d been expecting from Alex, the promise that you’d be understanding (who would know better than her, really?), and her stern voice telling him to call you.

You can hear the regret in his voice when he calls, the tired fatigue that makes you smile sympathetically. “Did you get home okay?” he asked, scuffing the back of his sneakers against the floor, standing right outside the precinct, stars glittering above him, much brighter in Tennessee than in DC. It’s a whole nother date on his bucket list — going star-gazing with you.

“Yeah, just now,” you replied, and he can see you in his mind’s eye, taking off your boots and neatly arranging them in your rack, keys in a clay dish that an 8 year old had made for you, the crick in your neck that he wants to massage for you. “How about you? Any closer to finding your strangler?”

“No,” he huffs, leaning against the railing. There’s a slight chill in the air, but he can’t feel it, not right now. He just wants to hear your voice. “But that’s not important — I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

You huffed a small laugh, and he can hear you bustling around over the call, maybe changing into your pyjamas, or hunting for ingredients to make a quick dinner for one, and a frustrated ache builds behind his eyes. He wants to be there, with you, listening to old jazz music and making dinner and small talk. “I think I’m in less danger than the FBI agent hunting down a serial killer, honey.”

“You’re always in less danger than I am,” he grumbles, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lip. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back and picturing the dimly lit kitchen in your apartment, the scent of spices and the warmth of old vinyl records. “I miss you,” he confesses in a soft, almost broken tone.

He hears you pause, a palpable beat passing before you murmured, “I miss you too.”

“I wish I could be there,” he says. He wants to run a hand down your back, trace his knuckles over your cheek to feel the softness of your skin. “I had a whole night planned for us tonight.”

"I know, lovely," you murmured, leaning on the kitchen counter, phone pressed to your ear. "There'll be other nights."

He sighs. He hates having to cancel on you, especially now, when they’re already so rare. “Not like this one,” he mutters, and he knows you can probably tell by his tone that he’s pouting like a child.

“Why, because tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day?” you asked, talking while making a quick pasta.

He’s quiet for a second. Then — “Yes,” he admits in a near-whine. “It was going to be a special night.”

"Spence... Every day is Valentine's Day with you," you said, knowing exactly how cheesy you sound and running with it anyway.

Spencer’s just grateful you can’t see his face right now, because he knows he’s blushing a little, that he has an adorably smitten smile on his lips and he’s sure it would only embarrass him if you could see. “Sap,” he accuses lovingly.

"Said the man who collects ticket stubs of every movie we see," you retorted, grinning into the phone.

He sputters. “That’s — that’s — you’re not supposed to know about those,” he complained. “I keep those for myself, they’re a private collection for a reason.“

“Wow, what happened to what’s yours is mine?” you teased him, watching the pasta boil, and Christ, you felt like a lovestruck teenager right now, like those sickly sweet couples in Hallmark movies.

“That’s — there’s exceptions to that rule,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you dare touch those. I’ve sorted them in chronological order, by the way — if one is out of place, I’ll know it was you messing around, looking over my things.”

You laughed into the phone, bright even with how tired you felt, because he brought it out of you, a glowing feeling in your chest that made the ache in your feet hurt a little less. It’s a sound that never fails to make his heart skip — the softest, most wonderful noise he’s ever heard. “I wish I was there,” he says again, his voice suddenly quiet and heavy with want.

"I know," you said quietly, watching the water grow cloudy as your pasta cooks. "But those women need you more than I do right now, Spence."

“Stop using logic on me,” he says, only half-joking, his expression serious even though you can’t see it. “I want to be selfish with you tonight.”

"Sweetheart, you don't have a selfish bone in your body," you replied affectionately.

“It’s not fair,” he complains, still playing the part of the pouting child in his mind, just whining and grumpy because he wants to be with you. “I was going to give you flowers, and take you out to dinner, and I was going to drive you home and kiss you so much—”

"We can still do that," you said, cutting him off before he could fill your head with ideas and then you could say goodbye to sleeping peacefully tonight.

“Not tomorrow,” he says. He’s almost definitely pouting right now, staring down at the pavement, his eyes dark under his lashes. “And it’s only Valentine’s once a year, I wanted it to be perfect.”

You fretted as you turned the gas off, putting off straining the pasta as you turned into the phone. “Why’s this so important to you, angel?” you asked softly.

It’s one of the things he loves about you — the gentleness with which you handle him, the way you ooze with care and curiosity instead of coddling concern. “This is our first Valentine’s,” he replies, slightly petulant. “And I wanted it to be good. Something you could look back on. I had it all planned out.”

Christ, you could cry with how much Spencer cared about you. You couldn’t remember anyone, boyfriend or not, who loved you this much. “You know it would’ve been perfect, regardless, right?” you asked gently. “You and me, that’s all I need. Even if it’s over a phone line.”

He’s quiet for a moment, just listening to you speak. “You deserve the best,” he says eventually. “You deserve flowers. And an elegant restaurant. And a movie. And a home cooked meal.” And me, he wants to add, but he doesn’t. “Not a phone call and the knowledge that your boyfriend is across the country.”

"Sweetheart, I get all of that from you even when it isn't Valentine's," you said, in that same gentle tone. "Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were here when you could be catching a killer."

“Why do you have to be reasonable?” Spencer groaned, rubbing a hand over his face again because you’re being entirely too logical for him to fight with right now. “That’s not fair.”

You chuckled, crossing your arms and leaning on the counter. "We'll have a make-up date, I promise," you said. "Just how you planned it."

That seems to pacify him a little bit, because he lets out a soft sigh. “Okay,” he agrees, slightly begrudgingly. “But I’m in charge of planning. You don’t get a say in the matter.”

You fake a tsk, as if planning mattered at all to you. "Fine. Whatever you decide."

That makes a soft, contented sound form in his throat — one bordering on possessive. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and you can all but envision the smirk on his lips.

"Go find your killer," you chided him, grinning stupidly, but there's no bite in it.

He lets out an amused huff. “Yes ma’am,” he teases, before his tone softens again. “I miss you. I’ll try to come home as soon as I can, okay?”

"Okay," you replied. "Stay safe, please."

“I will,” he promises, because he knows how much the thought of him getting hurt scares you. “Don’t worry about me.”

You snorted quietly, like it was possibly to not worry about him on cases. "Bye."

“Bye,” he responds quietly, and he wishes he could kiss you goodbye, trace the line of your lips with his fingers and feel the pulse in your neck against his fingers. “Sweet dreams.”

"You too," you whispered before hanging up. Spencer stands there for another moment after the call ends, his phone still in his hand and his heart heavy, and he wonders if it’s possible for someone to actually ache from missing someone this much.

And then Morgan’s calling him inside with his newly minted nickname since dating you — ‘lover boy’ — to adjust the geographic profile and he’s unwillingly dragged back into the vortex that is his job. And he has to shove any thoughts of you to the back of his mind for the time being, the lingering ache at the edge of his chest a constant, nagging thing that he has to continuously push past to focus on the case.

The whole team is working hard to try and solve this, but progress is slow. Somewhere between analysing blood spatter patterns and doing his own research to figure out their unsub’s deal, he does his best to plan your make-up date, paranoid that someone would see him looking for places to take you and make his day worse. Eventually, tired of having to look over his shoulder, he bites the bullet and calls Garcia for help, even if it would no doubt get back to Morgan and the rest of the team.

And then he has to deal with Garcia’s excited squealing, her incessant questions about you both, her comments about how cute he is and how she needs to meet you. He keeps his head down and grits his teeth, because he knows she means no harm, and it’s a small price to suffer through just to have this night be perfect.

The first thing to arrive was a bouquet of tulips with your morning paper waiting outside your door, a pretty arrangement of red and pink that matched the outfit you were going to wear to work — the whole department had agreed to come in red, white, and pink colours — and you can’t stop smiling as you go to put in a vase with water.

He gets the picture texted to him in the middle of a briefing with Hotch and the team, barely able to restrain his smile as he checked his phone under the table.

You: They’re beautiful, thank you.

He’s oblivious to Morgan giving him an odd look as he texted you back:

Spencer: Only the best for the most beautiful girl in the world.

Spencer tucks his phone back into his pocket when the meeting ends, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Morgan. He knows he’s going to get bombarded with questions he doesn’t feel like answering, and for once he’s glad they have a case to work on so he can use that as an excuse not to interact with him.

The second arrival was a package sent to your office, because of course he had your shift schedule memorised, and you signed for it, grasping the brown paper package that was obviously a book back to your desk. There’s no reason for you to hide it, not in the sanctity of your own office, but it’s as if you’re back in school, your crush sending you a note that you unfurl under your desk, finding a hardbound copy of Persuasion, arguably your favourite Austen novel.

You do your best not to blush, picking up your phone to text him, chewing on your lip before flipping to the right chapter and sending him a direct quote.

You: There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.

Spencer’s in the middle of examining a body when you sent him the text. But as soon as he feels his phone vibrate, he pulls it out without a second thought, uncaring of the fact that Morgan and Rossi are looking his way. He has to hold back a smile because no, he won’t give Morgan any ammunition.

Spencer: You have my whole heart.

“You two are sickening, I hope you know that,” Morgan told him, a smirk on his lips.

Spencer’s head snaps up in alarm at the sound of his voice, and he quickly drops his phone in his pocket, face flushing. He’s silent for a minute, trying to regain his composure and come up with something to defend himself. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he replied weakly.

"Uh-huh," Rossi replied, masking a smile. "Can we look at the body now, or does your girlfriend have more input?" He wouldn’t be surprised if you did, to be honest, but he’d rather keep you out of this part of his world. He just shook his head, stepping closer to the slab.

Your last gift came in just as Valentine’s Day was about to come to an end, Spencer silently tracking into your apartment, 5 minutes away from midnight, cringing as he opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. You’re asleep, your breathing soft and deep, the soft, soothing sound filling the room. He kneels by your side of the bed for a moment, just looking at you: all loose-limbed and relaxed, your face soft and sweet against the pillow. He can’t help the little smile that tugs the corner of his mouth up, and he wonders how he got so lucky. Softly, he reaches out, fingertips gentle as he brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You flinched, startled awake, until you recognise Spencer's eyes blinking back at you. "Jesus Christ, you scared me," you breathed out. "You should have told me you were coming."

“I was trying to be quiet,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so only you would hear. His hand brushed the curve of your jaw, a soft, almost reverent motion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You sink back into your pillows, shifting inside so he can sit on the edge. "I would have waited up for you if you'd called first," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip right against your knee, his fingers still trailing along your face, then resting on your thigh over the covers. “I tried to get home earlier,” he said, and he sounded exhausted, the stress of the case weighing on him. “But the team was debating something. And then paperwork...”

"You don't have to explain," you said softly, shaking your head, making a mess of your hair.

He watches you, his gaze lingering on the mussed locks on your head, the sleepy bleariness to your eyes, the pinkness to your cheeks, and he feels a surge of longing so strong it borders on painful for a moment. He loves you like this — soft and sweet and rumpled with sleep, and he wants nothing more than to curl up next to you right here and now. “I hate being away from you for so long,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you so much.”

"Should've caught your guy faster then," you said, shifting up to meet his lips with yours. "Happy Valentine's."

He returned your kiss, his fingers trailing up to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Happy Valentine’s,” he murmured against your lips, before he was kissing you again, harder this time, and you could tell he was tired by the urgency with which he held onto you.

"I realised something when you were away, you know," you murmured against his lips.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at you, his fingers still trailing along the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and studying your face with those sharp, intelligent eyes of his.

You nodded, looking at him with your own fond gaze. "I love you," you said softly. Plain and uncomplicated.

He had heard those words plenty of times in his life, but he’d never tire of hearing them from your lips. He felt his heart stutter in his chest, and he moved his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Say it again?” he whispered.

"I love you," you repeated, your smile glowing in the dark, streetlights dancing over your ceiling.

He felt something in his chest settle at the words, at the reassurance that you really were here, and you were his. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your nose, the. corner of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “God, I love you so much.”

Your arms winded around him, his face burying itself in your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his arms wrapped around your waist. His hands slipped up under your sleep shirt, his touch warm and soft against your back, and he practically sunk into you, needing the closeness, needing to be surrounded by you.

"I know the day didn't go to plan," you murmured, "but this is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had."

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, like he couldn’t get enough of having you pressed against him, and he pulled his head back from your neck so he could look at you properly. “Me too,” he said, then reconsidered. “Well, the whole day was hell, but this… this is perfect.”

"Yeah?" you asked, pecking his lips.

He chased your mouth, kissing you again, lingering on your lips for longer. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “Being with you is all I need.”

[xeansicemane]

"So, Rose, run me through the dossier again?" I asked the AI assistant, re-checking my coat's onboard systems.

"Not sure what we're looking at here, seems like some ex-cop got into a supersoldier serum and yadda yadda yadda" the computer added the sounds of flipping pages for effect "and early reports say he's fully broken with reality, just doing violence to whoever he thinks he needs to, been tearing through the beach - Irons Brigade is another thirty minutes out, but Tidewater is already on scene"

"Is it going well?"

"No local feeds yet"

"Huh" I muttered to myself, shrugging my coat on, the reactive components all reading nominal. I took a deep breath, untensing my shoulders as I felt the autonomous trailer rumbling along the road, thank goodness for light traffic.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Rose you're reading my brainwave patterns you tell me" I answered not unkindly, this was an old routine between us as well as half the users of the system.

"You know you don't have to keep kayfabe if you don't want to - just a concerned citizen laying the law down can be the play"

I grimaced performatively at the mention of law. "Oh come /on/. I love the game - nah, he's on my turf and he didn't pay his dues. Let folks see how much I do for them, that's enough."

"You really love the PR work, don't you?" The flat robotic voice took on an edge of amusement

I stood, rolled my shoulders, and grabbed the handles that would facilitate my dramatic entry. "Like Presentation and Decoration says - ain't no reason to do this if we're not doing it with style."

The truck was driving down a city street, close to where the carnage was happening - the onboard AI had found a location that would allow the truck to block all obvious lines of sight on its' passenger side. The effect? Truck drives by, I suddenly appear as it passes. The mechanism? Frankly it was a waste of an inertial buffer field emitter but I thought it looked too cool not to do.

I cracked my neck, cursed the heavens that everyone else cleared for combat work was out of town for MAGfest, and turned, the truck turning off into a side road to reveal three burning cars and a heavily damaged pharmacy.

"Fuckers really got a hard-on for corner pharmacies don't they" I mumbled, the headset I was wearing keeping me connected to Rose and allowing an internal livestream - not a lot of the org was watching but it really wasn't for everyone.

"Truth, Justice, the American Way, and overpriced soda is how the saying goes down there, I think?"

I took off at a sustainable jog, scanning the wreckage and following the trail of broken paving concrete.

"Hrrrm" Rose said, something of concern in her voice "Looks like he had or has a weapon - parking meter is my guess."

"And he was just roid-rage pounding it into the ground, lovely." I said, keeping my breath even as I kept the jog up.

"Hey! Fuck you!!!" A concerned citizen said as they sprinted in the other direction. Okay I was close.

I heard something crash, something break, and gunfire.

I picked up the pace, transitioning into a skating motion, keeping a thin layer of solid oxygen between me and the ground - easier to find than water and the leidenfrost effect keeps you up wonderfully.

"Hey! Kick that guys' ass!" Another citizen yelled, camera out. I smiled, winked and pushed on to the beach, slowing into a run again.

The scene did not instill confidence. There was a man with his back turned to me, shoulders, hips and long muscles all bulging in the worst way I could imagine, veins glowing red. I surmised this was my target.

"So what happened to not littering?" I asked, high school theater stint yet again coming to my aid - one really must project when issuing a challenge.

He snapped around and stared at me like he was about to eat me. Several bullet holes were visible, none were slowing him down as he whipped up the parking meter to point at me.

"You. I knew you'd come, freak" He was seething, spitting even with those words. My headset had finished compiling data - his body suggested his metabolism was running too hot for purely biological processes - joy of joys he was paracausal, great.

I snorted loudly, mics were good these days but presentation needed work. "Whatever. You're on Korps turf. My turf in particular. Mayhem, damage and destruction is my gig around here. Scram and find some where else to lay a claim".

"Fuck off-" he screamed as he tore the leg off a lifeguard station and threw it at me, I caught another syllable as he was starting a slur but the noise of the structure coming apart covered it.

One of the fun things about being able to fuck with temperature is I could fuck with air pressure, enough air pressure and I could fuck with wind. Enough wind and I could redirect a thrown chunk of wood.

I was already approaching him, skating was a no-go on sand but I could manage a sprint when needed. My target was behind him and to the right, the crumpled form of Tidewater. He was a good kid, in his 20s, mixed up with the wrong crowd but a good heart.

A few carefully timed freezing blasts locked the berserker's joints for just long enough for me to scoop up Tidewater and keep the sprint, dropping a few dozen square meter patch of slick water ice without looking back.

"Hey, kid, you doing okay?"

He didn't answer, I slowed, controlled my breathing, and layed my hand against his back, turning just enough for my visor to get a scan of his neck. Nothing. Couldn't feel a heartbeat and sensors were showing zero electrical activity. I dropped to a knee and laid him on the ground.

"Okay okay okay fuck okay, just gotta cool him off for the medics to get to and"

"Jötunn" Just one word, my name spoken soft and human, from Rose.

I'd carefully not been looking at the chest - caved in. Caught the parking meter dead center of his sternum. His entire cardiopulmonary system had to be pulp.

"Okay. Shit. Rose shut that down. Access permissions 298 stroke midnight stroke ocean" I said, getting back to my feet, shivering stopping halfway through. I didn't like doing this, blackboxing a single emotion wasn't possible but the neuro folks had worked out how to temporarily induce a depersonalized state - I still felt grief over the the loss of this on again off again rival, but it was a million miles away. I could focus. I could ugly cry back at base. My coat caught something, a rock thrown hard enough to break ribs if the carbon substrait hadn't solidified in response to the force.

I turned, he was ten yards away in a dead sprint.

Cryokinesis is often considered pyrokinesis's under-performing cousin. I couldn't reduce a tank to a puddle of slag or melt through a pair of handcuffs at will. The techs back at base would rib me by asking me to cool their drinks.

But I want you to ask yourself, what happens if you rapidly condense the air? Cool it off enough it becomes a liquid. 11 liters of air suddenly becoming one-thousandth the volume.

Now imagine I can do that to 100,000 liters of air.

I can't melt a tank, but if I have the mind to I can reduce the internal atmosphere to a functional vacuum.

The sound was almost exactly like an explosion going off half a meter behind him. It was, just going the other way. The implosion ripped him off his feet while the ice around my ankles dug into the ground kept me in place.

He was still trying to get back on his feet when the first refrigerator sized brick of ice hit him. The second knocked him back down, the third dissuaded further attempts, and the fourth was for show. I stepped closer, focusing on pulling energy out of the ice block on top of him, shaping it into a single mass. I could feel his heat right until I couldn't. Liquid oxygen and nitrogen was running down the sides of the mass, the water condensation forming a cloud suitable to hide me.

"That was for Tidewater, ass. Rose, blockers off. We need a wake back at base." I felt the pain hit me, my chest tightening. I turned and stalked off, towards the extraction point. I heard sirens and I didn't care, the news showed a grief-stricken baddie and I didn't care.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[prythiansprincess]

best friend's brother! tom finally gets you alone

NAVIGATION // home. tag. moodboard. more.

author's note: the demons...they're getting loud again. i'm actually so feral for possessive and obsessive tom. I fear I might make this my whole personality now.

obsession. 

tom riddle was, in every sense of the word, obsessive. the fixation and compulsion he poured into the things he loved had always been a marker of his character. tom was not the type of person to casually partake in something; for the eldest riddle brother, the best things in life were worth being consumed by. 

and he was. 

utterly and irrevocably consumed by you. 

y/n, mattheo’s sweet and innocent best friend. the one whose pretty eyes and lovely smile haunted his every waking moment. the one whose honeyed voice played in his head like a melody and enticed him like a siren’s song. the one whose gentle touch sent his heart racing until he felt as though the damned thing was going to burst out of his bloody chest. 

you had no idea what you did to him, but you would soon enough because tom had a plan. for weeks, he had been plotting and scheming. trying to find the right time to finally get you all to himself. 

fortunately for him, the opportunity arose one fateful evening when mattheo left his phone unattended in the living room. it was so easy, almost too easy, to guess his brother’s password and open up his most recent text thread with you. 

mattheo: come over tonight? 

tom watched as three dots appeared on the screen, indicating that you were currently typing a response. 

y/n: will tom be there?

now that was interesting. perhaps you were asking because you wanted him to be there. wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

mattheo: yes. why do you ask?

y/n: I just don't want to be a bother. I know tom likes to study on tuesdays and me coming over would probably disrupt that.

tom couldn’t help but smile. such a thoughtful, caring girl. he couldn’t wait to ruin you. 

mattheo: tom will be fine. so, are you in or not?  i'll grab your favorite snacks. 

y/n: you had me at snacks.

half an hour later, you were standing in the doorway of the riddle home, dressed in one of those pretty little dresses that tom had imagined ripping off of your body a million times. as the door swung open, those innocent eyes widened at the sight of him. you flushed when tom met your gaze, a light pink hue dusting your cheeks. 

"oh. hi, tom. um, is mattheo here? he asked me to come over." 

tom casually leaned against the frame, giving you a once over that only deepened your flush. "my brother just stepped out, but he should be back soon." 

"o—okay. he's probably out getting snacks." 

tom watched as you lingered in the doorway, anxiously fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he thought it was adorable that you were still nervous around him after all this time. biting back a smile, tom opened the door to his home a little wider. 

"are you coming in?" 

“hm?” you asked absentmindedly. “oh. yeah. yes, i’m coming. not like that. I mean, obviously. shit. ignore me please.” 

tom raised a brow, but said nothing as he barely gave you enough of a gap to squeeze through the door. he smirked to himself as you maneuvered your way inside, perky breasts brushing against his solid chest. tom could smell the sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo as you passed through. he wanted to drown himself in it. you timidly avoided his gaze, choosing instead to follow him into the kitchen in silence.

“would you like something to drink?” 

you nodded. “yes, please, i’ll take a —”

before you could finish your sentence, tom handed you a cold can of vanilla cherry soda. your favorite. you thanked him with a shy smile before following him upstairs. instinctively, you turned in the direction of mattheo’s room, but tom gripped your wrist and kept you in place. 

“you can wait in my room if you’d like. mattheo might be a while. he reeked of weed when he left."

you chuckled. “it does take matty forever to pick out snacks when he’s high.” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other before glancing up at tom through your lashes. “are you sure you don’t mind? I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“i’m sure,” tom confirmed. “I could use the company.” 

with that, you followed tom into his room. unlike mattheo’s, tom’s room was neat and organized. everything was perfect and pristine, much like the man standing before you. tom busied himself by putting away the books and notes on his desk while you fiddled with your fingers, not quite knowing what to do with yourself. 

“sit on the bed,” tom commanded. “make yourself comfortable.” 

“okay.” you replied in a small, breathy voice. 

carefully, you settled at the edge of his bed and crossed your legs. you drummed your fingers against your thigh, pondering how strange this situation was. in all your years of knowing tom, you had never once set foot in his room. at most, you caught glimpses of it when you passed by on your way to mattheo’s room. 

everything was so foreign and interesting. that was the desk where tom does all his studying. that was the closet where he keeps all of his clothes. that was the night stand where he places his glasses on before he goes to sleep. 

that was the bed that he laid in every night. your mind started to wander through all the things that tom had done in this bed. maybe by himself. maybe with someone else. the intrusive thoughts fired off one by one, leaving you flustered. does he soak the sheets when he gets himself off? does he tie his partners to the bed post when he eats them out? does he push their faces into the pillows as he rails them from behind? 

you were so engrossed in your dirty and filthy fantasies that you nearly jumped out of your skin when tom rested a hand on your thigh. 

“hm,” tom hummed. “you’re so jumpy, love.” 

you held your breath as he leaned closer, his face mere inches away from yours. the tension between you ebbed before he carefully took the soda can in your hand and placed it neatly on his nightstand. tom smirked when he noticed the hitch in your breath at his close proximity.

“do I make you nervous, doll?” 

“yes,” you answered truthfully. there was no point in lying. it was written all over your face. “you’re just so…intimidating.” 

“am I?” tom drawled as he slid in beside you, scooting in closer until his thigh was pressed against yours. even through his neatly pressed trousers, you could still feel the heat of his skin on yours. “maybe we just need to get to know each other better.” 

you bit your lip. “i’d like that, tom.” 

“good,” tom drawled. “let’s start with why you think you’d be a bother to me. mattheo told me you were hesitant to come over earlier.” 

you flushed as you stared at your shoes, the curtain of your hair shielding you from tom’s intense gaze. “I know you like your peace and quiet, which mattheo and I probably constantly interrupt. i’m sorry if we’re ever being annoying.” 

“you don’t have to worry about that. you could never bother me,” tom stated in a silky, flirty voice. “the only thing I find annoying is that you’re always with my brother. I just can’t seem to get you alone, can I?” 

you shivered as tom’s gaze flickered down to your lips. “well, we’re alone now.” 

“indeed we are.” you held your breath as tom leaned in closer, the bed dipping under his weight. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this. just you and me, without my brother to interrupt. I think about it all the time.” 

tom watched your pupils dilate, reacting to his admission. “what do you think about?” 

“I think about all the things I’d do to you. I think about the way you’d feel, the way you’d sound. if you’d scream or moan or whimper for me.” you shuddered at the sinful confession, rubbing your thighs together as heat rushed to your core. tom’s green gaze felt like a brand against your skin as a predatory look flashed through his handsome face. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” 

before you could react, tom’s mouth was on yours. the kiss was neither soft nor gentle, but instead hungry and possessive. the magnitude of his desire took you by surprise. you had always thought that tom viewed you as nothing more than mattheo’s pesky friend, the one that came over unannounced and wreaked havoc in his life, but apparently you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

tom kissed you like a man starved. he poured all of himself into the action, tangling his fingers through your hair, yanking your head backwards so he could kiss you deeper. you could barely keep up with the way he was devouring you, his tongue dominating yours while you moaned softly into his mouth. 

a gasp escaped your lips as tom picked you up and placed you on his lap. you were dizzy with desire as you straddled him, whimpering when tom bucked his hips against yours which caused his erection to rub against your soaked core. never in a million years would you have imagined tom to be this dirty and filthy as he grabbed and groped and gorged himself on you. 

your breathy moans filled the room as tom slid his right hand underneath your dress and squeezed your thigh before palming you through your panties. you melted into his touch, moaning his name softly while he growled in response. as he slid the lace aside, tom kissed your neck and teased your slit with his fingers. 

“you’re soaked, doll.” tom said with a dark chuckle. “do I make you wet, hm?” 

“yes,” you breathed, eyes rolling back as tom spread your slick ever so slowly. 

he seemed to take this as encouragement, taking his time teasing you, rubbing your clit and spreading your folds until you were reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess. 

“tom, please…”

“so needy,” tom murmured. “what is it that you want, love?” 

“I want…” you bit your lip as tom stroked your pussy. “I want your fingers. I want them inside of me. please, tom.” 

“aw, doll, you sound so pretty when you beg,” tom cooed. “don’t worry, I couldn't resist you even if I tried.” 

without warning, tom plunged his fingers into your pussy. you groaned at the stretch, face heating from how vulgar the scene unfolding before you truly was. tom watched with rapt attention as you squirmed and panted, drinking in every little moan and whimper like a fine wine. his fingers felt like magic as they curled and scissored and flicked inside your walls. the other hand that wasn’t playing with your pussy rested on your hip, gripping tightly as you grinded against tom. 

“that’s it, doll. ride my fingers just like that.” 

tom was mesmerized at the sight of you using him to get yourself off. mattheo’s sweet and innocent best friend was no longer sweet and innocent as tom fingered and ruined you like the perfect little slut that you were. his perfect little slut.

“are you going to be a good girl and cum for me?” 

tears streamed down your cheeks as you rode tom’s fingers like your life depended on it. your mascara and lipstick were both smeared, but you didn’t care as you chased after your orgasm. you gave tom a weak nod, half out of your mind with pleasure. 

tom gripped your chin and forced you to look at him. “answer me, doll.” 

“y — yes. i’m going to…oh god, tom!” you writhed as tom rubbed your clit with the heel of his palm, pushing you over the edge. 

the glimmer in your eyes right before you came unleashed something within tom. the flushed cheeks and fluttering lashes; the parted lips and strained scream, it was enough to drive him insane. he wanted to see you make that face over and over again. 

“you look so pretty when you cum, doll.” tom murmured as he bit down on your neck, staking his claim on your skin. “you’re fucking exquisite.” 

amusement danced in his gaze as you shied away from the attention, cheeks flushed from the praise. tom locked eyes with you before sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean in the most obscene and erotic way you had ever witnessed. 

“don’t get all shy now, love. it’s your cum i’m licking off my fingers and i’ll be damned if you ever feel nervous around me again.” 

you chuckled in disbelief. the tom riddle in your head was supposed to be prim and proper, but the real tom was salacious and vulgar; a version of him that was better than what you could have ever imagined. still, despite the heated exchange, tom was surprisingly tender as he helped clean you up. you blushed furiously as he pulled your dress down and kissed your cheek. 

the timing couldn’t have been more perfect because soon after you were situated, the two of you heard footsteps in the hall. you barely had time to compose yourself before mattheo came barging into the room. 

“tom, have you seen my phone?” mattheo paused in surprise when he found you staring back at him. “oh, hi y/n. what are you doing here?” 

“you asked me to come over and hang out, remember?” 

“did I?” mattheo wondered aloud. “I was pretty baked earlier. guess I must have texted you then. well, i’m free now if you want to watch a movie.” 

tom smirked as you shot a bewildered glance at him. “oh, yeah sure.” 

“by the way, what are you doing in tom’s room? is he boring you to death about his coin collection again?” 

you blushed furiously. “no, uh, we were just…tom and I were…” 

“we were discussing the finer points of human anatomy,” tom lied smoothly. his smirk was still perfectly in place as he glanced over at you. “it was a rather…stimulating conversation. was it not, doll?” 

the tips of your ears were bright red as you nodded in place of a response, because you couldn’t trust yourself to speak at the moment.

mattheo rolled his eyes. “well, if you’re done being a weirdo, y/n and I will be in the basement.” 

you fiddled with the hem of your dress, not quite able to meet tom’s eyes. “um, well, I guess I’ll see you later?” 

tom winked behind his brother’s back. “you know where to find me, doll.” 

[scoupsakakitty]

Late-Night Secrets pt.2 | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The next morning, Y/N woke up with a pounding headache and a dry throat. The world was spinning slightly, and for a few seconds, she just lay there, trying to piece together what had happened the night before.

Then it hit her.

The soju. The confessions. The members' reactions.

"Oh no," she groaned, pulling the blanket over her face.

But she barely had a second to process before her door swung open.

"Y/N!" Seungkwan's voice rang out, way too loud for her current state. "Rise and shine!"

"Go away," she mumbled, burrito-ing herself in her blanket.

"Oh, no, no, no," Joshua laughed, stepping inside. "You are not getting away that easily."

Hoshi and DK followed, looking far too excited for her liking.

"We have questions," Hoshi smirked, plopping down on her bed.

"And you," DK pointed at her dramatically, "have answers."

Y/N groaned again. "Can this wait until I’ve had breakfast?"

Seungcheol appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Nope. The moment you wake up, interrogation begins."

"This is harassment," she muttered, finally peeking out from under the blanket.

Mingyu grinned. "You did this to yourself, Miss 'I Might Be Talking to an Idol'."

Y/N sat up slowly, rubbing her temples. "I don’t even remember half of what I said."

"Oh, don’t worry," Woozi smirked. "We remember everything for you."

As Y/N forced herself out of bed and into the kitchen, the interrogation continued.

"Okay, just tell us who it is," Jeonghan pressed as she poured herself a glass of water.

"Yeah, it’s not that hard," Dino added.

"You’re making this more suspicious by avoiding it," Vernon chimed in.

She took a long sip before responding. "I genuinely don’t know what you guys are talking about."

Groans filled the room.

"Y/N!" Seungkwan whined. "Just tell us!"

"Are you talking to him right now?" Minghao asked, narrowing his eyes.

She glanced at her phone on the table, then quickly flipped it over. "Nope."

"Liar," Woozi muttered.

Hoshi suddenly gasped. "Wait, are you dating him already?!"

Y/N nearly choked on her water. "What?! No!"

"Then why won’t you tell us?" Joshua asked, crossing his arms.

"Because you guys are going to make a big deal out of it!" she protested.

"We make a big deal out of everything," DK pointed out. "This is nothing new."

Despite the members' relentless questioning, Y/N managed to avoid giving a straight answer. They eventually gave up—for now—and let her eat in peace.

The day passed by lazily, with everyone lounging in the dorm, watching movies, and playing games. Y/N was relieved that they had seemingly dropped the topic.

Until later that afternoon.

She was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone, when she got a message. As she read it, a small smile appeared on her lips.

That was a mistake.

"Who are you smiling at?" Jeonghan asked suspiciously.

Y/N immediately wiped the smile off her face. "No one."

"Oh, it’s definitely him," Mingyu grinned.

"She’s totally texting him right now!" Seungkwan gasped.

"Y/N, just tell us!" Hoshi begged. "Please, I’m suffering!"

"No," she said firmly.

Seungcheol sighed dramatically. "We’re going to keep asking until you tell us."

"Then I guess you’ll be asking forever," she shot back.

The members groaned collectively.

By evening, the members had grown desperate.

"Okay, let’s make a deal," Joshua said, sitting next to her. "If you tell us, we promise not to do anything dumb. No weird teasing, no public hints, nothing."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Do you mean it?"

"We promise!" Seungcheol nodded.

She sighed, staring at the hopeful (and extremely nosy) faces around her. "Fine. But if any of you do something stupid, I will personally make your lives miserable."

They all nodded eagerly.

She took a deep breath. "It’s Eric. From The Boyz."

Silence.

Then—

"WAIT, ERIC?!" DK nearly screamed.

"ERIC FROM THE BOYZ?!" Hoshi yelled.

"Oh my God," Seungkwan gasped, covering his mouth.

"I KNEW IT!" Mingyu exclaimed. "I had a feeling!"

"Wait, wait," Vernon interrupted. "Isn’t he older than you?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "By like a year."

"Huh," Woozi said thoughtfully. "I just thought you’d only date someone your age."

"Same," Dino nodded.

"Well, surprise!" she said, crossing her arms. "Age doesn’t matter and it's only a year guys calm down. Like he isn't 10 years older than me realx."

"No, no, it’s fine," Seungcheol grinned. "We’re just… processing."

"So," Minghao smirked. "How did this happen?"

Y/N groaned. "Nope! That’s all you’re getting."

The members groaned in frustration, but Y/N just smiled, finally relieved that the secret was out.

"Fine," Seungkwan huffed. "But if you guys ever go public, we’re telling the world that we knew first."

Y/N laughed. "Deal."

[acynicalsweetheart]

HIII i love ur writing so much !!! if your requests are open (and if they arent, feel free to delete this ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა) may i request curly x fem reader who’s jimmy’s girlfriend, but like curly is head over heeellss for her?

if thats not your style, no worries! you can delete my request for any reason, but thank you so much if you write this!! >_< 😭💗

hai thanku very much anon ♡… sawry it took forever. this is awful omg i had no idea. what direction i wanted to take this in LOL. but here’s your head over HEELS sorry had to… anyway first non dead dove drabble yay

content warning: 18+, infidelity

“Curly, stooppp!” You draw between giggles, playfully slapping his awfully muscular yet plush arm. The kind of plush that makes you want to bite a chunk out of it. 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Curly flashes you his blindingly white Hollywood smile, fingers tickling your side for the eleventh time in the past five minutes. 

Jimmy glares at Curly. Then at you. His gaze burns holes into your skull like it’s made of lasers. 

You blow a kiss to the scowling face across the couch. 

Frown deepening further than you’ve ever seen before, Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a drink.” 

“Okay, babe,” you speak to Jimmy’s back as he’s leaving the room, returning your attention to Curly to get your revenge by attacking his side for a change. 

His couch squeaks when he squirms away, chuckling and grabbing your wrists. Craning his neck, Curly chimes to the doorway. “Hey, get one for me too!” 

A groan can be heard all the way from the kitchen. 

“Oh,” Curly’s face brightens like he has a revelation, letting go of you to briefly search his pockets to pull out a small velvet box. It looks comically miniature in his hand when he holds it out. “I got this for you.”

“What’s that?” You ask confused and curious, ‘cause it very much looks like he might just propose to you. 

It opens sesame. 

“An anklet.” 

“Oh.” 

Well, thank God. Jimmy would’ve fucking shot Curly if it was a ring. 

“Here, let me…” Curly reaches for your feet, careful in the way he peels off your socks and it’s all oddly romantic. So romantic there’s a slight heartbeat beneath your panties. 

Jimmy would never do that for you and that’s why it’s so wrong. 

“There,” he closes the clasp after a good two minute fumble, adorning your ankle with gold that costs more than your boyfriend’s entire net worth. 

“Oh,” it’s so shiny you can’t help but to blink at it, “wow. You… could’ve just gotten me a bracelet or something, Curly, I mean—“

“I could’ve,” his gentle up-and-down caresses to your calves pause, quickly adding, “but who would’ve gotten you this?”

You both know the answer to that question. 

“It’s not that I—“ 

“Hey, next time, I’ll get you that bracelet.” He pulls out his phone, squinting at the screen as his fingers move. 

“It’s fine, Curly,” you tell him—not wanting to seem ungrateful, “this is more than enough.”

But he’s already typing in his credit card information on the Tiffany & Co website when you look over his shoulder. 

What are you supposed to do? Smack the phone out of his hold? It feels… nice to be appreciated. Jimmy’s never bought you anything—you’re the one buying shit for him. Including his black market drugs. 

“Jim’s not coming,” you note after a long moment of awkward silence, poking your head forward like he’s coming through the doorway any second. 

“I guess not.” Curly says, meeting your eye once you look back at him. 

Almost kind of scary, the tenderness in his gaze. Not like Jimmy’s wolfish one that says he wants to eat you alive. In the cannibal way. 

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Me?” You can’t help but to laugh out loud, it’s so sudden, and Jimmy’s your boyfriend and he doesn’t even think that. “No… no I—“

“You are!” Curly insists, making a motion with his hands towards you. “Doesn’t he tell you that? Doesn’t he…” he pauses again, voice lowering, “show you that?”

“Show me?” 

“Like this,” he leans in closer, like way in-your-personal-bubble type of closer, noses brushing against each other. Curly lifts your chin up like he’s about to do something forbidden. 

You were almost convinced it was a joke till he actually kissed you. 

“Oh!” Lightly pushing on his chest, you stare at him. “Curly, that’s… we can’t.” 

Fisting at Curly’s shirt to pull him closer, you kiss him back. Harder. 

“Stop it,” like you’re not the one sucking on his tongue, tracing the bulge in his pants with your toes. “He’ll kill us!” It’s a half-whisper, half-yell. 

“Nah, I know Jim.” Says Curly, who more than well knows that Jimmy would have both of your heads on each respective stick to then keep as decorations in his trailer, “trust me.”

“Well…” but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon—you know him well enough to assume that he’s most likely sulking by now. “Okay then.”

And so you let him lay you down on his couch the way Jimmy did your first time with him. Only Curly is a thousand times more gentle in comparison. You’re a bad person for thinking it, but you almost wish Curly was your first. 

You’re still desperately kissing when his hands trail up your thighs, creeping under the hem of your dress to pull down your panties. Curly gets them about halfway down when you hear the unthinkable and the unmistakable. 

The cock of a gun. 

Jimmy’s holding this pesky little revolver that he probably found in his mom’s bedside drawer—the same one she blew her brains out with—pointing it at Curly and you with an expression resembling a wild animal more than a human face. 

[h3rmess]

WHO'S YOUR FRIEND?

Written by @h3rmess ✰

9) - What?

“What was that?” You can feel the intensity of his look through the phone.

You decide to play dumb and respond, “What was what?”

He just gives you a knowing look before scoffing, “You know what ya said.”

You clear your throat before attempting to change the subject. “I’m really thirsty right now.” You say before pushing yourself off of your bed and picking up a water bottle you had placed on your desk.

“Tell me what you said.” He demanded, refusing to forget about your previous topic of conversation.

“Not happening.” You argued back.

“Okay, fine. I won’t forget about this though.” He chuckles softly, sitting up in his bed.

You prop your phone back up, this time sitting at your desk and turning on your desk lamp before switching off the other lights in your room. As you walk back into the frame, you sit down on your desk chair with a huff.

“Why are you still here anyway?” You question him.

“It’d be rude to leave, no? Plus, I wanna get to know ya.” He looks off to the side for a second before turning off his lights as well.

“Stop copying me.” You joke, referring to the fact that he turned his lights off after you did.

“Stop copying me.” He mocked with a grin.

You looked at him, unamused, causing him to frown slightly. You laughed quietly at him.

You see his eyes widen, and then watch as he squints, moving his face closer to the camera.

“What’s that behind you?” He inquires, causing you to whip your head around at an unbelievable speed. He swears he hears your neck crack.

“What’s what?” You look around cautiously. “Is there a bug?”

He snickers at your reaction. “Yer seriously scared?”

“Uh, yeah? What if there’s a spider and it crawls on my face while I’m asleep?” You propose a situation.

“I guess that’s fair. But fer real, I was talkin’ ‘bout the paper and stuff on yer wall.”

You turn around to look at the notes you had hanging up.

“Oh, it’s just chemistry. I’ve got a test soon.” You inform him as he nods, almost impressed.

“Studious and pretty, huh? You’ve got a lot going for ya.” He compliments as you catch a glimpse of his chest, leaving you hot and at a loss for words.

“So you really do think I’m pretty?” You ask shyly.

“Sure do. Ya think I’m attractive too?” He questions back, his bold approach making you weak.

“Yeah…” is all you can muster up the courage to reply with.

“Yer so quiet now…” He remarks. “Tired?”

You shake your head profusely, wanting to keep talking to him.

“Good, I like hearing yer voice, so stay on call with me.”

You audibly gasp at what he says. Was he always this much of a flirt?

prev | masterlist | next

-> short chapter I know I know 💔💔

-> cba to edit the other one so double post tmr instead!!

-> LOVE YOU ALLL!!

TAGLIST (comment to join)

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[himbosandhardwear]

Two Truths I 1.3k I NSFW-ish

“How'd you get it to stay?”

“Soldered it into one solid piece,” he brags, cigarette caught in the corner of his smile.

“You're insane. I can't believe that was you the whole time.”

“It was Ronnie's idea, I just made it happen.” He taps his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray balanced on his knee. His legs are spread open, so Steve can reach the ashtray if he needs to. “I thought he looked very metropolitan with an earring. Chic even.”

Yeah, the gold hoop earring in the mascot tiger costume was ultra modern. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. He doesn't give a shit about defending a stupid High School mascot over a harmless prank from five years ago. Eddie's antics are a thousand times more entertaining than any of his stupid basketball stories.

“You know what game you'd kill at?”

“Monopoly? Dog! I called it, you can't have it, I'm always the dog!” He nearly dumps the ashtray in his excitement.

“No, shut up. I'm the car anyway, duh. I was gonna say, Two Truths and a Lie. That's your game.”

“Hmm, never played.” He rolls his head around the back of the couch, his haphazard bun goes even looser. “Is it a drinking game?”

“Doesn't have to be. Just a guessing game really. You just say two things that are true and one lie and the other person has to guess which one is the lie. But it can't be like, ‘I have brown eyes, I have brown hair, in 1983 I helped defeat a monster from an alternate dimension.’”

“You have hazel eyes.”

Steve blinks for a second. “Yeah. But anyway, it has to be less obvious, is what I'm saying.”

“Got it. So, like, okay… My dad is in the penn for Grand Larceny, Wayne's only confirmed kill in ‘Nam was a poor defenceless monkey, and my favorite subject in school was Home-Ec.”

“Shit. I don't know if I want the monkey thing to be true or not.”

Eddie's dimples make an appearance. “My favorite was Theater. Home-Ec was a close second though. I made a pillow and used it to sleep through Algebra.”

Steve cracks a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.” Okay, his turn. His life suddenly seems boring in comparison, even with all the shit he's been through. He used to be good at this game but he's kinda set himself up for failure here against Eddie.

“Dying of boredom…”

“Shut up! Okay, how about this… My paternal grandparents were from Scotland, I have a B.B. permanently lodged in my ankle, and my first three-way was with Tommy and Carol.”

Eddie chokes on air, making Steve laugh in delight.

Once he's got his breath, he looks at Steve in suspicion. “I'm gonna assume you didn't actually get close to Hagan's freckled weiner.”

Steve's grin feels mean, like whenever Tommy said something particularly scathing to some anonymous Freshman. “B.B. is stuck in my thigh actually.” He pulls his shorts up enough to show him the white scar.

God, the look on Eddie's face - perfectly, comically shocked, mouth open, eyes white around the iris - makes him feel so good, to have something like that up his sleeve, something to shock the wildest guy Steve knows.

“You're gonna catch flies like that,” he says, smug. “It's your turn.”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, teeth clacking audibly. “Fine. Let's see,” he taps his finger against his chin, “raising the stakes…” He slips Steve a look, conveying his playful scheming. “I've had sex at school, I've had sex at the Hideout, I've had sex at your house.”

His immediate instinct is to call bullshit at Eddie fucking here, because when exactly would he have accomplished it, but then he remembers who provided the favors at most of his parties and he hesitates. Eddie watches Steve go through this realization, watches with a smugness that he wants to wipe off.

“It had better have been on my parents bed,” he concedes.

“Laundry room actually.”

“I hate you.” He crosses his arms and pouts, nearly asks who with but he's not sure he wants to know. “So which one was the lie?”

“School. Obviously. My dick couldn't get hard there even if I wanted it to.”

Memories of sitting in class surface, trying desperately to hide his boner, but he's not gonna admit it. Even though he's certain Eddie had the same problem at least once. It’s basically a rite of passage for dudes.

“My turn, you absolute freak.” Now what does he admit to to top getting it on with some mystery person on his parents dryer? “Hmm… I put actual notches on my bedpost, I've got a pair of girl's panties stashed in my underwear drawer, I used to jerk off with Tommy when we were younger.”

“Okay, now I know you're fucking with me,” Eddie exclaims, arms flailing.

“Which one, Munson? Take your pick.”

Eddie continues to stare, which is a bit nerve wracking but Steve maintains his composure. He's 99% sure Eddie is gay, and therefore won't judge him on this, but there's always that small chance Steve is wrong and this whole thing goes sideways. Three-way with Tommy? Could be a drunken mistake. Teenage jerk off sessions? It happens, no big deal. But both? At one point in Steve's life he'd been able to write off both as normal but Robin had put the writing back on the wall, so to speak.

“That's why he said he didn't want your sloppy seconds,” Eddie mumbles.

Steve blanches. “Who?”

“B- Nobody.”

No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.

“Eddie. Did you fuck Billy Hargrove in my laundry room?” His voice is eerily calm.

“No.”

Steve waits a beat. “Did Billy Hargrove fuck you in my laundry room?”

“.......no.”

“Your turn,” he growls.

“Wait, which one was the lie?”

He crosses his arms, still pissed off beyond belief. “I don't put notches on my bedpost, that's tacky.”

“On the belt then?” He tries to snark but it falls flat. Steve just stares until he looks away. “Fine. Let me think.”

If he admits to fucking Billy, Steve doesn't know what he's gonna do. The very idea of it makes him want to tear his hair out.

“I over-charged you on weed for years, Gareth is mean to you because he has a crush, I'm sorry I gave Hargrove head in your laundry room.”

Steve gets up and leaves the room. Eddie doesn't call him back. He stomps all the way to the kitchen, yanks the fridge open, grabs another beer, and chugs the entire thing standing there with the door open. When he gets back, Eddie is standing in the middle of the room, awkwardly shuffling like he wants to leave.

“Sit,” Steve barks, “we're not done here.”

Eddie complies but with a stiffness that reads like he may bolt at a moment's notice.

“I fucking know you over-charged me for the weed so I have to assume Gareth does not, in fact, have a crush on me.”

Eddie nods, sheepish. “Hates you for the usual reasons.”

“Right.” The important takeaway here shouldn't be that Eddie had sex with Steve's arch nemesis, it's that he's admitting to being queer. Good. He stares at the side of Eddie's head. “I was straight, I am bisexual, I have bad hair days.”

He watches as Eddie's entire body rotates around to stare directly into Steve's soul. His tongue makes an appearance, wetting his lips.

“I am gay, I am very gay, I am the most gay anyone has ever been.”

That's comical. “No, the most gay anyone has ever been was Robin when she left the room during that scene in The Hunger.”

Eddie matches Steve's smirk. “Correct.”

“I want to kiss you, I want to make you forget Billy Hargrove’s name…..I have brown eyes.”

Eddie's grin rivals that of his grand theft auto exuberance. “Your eyes are hazel.”

“Correct.”

“I am going to kiss you, Billy Who, and…oh, who gives a shit.” He tackles Steve into the arm of the couch.

They don't make it to the laundry room but there's always tomorrow.

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: What's Your Future Spouse's Best Personality Trait? ✮⋆˙

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How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

If you enjoyed this reading, get your own personalized paid reading here!😊🦋

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MY MASTERLIST🫶🏻

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⊹₊⟡ Pile I

Resilient & Emotional

Romantic & Deeply Intuitive

4 of Cups + 9 of Wands + 8 of Cups?! Babes, your future spouse has been through the wringer. they are a tough cookie. This is the kind of person who’s faced rejection, disappointments, and emotional letdowns that could make even a main character in a tragic romance novel say, "Damn, you good?" 😭 But instead of being bitter, they’ve built a fortress of emotional resilience around themselves. The 9 of Wands is telling me this person has been knocked down 100 times but got up 101—they don’t give up on life or love, even if they’ve been burned before. The 8 of Cups confirms that they’ve walked away from things that no longer serve them (toxic exes, dead-end jobs, situationships that made no sense—all of it). They’re not the type to dwell on "what could’ve been." Instead, they cut their losses and move forward.

This is someone you can depend on. When life gets tough, they’re not crumbling into a puddle of existential dread—they’re standing tall, supporting both of you. They know how to handle loss, hardship, and setbacks without bringing negativity into the relationship. Instead of complaining, they’ll problem-solve and protect your peace.

Okay, now let’s talk about the Knight of Cups—aka, the walking romance novel protagonist. This person is charm on legs, but in a deep, thoughtful way. They’re not love-bombing for funsies—they actually feel things intensely and express love with heartfelt actions and words. while they are romantic, they also have a depth that makes them super self-aware. They know real love isn’t about grand gestures alone—it’s about emotional connection. So while they might not be showering you with gifts every five seconds, best believe they’ll know exactly when you’re feeling off and how to comfort you without even being asked.

They’ll write you long-ass texts about how much they love and appreciate you🥺. They’re the type to listen to your late-night yapping and actually remember what you said. They have a poetic way of expressing love, even if they don’t try to be poetic, they just naturally speak in soft boy/girl energy. MY TYPE MY TYPE MY TYPE😭

This person doesn’t do "surface-level love." They love in a way that FEELS SAFE—like you can fully be yourself without judgment. No breadcrumbs, no mixed signals—just pure, heart-centered love. Your future spouse is giving "strong but soft" energy. They’re emotionally intelligent, resilient, and romantic, and they don’t play about their love life. They will love you deeply, protect your peace, and keep the romance alive—all while being a grounded, stable, and emotionally evolved partner. ✨ You won’t have to second-guess this connection. They’re mature, romantic, and strong-willed—a whole package deal. 🥹

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⊹₊⟡ Pile II

The "Master Strategist With 3000 IQ" Energy

The "Zen AF, But Knows When to Strike" Energy

Okay, listen—this person does NOT make impulsive decisions. The 2 of Wands + The Hanged Man combo? This is the chess master of life. They calculate everything, they analyze their next steps like they’re planning world domination, and they don’t move unless they’re absolutely 100% sure it’s the right decision.

They’re not the type to rush into things—whether it’s a relationship, a career move, or even a casual Friday night out ("What’s the vibe? Who all is gonna be there?"—yeah, they need to know first 💀). The Hanged Man energy tells me that they take their sweet time weighing all the options, and the 2 of Wands? That just screams "I’ve got a vision, and I’m making it happen."

They strategize, they plan, and when they commit, they COMMIT. They won’t be the type to rush into things, but the second they decide, "Yeah, this is my person," it’s game over for everyone else.

What this means for you? No confusion, no mixed signals – You will always know where you stand. They will plan your future together – And I mean, really plan it. This is the person who will randomly say, "Hey, do you want to move to Paris in five years? I’ve already looked into real estate options. They don’t do dumb drama – If problems come up, they handle them maturely and efficiently (and probably before you even notice). They are your safe place – Because their whole aura just screams "I got this, don’t worry."

This person is unbothered and calm 95% of the time. They have this aura of serenity and wisdom that makes you feel so at peace when you’re around them. But that 5%? That’s when they see someone messing with you, and suddenly, you realize... oh, they could actually destroy a person if they wanted to. 👀

You will feel SAFE and protected at all times – They’re not aggressive, but they are calculating AF. Anyone who disrespects you? They’re already mentally plotting the most strategic way to make that person regret their existence. You get the best of both worlds – A partner who is peaceful and chill, but also deadly if necessary. It’s like dating a hot mastermind who meditates but could also lead an army.

They will never embarrass you with childish fights – They know how to shut down drama with just one sentence ("That’s an interesting perspective. Too bad it’s wrong.") and keep it moving.

WHEW the most FICTIONAL PARTNER EVERRR. This is the type of love that makes people jealous because it’s just so stable, deep, and fulfilling. This person is smart, protective, emotionally intelligent, and devoted—honestly, what more could you ask for? 😭They are the calm before AND after the storm, the architect of your dream life, and the silent but deadly protector who will love you with the power of a thousand well-thought-out strategies. And let’s be real… dating them is basically winning at life.

Liked the reading? get your own personalized super in-depth paid reading here!

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⊹₊⟡ Pile III

Hardworking & Devoted

Fearless in love

This pile is the MOST romantic of all three.

Ohhhh, you are about to marry someone who does NOT play when it comes to their goals.This is giving "I put in the time, I put in the effort, and I get RESULTS." Since they’re naturally hardworking and disciplined, they approach relationships with the same level of commitment and strategy they bring to their personal goals.

They’re not the kind of person who gets discouraged easily. If something takes time, they understand that’s just part of the process. They trust the grind, and they know that as long as they keep working, keep improving, and stay consistent, they will get to where they want to be. (The type to be in the gym every day, rain or shine, because discipline > motivation💀.) They’re insanely reliable—if they say they’ll do something, THEY WILL. They probably have a strong work ethic—career-driven, passionate, maybe even a little obsessed with self-improvement.You will never have to second-guess if they’re serious about you, because once they decide to invest in something (or someone 👀), they are in it for the long haul. This is the type of partner who builds an empire with you. This person has BIG main character energy—they embrace life with open arms and are always down for an adventure. They don’t get stuck in endless “what-ifs.” Instead, they’re like "Screw it, let’s do it."

Okay, so here’s the fun part—this person? Totally the type to act all logical and practical, but deep down? THEY ARE A SOFTIE. 😭

Hey do romantic things without realizing it – You’ll casually mention something you like once, and BOOM, two weeks later, they surprise you with it (and play it off like it’s no big deal). Sir/Ma’am, just admit you’re obsessed already.🤓 Their love language is thoughtful actions – Expect things like fixing something before you even ask, getting your coffee just the way you like it, or remembering the exact way you like your blanket tucked in at night. It’s the small details for them.

They have that “quiet but deep” love – They’re not the type to scream “I love you” in public, but the way they look at you, protect you, and always think of you first? UGH. Heart-melting levels of devotion. They are soft for YOU and YOU ONLY – The world sees them as chill, independent, and maybe even a little reserved… but the moment they’re with you? They turn into human teddy bear.

They’d never admit it, but you are their weakness, and honestly, That’s HOT.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[erosauriarts]

Day 27- Love

(Mini Fic bc I can’t control myself)

A knock at the door, though Atsushi knew who damn well it was. Kyouka waited for a response but Atsushi’s pouts only told her how this was going to go.

“Are you not going to tell him to leave?” Kyouka whispered.

“I can not deal with him messing with me right now.” Another knock, this time it sounded a bit more eager. Atsushi pinched the bridge over his nose and in his fit sank in his seat. His leg bounced with a heavy recoil.

“He’s not going to stop.” Kyouka said quickly, because she knew Atsushi was going to cut her off. “He never stops.” Atsushi did exactly what she predicted. “He just messes with me and finds it fun or something. Bother me here there, humiliate me there.. I’m done, Kyouka.”

Another bang, “Atsushi, you know I can hear you, let me just talk.” Dazai’s words sounded a bit slurred. “He is not… Drunk!” Atsushi in his fit slammed is fist into the table.

Any motives to keep to himself left the window. Atsushi had stormed to the door, ripping it open that it almost felt to come off it’s hinges. Dazai stood in front of him. His clothes and hair were a mess, as if he were tugging and pulling on them. He had sweat and a bit of blush. He reeked of booze.

“What.” Atsushi said through his teeth.

Kyouka was behind the weretiger, peaking over his shoulder to see the mess in the hallway.

“Before you slam the door on me, I want to say I’m sorry.” Dazai saw Atsushi reach for the door, his hand stopped it’s momentum. The noise of the slam echoed through the space around them. “See, I knew you’d do that.”

“Wow, aren’t you so smart.” Atsushi glared up at him. “I know you’re angry, but the sass. I’m trying here. Just entertain me?” Dazai said desperately. Atsushi lifted a brow, “Wrong words. Please.”

“Go on, Dazai.” Atsushi groaned. His arms formed a tight knit pose.

The brunette straightened himself up, “I’m sorry. You should know this was not your fault and I set it up because I was scared.”

“You… Scared?” Atsushi commented.

“I… I have this habit if something gets close to me, I rig it so I lose before I get truly attached. I don’t know why I do it, just that in the moment it was… a good idea.” Dazai looked down at this point, “I’ll torment them, tease, mess with their head. I did it as a teen and I still do it now. You were… getting to me and I acted to scare you off. Pissing you off was what I wanted at the time… Just, I felt like shit humiliating you like that. Unlike the other ones, I didn’t feel relief, I felt sad and alone. So I got drunk and crashed in the street. Kunikida found me and gave me my pants… That I lost for some reason? It seemed like losing my pants told me- you’re different compared to the others. I wasn’t okay with you leaving because I think I love you? I don’t know what that means or will happen? I feel like shit and I’m sorry for doing that to you… I just wanted to tell you and give you closure.” Atsushi and Kyouka didn’t know when their jaw dropped. Just all those words felt weird coming from his mouth and specifically from Dazai. Once the brunette looked at them, his face dropped.

“Wait, that isn’t what I meant to say! Ugh,” A fist bonked his head. “That isn’t how I wanted to tell you that.”

“You… Love me?” Atsushi instantly down his guard, he relaxed his arms, “You’re so bad with emotions… I should have guessed. I’m not mad anymore… But most people who crushes on someone gets them gifts or asks them out.” “I… I know what I did was not okay. I just, I know I ruined my chances, but I still want to be friends.”

“Who said I consider them ruined? I’m not mad anymore, but I do not want to talk about this while you’re drunk. Go home and we’ll talk about over coffee?” Both Dazai and Kyouka responded the same way with their opened cat like expressions.

“Yep. Okay. I can do that…” Dazai nervously pant his thigh and backed up, “9?”

“You know you’re not getting up at 9.” Atsushi chuckled, “11. You know which one.” Dazai looked away before smiling back. He left the view. Atsushi closed the door.

“You took that well.” Kyouka said impressed.

Atsushi nearly collapsed but caught himself on the door, in a muffled squeal, “He likes me back.”

“Have some honor!” Kyouka teased with a push.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, 

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The blue by Gracie Abrams

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.  

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[cosmowgyral]

"Lover's Contract: A night of immoral deeds"

▪︎ Nica Schwartz

This is a fan translation, not 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. Expect grammatical inconsistencies.

Since Nica is not yet out in the EN server, there might be terms that will turn out different than what I have used here when he is finally released. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Bitter End

Prince was shocked on seeing the divorce papers, but Queen remained unfazed.

Queen: What’s the problem?

But then, her faced changed colour as if she realised something.

Nica: Did you just notice? Your husband has already signed these.

Unable to keep up with the conversation, I tugged on Nica’s sleeve.

He looked at me, gave a small laugh and then began to speak.

Nica: Actually, your husband asked me for advice.

Nica: His business partners have found out that his wife has been making advances on young men at his company.

Nica: The company’s reputation had fallen, and not only that but you were also trying to escape abroad after stealing money from the safe.

(Could it be….)

I realised that our setting of a president’s wife and his company employee was taken from these two.

Nica: So since you didn’t come home, I was tasked with catching you and making you sign these divorce papers.

Nica, who was wearing a sly smile, stared at the dazed Queen.

Nica: By the way, you are not allowed to refuse.

He approached her and shoved the divorce papers in her face.

Nica: If you don’t sign it, you’ll be arrested for theft and end up getting divorced anyway. You both will then be asked for compensation and damages.

Nica: However, if you sign them, you might only be asked for the money and then be left alone.

Nica: Either way, it’ll cost you quite a bit of money.

Seeing the Queen go pale and tremble, Prince stood up in a panic.

Prince: I don’t know anything. I was only with her because she offered me money.

He attempted to attack me as I stood in front of the door, wanting to get away.

Kate: ..gh!

I reflexively closed my eyes, bracing for the impact--.

Prince: Gah!

All I heard was something being slammed to the ground and a groan.

I anxiously opened my eyes and saw Prince lying face down on the floor, with Nica clutching him around the chest.

Nica: Too bad, you’ll also wind up in debt hell either way.

I realised that after I had closed my eyes, he grabbed Prince and slammed him to the ground.

Nica: I think it would be better to just sign it than mess around like this.

Nica: Because there seems quite the chance that you might just run off with the money before the divorce is settled.

Nica wiped his hands as if he had touched something dirty, and then picked up the divorce papers and pen lying around.

Nica: Here, sign it.

He approached the two of them with a big grin on his face.

Realizing there was no escape, Queen signed the divorce papers.

Nica: Okay now, sit on the bed.

After giving directions, Nica started securing the two of them with the shackles that were fastened to the bed's legs.

Queen: Wait, what are you doing?

Nica: Robin, help me.

Kate: Ye-yes!

I began to help Nica to restrain the two of them using handcuffs that were likely there for bedroom play.

After taking away their freedom, he took my arm and headed towards the exit.

Nica: Well then, the Yard City Police will be coming soon.

I'm not very sure what he meant by Yard City Police here but I think he means the Scotland Yard Police. I might be wrong.

Prince: You tricked us!

Nica waved the divorce papers at the two of them who were yelling.

Nica: I told you, you guys are a sucker for a runaway.

Queen: No way!

He opened the door with the meanest of the smiles.

Nica: Well see you, but I guess we probably won’t be seeing each other again.

Nica: Ah, I feel refreshed.

Kate: …I didn’t know that her husband had asked you to do this.

(It would have been better if he had told me everything from the beginning.)

I felt a bit annoyed that I had been forced to go along with this without being informed of anything, but then he stopped walking.

Nica: I wasn’t asked to do it, you know?

Kate: Huh?

That instantly threw me off.

Nica: This is my handwriting.

Kate: Whaat?!

He pointed to the signature on the divorce papers.

Nica: He said he wanted to get a divorce but couldn’t, so I copied his handwriting and prepared this.

He folded the paper neatly and put it in his pocket.

I was very surprised by the unexpected turn of events.

Kate:…You didn’t act solely with good intentions, did you?

There’s no way he would’ve done this out of goodwill alone.

As expected, Nica’s lips turned up in a smile.

Nica: Did you think I’d work for people for free?

He started walking while humming and I hurriedly followed after him.

Kate: What if they find out it’s a fake signature?

Nica: Don’t worry, I’ll give this to her husband later.

Nica: I’ll then let him take the decision; even I just can’t go ahead and do whatever I want.

Kate: But..

Nica: Do you remember the three promises of the Lover’s Club?

Before I knew it, I had been pushed against the wall---.

Nica: Even if the proposal for an affair is abnormal, it should be actively considered.

The knee between my legs made it impossible for me to move.

Nica: If either of you gets a new lover, end the relationship.

His long fingers smoothly crawled up my skirt.

Nica: What was the last one?

Kate: Never reveal each other’s secrets.

I reach out to stop the fingers from stroking my thighs, but he easily grabs my hand.

Nica: The fact that I provided the divorce papers bearing a fake signature in her husband's handwriting is a total secret.

Nica: But since we’re lovers now, what do you think will happen if you break any of the three rules?

Kate: What?

Nica: You will belong to the other person for the rest of your life.

Kate: Huh? Nn!

At that moment, I let out a cry as he suddenly licked my neck.

Nica: I have left a love bite. It’s to be left again and again so that it doesn’t disappear, until the other person gets tired of it.

Nica: The deal between us isn’t over until the mark fades.

His lips make a little sound that echoes with his breathing.

When I looked at him, he poked my neck with his tongue and laughed seductively.

Nica: I’d be happy to make you mine right now, but what would you want to do?

A mild pain raced down my neck, until the red mark formed—.

[Chapter 2] [Masterlist]