#my brain gets cluttered sorry about that

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[heartburstings]

i saw a post a while ago about how it's Okay to Ignore Palestine Posts because of mental health and how internet is escapism and blah blah blah. and it's like, okay. sure. mental health is important, but somehow i feel this is actually willful ignorance wrapped up in pretty language to feel more comfortable and justified in staying comfortable.

gonna copypaste some notes i took a while ago, bc it resonated w me and i feel is relevant to this kind of behavior, so i hope it resonates with u as well:

"The experience of being abandoned by humanity and then not being heard occurs when stories of resilience takes precedence over tales of inhumanity."

"Our responsibility is to change our narrative or 'internal working model'; to recognize vulnerability and revision a way to sensitize ourselves to hardship that our own coping and privileged experience allow us to avoid."

"And basically what that means is when we think about the stories of others, when we hear things that we don't necessarily like to hear, we have a choice. We go with it, we move forward in it, and we continue to in some ways enter the people's lives with whom we work, or we retreat. We go back to our privilege, and we think about their stories as something that we're not able to relate to or connect with."

[yaminerua]

at this point idk what it is specifically but I don’t think there’s a single neurotypical person living in this house and the state it’s in shows that

if you walked into this place you’d immediately stage an intervention bc clearly none of us are able to get started on what needs fucking done let alone maintain it to an acceptable level jfc

[tj-crochets]

Every time you post you make me want to make something!! How do you manage to start and finish so many projects constantly? I’m also disabled and its always so hard to find the spoons to finish my projects 😭

I definitely feel you on the difficulty finding spoons thing, I had multiple days this week where I did absolutely no crafting at all because I was just completely out of spoons. This explanation got long, so it's below a read more

For me, crafting is a...I'm not sure how to word it. A load-bearing hobby? Making a physical, tangible object gets me those good "finished task" brain chemicals while at the same time letting me learn a skill (one of my favorite things to do) and ending up with an object that I will probably eventually give to someone (also one of my favorite things to do, matching objects to the people who will love them). If I go too long without crafting I get antsy and grumpy and I get frustrated easily. Other load bearing hobbies for me are reading and making music; too long without any of them and I feel off-balance, metaphorically. I have a variety of crafts I keep supplies for on-hand for different spoon level days; for me crochet takes less spoons than knitting, which takes less spoons than all but the simplest plushie sewing, which takes less spoons than most quilting. There's some differences; plushie making is less physically taxing for me than quilting but takes a lot more focus, so if I'm having a good physical spoons day but a bad mental spoons day I might opt for quilting instead of plushies? The other thing that's helped me a lot is forgiving myself for unfinished projects. I used to feel guilty when I got hung up on a project and couldn't finish it, and I'd struggle through it and not want to craft and it would take forever and I'd be unhappy the entire time, or I'd set it aside and try to make other things but feel guilty the whole time because I thought I should be making something else. These days, I have gotten a lot better at accepting that I have limits, both physical and mental, and it's okay for me to respect them. Not finishing a crafting project is a morally neutral thing; for me, crafts are for enjoying, and if I enjoyed making the part of the project I made then I got something out of it even if I never finish it. I also think no crafting effort is wasted, you'll learn something from it even if all you learn is that you don't like that particular craft. The other other thing that helps me start and finish so many projects so often is that I am lucky enough to be able to keep the basic supplies for a wide variety of projects on hand at all times, so that I can make almost anything as the whim strikes me (like grumpy bunnies this week). I think of it like keeping a stocked pantry as a baker; you might not know what you'll want to make tomorrow, but you know you'll probably need sugar and flour and salt, and as you learn more about baking you can tailor your stock of supplies to what you like to make (for me in sewing, that means keeping a rainbow of minky and some faux fur on hand, so that I have many colors to choose from because I really enjoy working with color. In knitting, it means keeping a particular yarn in any color on hand because I pretty much only knit beanies these days and I don't care what color they are but do care about the yarn. Your "staple supplies" will vary based on your craft, your preferences, your budget, and your storage space, but I absolutely love being able to impulse craft things)

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Book Thief.

Spencer Reid x Librarian!reader

Summary: In your uneventful first week at work, a man arrives to return a book two weeks late, and you decide to test his patience for a bit of fun.

Words: 2,3k.

TW: fem!reader. teasing. spencer from the firsts season with glasses meow. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm putting a lot of myself here because teasing a little to flirt is so fun.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Spencer's day was quickly turning into a complete disaster, and anyone paying attention would notice. He thought that he probably looked like a lunatic. His glasses were misplaced, his hair was blowing in the wind, his pants were rumpled, and his bag was still open with a book that wasn't his on the verge of falling out. Normally he felt like a disaster, but this was beyond his usual limits. He didn't even know how he had gotten into this situation, let alone how he had managed to get up from the couch he had fallen asleep on the night before.

His feet made their way to the stairs of the library, which were quite imposing, and he struggled up them, holding on to the railing so as not to fall. He was somewhat taken aback when he walked through the door and noticed that the place was empty, without a single soul loitering or even browsing through a book. All the tables were empty and shiny, as if they had been cleaned recently and no one had used them since. Even the librarian's desk was empty, if a bit more cluttered with various books, papers, and pens strewn about.

Where was everyone? Was the place closed?

Reid was on the verge of departing, having considered the possibility that his time there might have been in vain. However, you emerged from behind the bookcase, observing him with a keen interest, almost as though you were equally taken aback by his presence as he was by yours.

“Hi.” You were the first to speak without taking your eyes off him.

“Hi.” He replied immediately, still showing a bit of his nervousness at your sudden presence. “I'm looking for the librarian. Do you know if she's here?”

As you listened to him, you walked to your desk and sat in the chair, feeling his gaze follow you. “Here I am.” You said, waving a hand to point to yourself.

He blinked a few times, his brain short-circuiting for a moment because you looked nothing like the woman who had been the librarian for years, with whom he always exchanged a few kind words and talked about the occasional book. She was probably three times your age, drank a lot of coffee, and didn't smile at him or anyone else as brightly as you did now.

“You're the librarian now?” He repeated, tilting his head slightly, looking for confirmation on your face. Noticing your nod, he felt even more out of place with his disheveled appearance and tried to straighten his unruly hair to look more decent.

It might have been a bit silly, but the fact that you were so young and probably about his age made him a bit more nervous than he would have liked. His social skills were already not the best with anyone, but with a pretty girl they were even less so.

“Yes, I am.” You confirm, noticing his slightly disheveled appearance at that moment. His subsequent attempt to clean himself up makes you chuckle internally as you watch him awkwardly try to look more presentable after learning who you are.

Spencer's curiosity grew by the minute. He looked at your desk, even though he had seen it before, but this time he noticed that most of the books there had dividers and post-it notes that made it obvious that you were reading them. He also noticed that the old caffeine smell that hit you as soon as you walked in was gone, and that was when he saw the cup of tea in your hands. It was clear to him that you had a different way of working than your predecessor. So he took a moment to watch in silence as you settled in.

“How can I help you?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts and startled him a bit.

He cleared his throat, hoping you hadn't noticed that he was trying to get to know you a little by spying on your stuff. His eyes moved quickly from the books on your desk to yours, pretending that nothing had happened and that he wasn't lost in his own thoughts.

“I've come to return a book.” He said after a few seconds, taking it out of his bag and placing it on the counter so you could take it.

You picked up the book and examined it with interest, running your fingers over the cover and checking that it was in good condition. It was the first time in your first week on the job that anyone had ever returned a book, or even approached your desk for anything more than asking where the bathroom was. After carefully checking to make sure the book was completely fine, you opened it to see if the due date was in order, and then you realized there might be a problem.

“Mr. Reid, you should have returned this book two weeks ago.” You pointed it out after going through the file. “And you didn't ask for an extension.”

When Spencer heard your comment, he looked surprised; his eyes went to the floor, and then he looked back at you with a hint of embarrassment. He realized that he had almost completely forgotten about the book after working on several difficult cases in a row for days. He had barely had time to get a good night's sleep as he had to travel non-stop from city to city.

“I'm sorry, I...” He begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had every intention of returning the book, but unfortunately the policy here is not to grant extension after extension…the last few weeks have been pretty hectic. I have to admit that I lost track of time a bit. I…”

At that moment, you noticed how nervous he seemed to be about the whole situation, and a somewhat wicked idea came to your mind to step into your total cliche librarian role.

“I understand your situation, Mr. Reid, but you are a regular visitor here, as far as I can see. The rules must be followed by all, and there are no exceptions.” You pointed as you handed the book back to the bookseller. “What if someone had wanted to read it? Imagine the sadness of someone who doesn't know if their favorite copy will ever be available again because someone missed the deadline.”

At your words, Spencer swallowed dryly, and a hint of horror came over his face at the thought that he might have prevented someone else from enjoying a good book. He automatically felt a bit selfish about it.

“I hadn't considered that.” He said, biting his lip nervously. “I really wanted to return it.”

Seeing him in all his nervous glory, you couldn't help but find him strangely adorable. You didn't understand how anyone could be so nervous about a library fine that wasn't even that high. You had already learned that most people didn't even bother to check out books because of the hassle and how easy it could be to forget to return them. Not everyone has a true appreciation for books, and to finally meet someone who does is comforting.

“This is a very serious matter. How do you plan to compensate the poor soul who might have been interested in reading that book?” You added, observing his reactions with careful consideration.

He looked down again for a few seconds and then looked up to meet yours in the midst of his great nervousness. He felt somewhat exposed and vulnerable, so he thought about apologizing again, but your expression suggested that perhaps that wouldn't be sufficient this time.

“I...” He seemed to have run out of words, his brain working quickly to think of a worthy excuse. “I'll pay the fine, of course.”

“Oh, certainly.” You laughed lightly at the obvious, easy way out I'd given him, and he raised an eyebrow as if expecting something else. “But I think that's a bit mundane, don't you? You can't throw money at every problem that comes your way.”

Spencer's mind began to consider what other possibilities you might be alluding to. He even contemplated offering more or apologizing again until he noticed a subtle gesture that suggested you were holding back a smile. It was then that you stood up from your chair to be closer to his height, surprising him. He wasn't accustomed to someone being so suddenly close to him, which made his cheeks flush a little.

“Can I ask you a question?” Your breath brushed against his, which made him nod quickly, indicating his willingness to engage in further conversation. “Are you a book thief, Mr. Reid?”

The question takes you by surprise, and he is momentarily at a loss for words, just watching the way the soft light from the lamps hanging above you two reflected in your eyes. The unexpected proximity and the sudden question were not what he had envisioned in any of the thousand scenarios his mind created per second. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and then answered, his voice slightly hoarse.

“A book thief?” He repeated, as his brain processed what you had just asked him. “No, of course not. I would never...”

“Then what are you stealing, Mr. Reid?” You look into his eyes in a way that makes him shudder and feel both the urge to run away and the desire to never escape. “Maybe hearts?”

Spencer's cheeks reddened in a mixture of surprise and shock at your words. The idea of being considered someone capable of stealing hearts sounded so absurd to him. He stared at you, unable to find the right words to respond, his brain went blank for a few seconds, which was an unusual experience for someone like him. And the fact that you kept calling him ‘Mr. Reid’ didn't help his heart stop beating so hard and his rational side come into focus a bit.

“What? I don't...I didn't...” He finally managed to stammer. “I don't steal hearts. I…I only read books. I love books.” He blurted out, noting how sappy that last sentence had sounded.

Tell a librarian that you love books. Really? That's a good response to a weird kind of flirtation?

Reid wanted to punch himself in the face.

“Did you know that a Yale University study found that those who read books live an average of two years longer than those who don't?” The words were pouring out of his mouth before he could control them and think about whether it was timely or not. “Reading keeps the brain healthy and strong by keeping it active...which...which could be one of the reasons why those who read live longer.”

“Well, that's interesting. It seems like we'll be living longer.” You said this with a seriousness and interest that surprised him because he expected quite the opposite.

At that moment, you noticed that his glasses were out of place, and you couldn't help but feel the need to step closer and put them back on properly. As soon as you did, he froze. No one had ever done this before, and it seemed strangely intimate. He already felt quite vulnerable under your gaze, and your unexpected gesture made it even harder for him to keep his composure.

He swallowed dryly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Uh...thank you.” He murmured, his voice a little shaky.

Despite his considerable expertise and success as a profiler, he felt somewhat uncomfortable in this particular situation. The feeling of being watched so closely, along with your questions and your touch, left him almost speechless and unable to profile you. He wasn't used to people catching him off guard like that, and he found it challenging to come up with a witty response that would make even the slightest impression. He felt a little out of his depth, and in a strange way, he liked it.

“It's nothing, Spencer.” You replied with a smile.

His first name...it's possible that he had never liked to be called that name as much as he did until that moment, when it came from your lips.

“May I call you that?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts again.

“Yes, absolutely. Please.” He replied too quickly and now wishes he hadn't. He probably sounded foolish.

“Well, Spencer.” You repeated his name again, simply for the joy of it, which caused him to smile and try to talk again.

But the moment had to break suddenly.

You were both taken aback by the sudden opening of the front door, which prompted Reid to refocus his attention as soon as you both turned away from each other. You sat back in your chair, patiently awaiting the arrival of the newcomer. And at that moment, the former librarian appeared with a bag from a nearby restaurant in her hand, watching the two of you with interest.

“Hi mom.” You said.

His eyes widened as he looked back and forth between you, the former librarian, and the door. He was trying to understand the situation and how he hadn't foreseen it before. He hadn't even considered that there might be a relationship between the woman he had known for years and you, as you hadn't mentioned anything either.

“Mom?” He was frowning.

Spencer's phone suddenly rang, a high-pitched, shrill sound that echoed throughout the library, breaking the rule of silence. However, it was a rather timely interruption, giving him a chance to regain his composure and escape the increasingly uncomfortable and confusing situation. After apologizing, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, saw the caller ID, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was his work.

“Sorry.” He muttered, his eyes darting between you and your mother, barely noticing the resemblance between the two of you. “I...I have to go, but thank you for the help. I won't forget to return a book again.”

And with that, he left.

“I think I scared him.” You said to your mother as the door closed behind him, and the sound of his footsteps as he walked away confirmed that he wouldn't hear you.

“And it's not even Halloween yet, honey.”

[vanteguccir]

Matt or Chris accidentally walking into your room while you’re changing

chris:

I feel like Chris would for sure be a little flustered and, of course, respectful, BUT he would also not hold back his gaze and let it linger in your body a little, asking himself "how the fuck I didn't noticed how hot she was before?", for sure saying something silly too

- A SMALL BLURB FOR YA -

Chris's bedroom was a chaotic mess, as usual. His bed unmade, while clothes were strewn across the floor. Y/N, his best friend, had known him long enough to not be fazed by the clutter. Today, she was using his room to change into a new outfit for their night out - the triplets having decided to have dinner at BOA, trusting him to respect her privacy.

She was halfway through pulling up her skirt, her back turned towards the door, when it suddenly swung open.

"Hey, Y/N, have you seen my-" Chris's voice trailed off abruptly.

There he stood, frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Y/N, wearing nothing but her bra and the skirt that was still bunched up around her thighs, turned her head sharply to see him standing there, dumbfounded.

"CHRIS!" She screamed, her voice a mix of shock and embarrassment. She hastily tried to cover herself with the top she was about to put on, fumbling and flustered. "What are you doing?!"

Chris didn't move. His eyes were fixed on her, blinking only occasionally as if to confirm he wasn't imagining the sight before him. His cheeks flushed a deep red, yet he couldn't help but take in every detail of her bare skin.

"I'm-I'm sorry!" he stammered, but his feet remained glued to the spot. "I just- wow, you- uh, you look... wow."

"Chris, stop fucking staring!" Y/N squealed, trying to pull her top over her head while keeping her modesty intact. She was mortified but couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered appreciatively over her body.

Realizing he was still gawking, Chris shook his head as if snapping out of a trance. He took a step back, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face.

"You know, Y/N, if I had known you'd look this good, I would've barged in sooner."

"Get out!" Y/N yelled, now using one hand to throw one of his shoes that were close to her feet at him. The shoe missed him by inches, but it was enough to make him stumble backward, laughing.

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" He chuckled, raising his arms and backing out of the room. "But seriously, you should consider making this a regular thing."

Y/N groaned, her face burning with embarrassment as she finished dressing. Outside the door, Chris's laughter echoed down the hallway, leaving her both flustered and slightly amused at the absurdity of the situation.

matt:

we all know that Matt is a respectful king and SO SO soft 😩 he would be so flustered and so fucking lost, I feel like he would act like a lost puppy, not knowing where to look (even tho his eyes wanted to look at you so bad bc wow, you're so hot and pretty), and he would apologize a lot while you felt like laughing at the poor boy 😭

- HERE'S A LITTLE BLURBB -

Matt strolled down the small hallway that lead to his bedroom. He had just returned from the kitchen with a snack, ready to relax in his room. Y/N, his best friend, was in town and staying with him and his brothers for the weekend.

As Matt approached his bedroom door, he remembered Y/N had borrowed his room to change clothes. He absentmindedly pushed the door open, not thinking much of it. The sight that greeted him made him freeze in his tracks, snack forgotten in his hand.

Y/N stood in the middle of the room, halfway through changing, with her back to the door. She was in the process of pulling on a shirt, her upper body almost completely exposed except for a delicate lace bra. Her skin glowed softly under the room's warm light, and her hair cascaded down her back in waves.

Matt's brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. He was struck by how stunning she looked, and for a split second, he couldn't tear his gaze away. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he felt an awkward heat spread through his body.

Y/N, hearing the door open, turned her head slightly and saw Matt standing there, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Her initial shock quickly morphed into amusement. She couldn't help but notice how flustered he looked, his eyes darting everywhere except at her.

"Matt!" She exclaimed, trying to suppress a giggle. "A little privacy, please?"

Matt snapped back to reality, his eyes still wide with embarrassment, looking like a lost puppy.

"Oh my god, Y/N, I’m so sorry!" He stammered, averting his gaze to the floor. He fumbled with the door handle, attempting to close it but failing miserably as his nerves got the better of him. "I didn’t mean to- I mean, I wasn’t trying to- Oh God!"

Y/N couldn't hold back her laughter anymore.

"It's okay, Matt. Just close the door."

He finally managed to pull the door shut, standing on the other side with his back against it, his heart pounding in his chest and his brain repeatedly exposing the rushed image it captured of her. Inside the room, Y/N quickly finished changing, still chuckling to herself. She could imagine Matt’s flustered expression, and it made her chest warm with affection.

A moment later, she opened the door to find Matt still standing there, looking mortified, staring at nothing, with a still un-opened snack in hand. She reached out and lightly touched his arm, her touch snapping him out of his daze.

"Hey, it’s really okay." She said softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "No harm done."

Matt’s cheeks were still flushed, but he managed a sheepish smile.

"I’m really sorry, Y/N. I swear, I didn’t mean to walk in on you."

"I know, Matt. It’s fine. Really." She laughed again, the sound light.

He rubbed the back of his neck, still looking like a lost puppy.

"You’re, uh, really pretty. Like glowing and... and all." He blurted out, then immediately regretted it, his blush deepening.

Y/N’s laughter softened into a tender smile.

"Thanks, Matt. You’re pretty cute when you’re all flustered, you know."

He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

"Stop, you’re making it worse."

[deerlino]

WHEN CHAN STUMBLES

— chan, who’s usually super serious and all put together, just totally loses it when he sees you. like, his brain completely shuts down—seriously, someone call 911 because it looks like he had a stroke or something. but nah, he’s just crazy in love with you. <3

words ༯ 0.5k / pairing ༯ bang chan x gn!reader / genres ༯ college au (study night, supposedly), fluff, humor, crack, established relationship / warnings ༯ no warnings for this one, just pure, sweet fluff !

a/n ༯ hey yo heyo! this is my first piece here and i’m lowkey nervous to post it, but here we go! chan is the absolute cutest in this one, love him. hope you enjoy, tho! <3

Chan had always been the epitome of seriousness. He was the guy who could ace an exam, lead a group project, and still manage to hit the gym—all in one day. Your friends had nicknamed him “Superman,” but to you, he was just Chan. Your Chan.

Tonight, you were hanging out in his dorm room, supposed to be studying for your upcoming finals. His desk was cluttered with textbooks, highlighters, and half-empty coffee cups, but neither of you seemed too worried about it. You’d been dating for six months now, and his dorm had become your second home.

“Okay, if I have to read one more sentence about organic chemistry, I swear I’ll scream,” you groaned, dropping your highlighter dramatically.

Chan chuckled, glancing up from his laptop. “You know, you say that every time we study.”

“And every time, I mean it.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Alright, take a break. You’ve earned it.”

You stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh as you leaned back on his bed. Chan watched you with that soft look he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But you noticed. You always noticed.

“So, how’s your paper going?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Eh, it’s going,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get it done.”

“Of course, you will. You’re Chan, the man who does everything.”

He laughed, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it go to my head.”

You rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Can I help? Maybe proofread or something?”

Chan glanced at you, and in that moment, it was like his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. It was like someone had hit the pause button on his brain.

“Uh, Chan? Earth to Chan?” you waved your hand in front of his face, giggling.

He blinked, snapping out of his trance. “Sorry, I just... you’re really... distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Distracting? Me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Like, a lot.”

You crawled closer to him on the bed, closing the distance between you. “How so?”

Chan swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because... you’re... you. And you’re here. And it’s just really hard to think straight when you look at me like that.”

You grinned, your heart swelling with affection. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “God, I must look like an idiot.”

“An adorable idiot,” you corrected, pulling his hands away from his face. “And for the record, I think you look pretty hot when you’re all serious and studious.”

His eyes lit up at your words, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, leaning in to kiss him softly.

Chan melted into the kiss, his serious facade crumbling completely. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed in bliss.

“You know, you’re the only person who can make me feel like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like my brain has completely shut down and all I can think about is you.”

You laughed softly, brushing your lips against his again. “Good. Because I feel the same way.”

© deerlino (est. 030624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

[cybsoo2]

sick to my stomach

╰┈➤ synopsis — The sun has long since burnt out, but inside Beomgyu's room, his fever is burning up. Won't an angel come and take care of him?

╰┈➤ pairing —beomgyu x reader (feat. soobin)

╰┈➤ word count — 5.1k

╰┈➤ content warning — sick!fic, vomiting, angst, playful jealousy, pain & suffering

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; sorry i lowkey died. here's a fic for your forgiveness 🫶🏻 inspo from that one soogyu incident. ALSO, i think it's ironic that right as i'm finishing writing this i get food poisoning 💀

As the sun sets, so do the shadows on Beomgyu’s face. The colour slowly fading from his flesh. His skin has long lost its warmth. Now, a cold chill takes over his bones. Lips no longer pink, but now pale and bloody. A bad habit of biting down whenever the pain becomes too much. 

This stomach bug is slowly killing him. 

How did it happen? Was it the winter chill that crept through his window? Tip-toeing through his room, quiet and unassuming. Slow and steady was the sickness. Beomgyu didn’t even notice until he was blinded by the fever. Coughing up a lung as he crawled into bed to retreat. It’s where he’s been resting for hours already. Brain fuzzy and feverish, he barely noticed the sun falling from the sky. The shadows smother his room and replicate his mood. Stuck fading in and out of sleep, he also happens to be unaware of the multiple missed calls lighting up his phone. 

The plans he had with you and Soobin are long lost in the back of his mind. This fever has made him forgetful and calling to cancel wasn’t his main focus. He only remembers his previous plans when he hears your voice calling out into the empty house. 

“Beomgyu?” You sound so happy, so excited for your plans he has to ruin. Immediately, he’s run over with regret. The very least he could do is not burden you with his sickness. But now you’re wandering up to his room, bound to be disappointed at what you’ll find waiting for you. 

“Soobin’s on his way, I think we’ll end up taking his car.” He can hear your footsteps going up the stairs. Getting closer and closer to his quiet room. “Beomgyu?...” The silence is unsettling. You stop for a moment on the stairs, listening intently for any sign that he’s actually alive. Only now do you begin to grow concerned at his lack of response. The silence drags out, each second adds to the anxiety eating away at your stomach. It spirals from there, confused thoughts clutter your mind. It’s so hard to think straight, the worry will only disappear when you see him for yourself. So you continue up the stairs, tentative and unaware of what to expect. 

When you open the door to his room, a ray of light streams in from the entrance. It hits Beomgyu in the eyes and he has to blink a few times to readjust. In his hazy vision, he can see the outline of you in the doorway. Is he hallucinating? You look just like an angel. A halo of light illuminates your features. Concern and confusion make-up your expression. 

Beomgyu looks like the exact opposite. His eyes are glassy as they gaze up at you. Swollen from sleep, he struggles to open them all the way. In his iris, you can see how sick he really is. The stray tear trails down his face and you reach out to wipe it away. His cheeks are already a rising red colour. They’re warm in your palms and he chases your touch. Your hands, so cold in contrast. It calms his burning fever and he lets his eyes fall shut. For a brief moment, time is frozen. Your touch is like snowflakes on his skin. The words you speak softly like the winter wind. His room has become like heaven. Just his angel and him, and for this small second, he forgets about the pain that plagues him. 

While Beomgyu is distracted, you take the time to look over his condition. His body’s temperature is rising; Skin glistening with sweat, the damp sheets, and bangs that stick to his forehead. You brush back the strands of hair and place your palm to his forehead. 

“Shit—You’re burning up.” Worry weighs heavy in your chest. It squeezes your heart and stirs up a stomachache. “How long have you been like this?” You ask softly while staring into his eyes. Your hands run through his damp hair, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. 

He turns to look up at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. “A while.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he thinks back to when the fever struck. “I woke up already feeling sick, but I guess it got worse around noon.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve gotten here earlier.” Your voice is deep with distress. It’s eating at you from the inside out. Slowing chipping away at the cavity in your chest. Sinking in its vampire teeth and filling you with venom. 

It’s so out of character to see the usually outgoing guy act so quiet. To see him almost on the edge of tears is startling to say the least. This sickness has stolen his heart and left him to rot. 

“You know I hate to see you hurting like this.” You whisper into the room. There’s a touch of vulnerability in your voice. The words are spoken so softly, as if you might cry if you try to talk any louder.

Beomgyu turns to look at you. All his attention on the sound of your concern. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. But now that I’m here, let me try to help you.” You offer him a small smile. One that says, ‘Anything you need, I’ll be here for you.’

“Do you know your temperature?” You ask.

“No,” he groans, leaning more into your arms. “I didn’t think to check.” His voice is hoarse. Sore from the sickness, he tries to speak softly, almost in a whisper. You have to lean in closer to hear what he says.

“Okay well, I’ll go get the thermometer. I should also call Soobin to tell him you’re sick. Maybe he could even pick up some soup for you.” You say while grabbing your phone from your back pocket. You dial the ten digits and then Soobin’s speaking through the phone.

“Hey, Beomgyu’s sick so we won’t be able to hangout like we planned.” You say while attempting to sit up, but a certain someone stops you. Untangling yourself from Beomgyu and taking away his only source of comfort. He whines when you pull away but you try to ignore it and focus on what Soobin is saying. You cover the phone with your other hand and bring it down to your chest, trying to muffle the conversation.

“I’ll be right back.” You say and start to stand up again. But Beomgyu's sudden grip on your wrist says otherwise.

“No, don’t leave.” He looks up at you through half-lidded eyes. He’s almost on the edge of falling asleep, but the sudden scare of you abandoning him leaves him restless and awake. Alone in this empty room, far away from your warmth and missing your embrace.

“I’m just gonna grab the thermometer. I’ll only be a minute.” You try to reassure him. 

He doesn’t appear to be persuaded as his grip only tightens. Soft and slender, he uses his other hand to wrap around your wrist. Tugging at your arm, he tries to get you to stay with him. Using all his strength, he barely even makes you stumble. It worries you how weak he is. Plagued by pain, insomnia, and a rising heat, you can’t help but pity him.

You let out a soft sigh. Your heart truly hurts for him. Reaching out, you run your hands through his hair. A slight distraction to sooth him. Beomgyu closes his eyes at the feeling, slowly falling faster to sleep. Shhh. You hush his worries. Him, slowly succumbing to sleep after making you promise to come back quickly. Only then can you take the time to step away and finish talking to Soobin.

You don’t stray too far, only walking off into the bathroom in search of the thermometer, medicine and a quiet place to talk. You rummage through the cabinets in a rush. Eye-brows furrowed and growing frustrated. The thermometer you found tucked away in a drawer, but you can’t seem to find any medicine at all. “Maybe pick up some medicine while you’re at the store, I can’t find anything here.” You say to Soobin, voice laced with frustration. 

“Got it! What type should I get?” Soobin sounds upbeat despite the situation. Always happy to help, he’d do anything for his members.

“His fever’s pretty high,” You sit down on the edge of the bathtub and sigh. “Sounds like he has a sore throat too. Probably just get him some Advil and cough drops.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in 20 then.” His voice rings into the room.

You sigh in relief, one less thing to worry about. “Thanks so much Soobin, I’ll see you soon. Bye.” You hang up the phone and tuck it back in your pocket. 

When you go to check back on Beomgyu, he’s just as you left him– fast asleep and still as sick as before. You stick the thermometer in his mouth that hangs slightly open– soft snores escaping it. He only startles a bit, shutting his mouth around the object and shifting slightly. But otherwise, he doesn’t wake. Long lost to the cycle of sleep. There’s use in waking him, he could probably use the rest. He looks so peaceful like this. Sound asleep and buried beneath all the blankets. 

The chills seem to come and go. It’s like a wave that rolls in– soaking him in a cold sweat, then the sun appears to bring back the heat. His body can’t seem to regulate his temperature. You’ve learned over the years (after one too many unfortunate fevers) that a wet rag would help. After running to grab one, you place it on Beomgyu’s forehead. Other than this there’s nothing else you can do while he’s asleep. The thermometer finally beeps, letting you know it’s time to check his temperature. You pull it out of Beomgyu’s mouth and– Shit. 102.9, it’s pretty high. What he needs is medicine and some proper sleep. Soobin should be arriving soon, and then you should get started on making him something to eat as well. With one last look at him, you kiss his forehead and head downstairs to wait for Soobin’s arrival.

It didn’t take long for Soobin to arrive. When he got there, the conversation was quick. A few words exchanged, a short trip up to check on a still sleeping Beomgyu, and a promise to reschedule your plans whenever he gets better. After that, your attention was drawn to getting started on the soup. Maybe making him something to drink– and a few snacks too. He needs something light and easy on the stomach. You’re so focused on gathering the ingredients and stirring the soup that you don’t even notice the man sneaking up on you until he speaks. 

“Liar,” Beomgyu spits, betrayal in his tone. 

You spin around at the sound of his voice. Still rough from the cold, and slightly raspy since he just woke up. It’s a bit of a surprise to see him, you expected him to sleep a lot longer. 

“What do you mean?” You ask. “And what are you doing up? You should be laying down upstairs. Resting.” Your concern quickly overtakes your curiosity.  

Beomgyu ignores you and continues on,“You said you would be right back, but then you left.” He says with a sulk. All the while sinking down into the seat at the table. He lays his head on the wood top, watching you. 

“Oh,” You let out a scoff and smile in relief. “I thought I did something serious.”

“It is serious!” He tries to shout. His voice so strained that it comes up as more of a whisper. “You already promised you’d stay and take care of me, it’s too late to back out. And now you’re off having fun and hanging out with Soobin while I was upstairs suffering. Talk about betrayal,” He grumbles. 

You can’t help but try to bite back a smile at Beomgyu’s petty attitude. You just ignore his eyes on you and continue to stir the soup– it’s almost ready. “He only stopped by to drop off the soup and some medicine. We really didn’t talk for long.” Turning your head to look at him with a small smirk, you then say, “And how would you know what we were doing anyways. You were asleep.”

“I can assume.” Beomgyu mutters under his breath. “I don’t need Soobin stealing my girlfriend away from me when I’m at my weakest.” 

“No ones stealing me away. Just focus on getting better and don’t worry about anything else.” You walk over to him and hand him a bowl. It’s filled with berries, the blue and red ones that are his favourite. Something to snack on while you finish the soup. 

“Okay,” He sighs softly, accepting defeat to the playful argument. He takes the bowl and pops a berry in his mouth. He doesn’t have the energy to continue teasing you. Talking is growing tiresome. His throat aches and his thirst is insatiable. His chatter-box is beginning to break, slowly succumbing to the sickness like the rest of his rotting body.

Instead, he observes you. Following your movements like he’s watching a movie. It’s obvious he’s still tired. Eyes blinking slowly, lazy movements, and a quiet voice. He said he can’t get much sleep. Drifting in and out of dreamland, finally falling asleep only to wake up an hour later. 

After he eats, you’ll make sure he sleeps. The shadows are closing in and the sky is growing darker. The odd star shines through the navy night, and the moon will join them very soon. What little light the day still offers shines through the window. It illuminates a small corner of the kitchen– the one where Beomgyu sits now. 

You walk over to him– a warm bowl of soup held in each hand. Beomgyu can smell it from where he sits. The savoury scent makes his mouth water. He hasn’t eaten all day and he’s eager to have it all. But despite his hunger, his stomach stirs with nausea. 

As if you can read the hesitance on his face, you smile at him with encouragement and say, “Just eat what you can. We can always save the rest for later.” Beomgyu nods and takes the first bite. Then another and another, until almost the entire bowl is finished. 

You let out a laugh, “Slow down, don’t force yourself. Eating too fast will only upset your stomach.”

“It’s really good. Thank you.” He truly means it. He appreciates you staying by his side despite everything. Shouldering his burdens and sharing his troubles. His soul shines through his eyes, an amber colour in the light. And through his iris, it’s clear to see that he’s lovesick for you.

Although, the love only lasts for so long. “Well you don’t have to thank me, thank Soobin. He’s the one who bought it.” Beomgyu’s face immediately wrinkles in disgust. You can’t help but let a small smile slip at his expression. 

“Okay, well if you’re done we can head up to bed.” Sitting up from the table, you take away his empty dishes to put in the sink. You’ll deal with them tomorrow.

“You’ll stay with me right?” Beomgyu grabs the hem of your sweater as you pass by. You stop still and look down at him with a tired smile. “Of course, I’m getting pretty tired too.” 

You both make your way upstairs in a sleepy state. Tangled closely to one another and holding on tight. Not sure which limb is whose and where you begin and he ends. You stumble through a nighttime routine. Changing quickly then crawling into bed. Although that’s not before you remember to grab an Advil and wet rag. Placing it upon his forehead and giving him the tiny pill. It’s easy to drift off into sleep after that. The warmth you two emit, wrapped around each other and bundled in the blankets, chases off the winter chill. The darkness creeps into the room, closing your eyes, and dragging you off deep in a dream.

When you first wake, it isn’t by choice. Confused and still clinging onto sleep, it’s hard to think straight. You can’t see anything in the dark, but you can feel the frosty air that snuck in through the open window. The cold chill bites at your skin. It leaves you with red marks, frostbite nipping at your nose and numbing your hands. You can’t shake the shiver that runs up your spine. If you don’t shut the window, then you might end up just as sick as Beomgyu. 

You try to sit up, but the warmth of the bed brings you back down. The sheets tied around your legs, handprints sinking into the mattress, and a certain boy that pulls you closer. 

Every part of Beomgyu is tangled up in you. He’s wrapped up in your warm embrace. His hand bunches up the fabric of your shirt. His grip is tense, as if he’s desperately trying to get closer. He’s chasing after your heat. Your bleeding heart that pumps blood– hot and heavy. He craves your warmth and needs your love (The only two things that’ll end this sickness).

It’s not a want, but a need. You can hear it in the way his teeth chatter. Milk bone biting back a chill. You can feel how he shivers. Shaking like a leaf while in your arms. 

You try to open your eyes in the dark, fighting off the shadows to see what’s wrong. Beomgyu has a look of pain etched into his skin. A strike of worry hits you in the heart. You try to take a closer look, untangling yourself from the tight grip he has around you. With your free hand, you brush back the bangs that cast shadows on his skin. Your other hand carefully cradles the back of his head, turning his sleeping face away from where it hides burrowed into your shoulder, and up to look at you instead. 

His pale skin reflects the moonlight. It shines with sweat and when you glance down, you can see that he’s sweat through his shirt too. His fever has only seemed to have risen, growing more angry and ruthless than before. To check your suspicions, you gently cup his cheek in your hand. A quiet gasp leaves your lips. He’s hot to the touch.

The medicine mustn’t have been enough. And the wet rag, now fallen and forgotten on the floor, has long grown warm. You immediately sit up, now wide awake and full of worry. 

Even in his sleep Beomgyu can sense you slipping away. He shifts over to your side of the bed. His hand outstretched, trying to chase your ghost. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he can’t find you. A sad look falls upon your face and you take his hand without thinking twice. Rubbing circles along his skin– slow and rhythmic. His subconscious responds, squeezing your hand tight and not letting go. 

As you look down at the sorry sight of your boyfriend, you try to decide whether to wake him or not. Should you just let him sleep a little while longer? Let him live off in a dream, distant and unaware. His mind separate from the suffering his body endures. Although you don’t really want to disturb him, it’d probably be better to. Changing the sheets, giving him more medicine– it’ll all help to bring his fever down. So you lean in close and speak softly to him, “Beomgyu.” Your voice sweet as sugar. “Baby, wake up.” You rub up and down his arm so as not to startle him. 

Beomgyu begins to wake at the movement. Tired eyes still heavy with sleep. Dreams of you and him still dancing in his head. His peace is now replaced with pain and he whines at the feeling of being awoken. 

“Shhh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Your hand slides down to stroke his back. It settles a chill and brings back the heat in his bones. 

Now slightly more awake, Beomgyu looks to you for the reason he’s awake. In your iris is a sea of grief. The dark sorrow swimming in your eyes, draining their colour and painting them gray. 

You hesitate before speaking, “Your fever hasn’t seemed to have gone down. I’m gonna go grab you some more Advil– hopefully that works.” You glance down at the bed, avoiding his eyes. “I should probably change the sheets too. You sweat right through them.” 

It’s only now that you mention it does he start to notice the heat that’s scorching his skin. The pain hits him all at once. His skin, sticky with sweat. Clothes stuck like a second skin and cold from the icy air. A headache drives it’s way through his skull. The pressure building right between his eyes. 

Emotions overwhelmed, he begins to tear up. Red-rimmed eyes and crystal tears, he’s pretty when he cries. But the sad sight still hits your heartstring and sweet nothings start to leave your lips. 

“I know, I know it hurts. I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this.” You pause for a moment, swallowing down the sympathy that’s stuck in your throat. This new wave of worry makes it hard to talk. You even find that you have to take the time to fight back your own tears. “I’ll be right back.”

Beomgyu can’t find his words. Too tired to talk, he just lets out a low groan. He can feel you slipping away from him. Detangling yourself from the sheets and leaving his arms. His hand still holds yours and he only lets go at the last moment. 

He sees you reach down and grab the wet cloth off the floor. Then he’s watching you walk away through blurry vision. 

You aren’t gone for long, rushing to grab everything Beomgyu needs with no time to spare. But by the time you get back, the cold air has already reached him. Goosebumps litter his skin, his hair stands on end. He’s constantly switching between cold chills and a scorching heat. Too hot for a sweater, but too cold to be left alone.  

It’s only a mere minute before you’re back by Beomgyu’s side. Sliding into bed while he’s pulling you close. He sits up a bit once he sees the pills in the palm of your hand. Two red tablets, the type that’s easy to swallow without an after-taste. He drinks them down with the water you’ve given him. He’s greedy with the way he takes it all. The cool liquid soothing his thirst and calming the heat. He downs the whole glass then goes to hand it back to you. 

You quickly put the empty glass on the bedside table, then turn back over to face him. “Go back to bed.” You softly push his head back onto the pillow. Your fingers run through his hair, pushing it out of the way to place the wet cloth back on his forehead. “Try to get as much rest as you can. Just wake me up if you need anything.” He only huffs in response, too lazy to talk and already falling fast asleep. Once you see his body relax and eyes slowly shut, only then can you go to sleep without any worries weighing you down.

The rest of the night is a hazy collection of heatstroke. Beomgyu can’t remember anything too clearly, but he knows you never left his side.

When he’d start throwing up in the middle of the night, you’d rub his back and soothe the sickness.  

The lights dimmed down so as not to agitate his headache. The lightbulb flickers overhead. It illuminates the tears that trail down his face. They leave angry red lines that run down from his eyes to his lips.  

A sharp pain shoots through his stomach. It’s a constant pain that cuts up his insides. He’s emptied out everything he’s eaten, but the stomachache still stays. His head hangs over the toilet, forehead resting on his arm. The nausea is always sudden to strike, the slightest movement setting it off. Although his body aches and he’s throwing up till it’s acid, you being there helps. The way you rub up and down his back is like an anchor. Something to steady him, a soothing rhythm. 

Your own head rests against Beomgyu’s nape. Still fighting off the remnants of sleep. Your whole body shaken at being awoken so suddenly by Beomgyu rushing to the bathroom. The quiet room and winter air threaten to drag you back to sleep, but you blink back the feelings. You’re here to focus on comforting the boy beside you. Even if you can’t do much to stop the sickness, just your presence is enough to bring some solace. 

Your fingertips trace up along his spine. He can feel your touch through his shirt and he shivers at the feeling. Your warmth melts through the fabric and Beomgyu feels bare in front of you. He’s at his most sensitive and exposed, all for you to see. Yet, you accept him with open arms, and he couldn’t be anymore grateful.

When all the movement makes him dizzy, you’d hand him aspirins and water to wash it down. 

The cup chilled from the frozen air. The heat of his hands leave fingerprints along the glass. He downs the drink in a second, starving for something to help his aching throat. It hurts to take a breath or even try to talk. Everytime a sentence scratches its way out from under his tongue, you shush him almost instantly. Sweet whispers of ‘Don’t talk’ and ‘I know what you’re trying to say’ are spoken. There’s no need for him to talk when you already know him so well. The next minute you’re handing him cough drops to soothe his sore throat. 

Beomgyu pouts, they’re the bitter ones. The fake grape flavor that makes him sick to his stomach. He hates how they taste and refuses to eat them. But the next thing he knows he’s backtracking his words and you’re coaxing them down his throat with a kiss. You always taste so sweet, like strawberries at sunrise. He doesn’t even realize he’s swallowed them down like pills until you’re pulling back and he’s chasing you for more. Softly biting down on your bottom lip, his hands begin to wander. In the bathroom, dimly lit and at dawn, all his pain has run away. He can’t focus on anything other than your lips and how his heartbeat pounds in his chest. But Beomgyu is still sick and you’re pulling back to say, “If I kiss you anymore I’ll end up just as sick as you.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” He looks up into your eyes. It’s an endearing sight to see, his pink cheeks flushed and lips red from your attack. But the image of pain still peeks through, his eyes shine with tears that gather at the waterline. You let out a soft laugh, wiping away the tears before they fall. “Are you sure about that? Cause you don’t look to be doing so well.”

Beomgyu grabs your hand and holds it to his face. All he can do is whisper without it hurting, “But I’d take care of you. Just like you’re looking after me. Then it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips. Your heart hums a tune of tender delight. Heartstrings strumming a soft symphony of love and adoration.“I don’t doubt that you’d take care of me well, but let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. Let’s focus on you first, the one who’s actually sick.” 

Beomgyu lets out a huff at the reminder of his illness. Even just the words washing over him is enough for the pain to multiply. His attention back on the aches that run along his body, the heat that makes his shirt stick to his skin, and the fatigue that takes away his focus. 

He looks exhausted. Eye bags beginning to appear. Pink that’ll turn to purple if he can’t catch anymore sleep. “Come on,” You sigh at the sight of him. “Let’s get you to bed.”  You grab his arm and guide him out of the bathroom. 

Bits are pieces like this are all he remembers before the fever breaks.

It’s early in the morning. The sun begins to rise, bringing with it a rare warmth. The heat melts the snow and if for only a moment, winter’s wrath has begun to subside. 

Beomgyu wakes up feeling slightly better than before. His headache has lessened, only a dull ache remains. His limbs no longer feel heavy with fatigue, instead he’s weightless and well rested. The sun is shining on his face, the bright light waking him up. Beomgyu blinks back the remnants of sleep and lets out a yawn. 

Spring is blooming. A flower bud that shoots up from the snow. It’s a gentle blossom, one that’s so unlike yesterday's snow storm. The smell of flowers and the sun’s warm touch has begun to snuff out the sickness. Although nothing can compare to the real warmth right across from him. Beomgyu opens his eyes and sees you. You’re still asleep, slumbering off in a distant dream. You must have moved in your sleep, because your hair is sticking up in all directions and you’ve left his arms in the middle of the night.

Beomgyu reaches over, grabbing your arm to try and pull you closer. Right when he touches you, he can already tell something is wrong. You’re hot to the touch, a blistering heat that burns straight through your skin. Concern immediately overtakes him. Gently, he puts his palm to your forehead to check your temperature. Just as he thought, you’re running a fever. 

It’s most likely his own fault. If he didn’t kiss you so carelessly– kept asking for more, then you probably wouldn’t end up sick. Although, he can’t lie and say that he’s sorry. Having you stuck with him until the sickness dies down is like a cruel dream. Wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing your warmth and waiting till the days go by. Sleeping in a bed made for two, twisted in the sheets and talking for hours. And even when it’s the worst of it– the chills and the aches, the sick stomach and the burning heat. You don’t need to worry, because he’ll take care of you. Just like he promised.

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

[sellenite]

cherry blossoms 04 pairing: virgin!Choso x fem!reader contents: fingering (f! receiving), squirting, praise kink (lightly), friends to lovers word count: 3.5K notes: hi everyone <3 if you have been following this little series I am so sorry for the insane delay in posts, I have been struggling with my health recently and it took me a lot longer to write this than I hoped! but I am feeling better now and I sincerely hope everyone enjoyed reading. as always, thank you so, so very much for any and all likes, reblogs and/or comments 🥲🫶 MDNI | 18+

The night didn’t go the way you had expected it to, in all honesty. You thought you would probably kiss him, tentatively at first, and maybe eventually with a little tongue. You assumed he would be shy, that you may have to guide his hands to your body and encourage him to feel you under his palms. You had fantasized about going farther, giving him head, but you didn’t think you would actually get the chance to. And the last thing you expected was to find yourself in the position you were in now, with Choso practically begging you to let him return the favor. He wasn’t quite sure how to please you yet, but he was determined to try. And he was not about to pass up the opportunity to show his gratitude to you, not after you had just given him the gift of your mouth. You could see the adoration and lust in his deep purple eyes as he gazed at you, and you couldn’t help but give in.

“Well, maybe I could show you first if you want,” you offered as you were seated on his lap, thighs straddling his as you ran the tip of your finger up the hem of his t-shirt. “I could teach you what I like, and then you could try it?” Your gaze met his, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to make him feel too overwhelmed too fast. Choso had gone from never kissing a girl to having his first sexual experience in the span of a few hours, and you were nervous that taking your clothes off for him might just do him in. But Choso was determined and nodded eagerly in response to your suggestion.

“Yeah, teach me… I want to know how to please you,” Choso said, his voice huskier. His lips parted ever so slightly as he looked at you, taking in your face—the soft kindness of your eyes, the slight flush of your cheeks, and your pretty lips. He wondered if you could feel how devoted he was to you at this moment, see it in his eyes how he ached to please you, to make you feel as good as you made him feel. You smiled at him softly, running a hand through his deep brown locks before pressing a lingering kiss to his parted lips.

“Do you have a mirror?” You asked him after pulling away, a mischievous glint sparkling in your eyes that made Choso’s brain drop straight to his dick.

After fishing through the cluttered drawers of his and Yuji’s shared bathroom, you finally procured an old dollar-store hand mirror. Choso followed you back to his living room, quiet confusion evident on his face as you instructed him to sit down with his back against the couch's armrest. You swallowed down the last bit of your nerves as you shimmied your sweatpants off, your eyes glancing over to Choso’s with a meek smile. Choso’s eyes were glued to your figure the entire time, gazing in awe as you revealed more of your bare skin to him. He was still confused about what you had planned, but it was easy enough for him to become distracted by your body. His hands found your hips tentatively as you joined him on the couch, slotting your body between his legs as you laid back against his chest. His palms smoothed down over your thighs so softly as you leaned into him, as if he may hurt you or scare you away if he put too much pressure.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you heard him murmur into your ear, more to himself than to you. He shifted behind you, perching his chin onto your shoulder to watch as his hands traced over your body, relishing the feeling of your soft skin beneath his palms. “Just want to touch you everywhere.” You could feel his breath ghosting over your ear as he leaned over your back, the pressure of his hands becoming hungrier as he grew more comfortable touching you.

You laughed contentedly as you settled back into Choso’s chest, in no rush to hasten his exploration of your body. You leaned into his touch, letting your knees fall relaxed and parted into the caging of his own as his palms groped the backs of your thighs, moving closer to your ass. Choso let out something akin to a grunt as he felt all the curvy parts of you melding into his touch, felt the way your body relaxed into his, starting to open up to him. He barely even registered that he was searching for your skin with his mouth until you let out a light, shuddered moan when his tongue pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

“Mmm, Choso… Are you sure you haven’t done this before,” you teased him lightly, extending your head to the side to give his lips even more access to the skin there while his hands continued to play with the shape of your body. “Never,” he slurred haphazardly against your skin, far too intrigued by your taste and feel to form any coherent response. You felt his hands sliding back up toward your hips again as his tongue worked against your neck, drunkenly enthusiastic in his efforts to consume as much of you as possible. His thumbs pushed up your hips, sliding under the elastic of your underwear before he realized that he had entered new territory. His lust-heavy eyes turned once again to gaze over your shoulder, watching the space between your thighs as his thumbs poked out from your underwear line, dangerously close to the space he wanted to see the most.

“Is this okay?” He asked you breathlessly, already worked up again from the excitement of touching you like this. You nodded against his shoulder, turning your head to look at his face, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “You can take them off if you want,” you told him softly, your eyes mirroring the same want you burning in his dark irises.

“Can I?” Choso swallowed dryly, his thumbs lightly pulling on your underwear's waistband, restlessly toying with it. He wasn’t anxious to see more of you but more so just engulfed by the privilege of being with you like this, to have the honor of you trusting him with your body. “Wanna see how pretty you are here too,” he said softly, nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours as you twittered with affection. You kissed him in response, smiling against his mouth as your lips melded together, one of your hands reaching up around the back of his neck to lace your fingers through his hair.

You held each other like this for a few moments, the emotions between you soft, the slightest stirrings of a young love flitting in your stomach, like the beginning of spring. Choso’s hands tentatively began to push the waistband of your underwear down slowly enough that you could stop him if you wanted. But you didn’t, only breaking away from his lips so you could lift your hips with a smile, helping him to slide the fabric down your legs. You settled back against his chest once you were free of the garment and positioned the mirror between your parted thighs, laughing lightly to yourself at the very hands-on anatomy lesson you were about to give.

Choso’s chin was propped up on your shoulder again, wetting his lips as you angled the mirror between your thighs so he could see the reflection of your glistening heat. “Can you see okay?” You giggled as you asked him, feeling the slightest bit shy as you bared the most intimate part of your body open for him to see. Choso nodded quickly against your shoulder, suddenly feeling like his words were caught in his throat as he stared hungrily at the reflection of your pussy in the mirror. He had never seen a woman naked before, but he felt his body reacting to the sight of you almost instinctually. His cock, which had been steadily swelling up beneath his sweats, was now pressed firmly against the plush of your ass. His hands were groping longingly at your inner thighs, his fingertips just barely teasing the swell of your outer lips. You took a breath before you trailed your free hand down to yourself, parting your folds open more so Choso could see all of you. He groaned low in his throat at the sight.

“You’re beautiful… So, so beautiful.” His fingertips grazed closer to your wetness, his breath heavy next to your ear. “Want to touch you, pretty girl, please… Need to feel how soft you are.” Choso’s words were hungrier in your ear now, needier as he devoured your slick skin with his eyes. “I’ll show you how,” you told him softly before you gently took his hand in your own and guided it between your thighs.

Choso watched unblinking as you placed his middle finger on top of your clit, with your hand resting gently on top of his own as a guide. “This is the clitoris,” you said to him gently, pushing your middle finger down into his. “It feels really good when you touch it… Kind of like this,” you explained, trying to make your voice sound confident despite the way it shook from the feeling of his fingers on you.

You rubbed your finger over his to demonstrate how you would touch yourself, biting your lip when Choso mimicked the movement against your sensitive skin. He rubbed circles into your swollen bud with his calloused fingertip, the digit gliding effortlessly over your flesh from how wet you were already. His other hand gripped the plush of your thigh with vigor, holding onto it like an anchor. Choso wanted to treat you gently; you were so soft to him, so pure, he didn’t want his excitement to get the best of him, despite the way he felt every one of his senses desperate to devour you at that moment.

“Am I doing it right?” He asked you, breathing heavily next to your ear as he let your hand guide him, slowly adding pressure on his own as he became more familiar with your body. It brought him so much pride to know that he was making you feel good; he wanted to please you as much as he possibly could, do everything and anything you wanted. So he followed the cues you gave him diligently, watching the reflection of your pussy in the mirror, how the small hole at the bottom of you seemed to tighten up when he pressed a little harder.

“Uh huh, you’re doing so good for me, Cho,” you praised him sweetly, the pitch of your voice rising slightly in your effort to keep your moans in. You bit your lip harder, trying to stay quiet enough to continue to give Choso instructions, but it was getting increasingly difficult. You guided his movements for a few more moments before you removed your hand from his and let him continue at his own pace, opting instead to hold onto his forearm.

“I wanna make you feel really good,” Choso slurred against your skin as he turned to bury his face into your neck once more, sloppily sucking on your exposed skin. His fingers kept moving, dragging circles around the swell of your clit, experimentally running up and down the bump, and your hips twitched in his lap in response. A louder moan escaped your lips at the increase of sensations, and Choso groaned at your reaction. “Wanna make you sound like that again, too,” he moaned back to you with a grin, his fingers rubbing your clit faster and causing your nails to claw into his forearm. You let out a breathless laugh at his enthusiasm, turning your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You can put your fingers inside me if you want,” you encouraged him. You pushed down on his wrist lightly to guide his movements as he turned back to look in the mirror, watching the reflection as his fingers inched towards your entrance. Choso was inexperienced, yes, but he knew enough about sex to have an idea of where you wanted him—and based on the way your hole pulsed as he touched you, he felt certain that was where you needed him most. His long middle finger dipped down your slit as he gently grazed the outside of it, and you whimpered softly.

“Right here?” Choso asked you breathlessly, circling your entrance as you moaned out your approval. You hadn’t realized how worked up you were until this moment, suddenly feeling desperate to be stuffed full of his thick fingers. And the slow pace that Choso was massaging outside of you was starting to feel agonizingly teasing. “Right there,” you echoed back to him, your nails digging into his forearm with the anticipation of being touched.

“You feel so wet… Are you always like this?” He groaned as he watched his fingers circle you, pulling away just to watch the clear fluid you leaked stick to his fingertips. “It means you’re making me feel good, Choso,” you moaned to him, grinding your core into his fingers to try and get more friction. Choso smiled to himself at your praise as the tip of his finger found your entrance once more, putting the lightest touch of pressure against the ring of muscle.

“More, Choso, please,” you begged him, and you sighed out in pleasure as he happily obliged, finally pushing his thick finger inside of you. Your body welcomed him easily, the wetness of your arousal coating his skin as he slid inside of you, moaning at the feeling of your body wrapped around him. “You’re so warm inside,” he groaned, pushing his finger into you until he had filled you up to his knuckle. You moaned at the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation partially satiating your craving for him, but not enough.

“Add another finger, Cho,” you instructed him as you started to bounce your hips against his hand gently. “And then move them in and out together, and just keep doing that.” Your voice was breathier now, more desperate as his touch got more intimate. Choso nodded over your shoulder, watching with parted lips as he pulled his finger almost entirely out of you before adding his ring finger. You whimpered as he thrust his fingers inside of you—slowly stretching you open—and your hips twitched to meet his hand.

“Like this?” Choso asked you huskily, pumping you full of his fingers as your cunt squelched and leaked around them. You moaned in approval for him as you laid your head back to rest on his shoulder, bracing your body against his broad frame. Your breath was quickening, your inner walls beginning to clench and unclench around him faster. You watched his veined forearm between your thighs, muscles rippling as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sight only making you feel hotter as you rolled your hips to press into him.

You abandoned the mirror to bring your hand to yourself, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing circles into the bud in time with Choso’s thrusts. His grip on your thigh tightened, instinctively pulling your leg open more to watch you touch yourself. He groaned at the sight, eyes heavy-lidded as he felt your walls tighten up around his fingers even more as you rubbed circles into your clit. “Does that feel good?” Choso’s words were heavy next to your ear. You could feel his thick cock pressed into your backside, rolling his bulge into the swell of your ass unconsciously every time you writhed in his lap.

“L-love it, Cho,” your voice came out as a whine as your breathing became more labored, watching his thick fingers pump in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. “Your fingers feel so good inside of me,” you praised him, and Choso groaned behind you before attaching his lips back onto your neck, sucking more marks into the already-bruising skin. He felt utterly consumed by you, and feeling how hot and tight and wet you were around his fingers made him feel some primal kind of urge to sink his teeth into you, to taste you, to hold you, to take you. How he longed to feel those tight, wet walls wrapped around his cock. Choso felt like he could get off from the thought of it alone now that he knew just how soft and warm you were inside.

“Wanna make you cum, pretty girl, please… Wanna feel you cum on my fingers,” he slurred into your skin, moaning like he was the one being pleasured, practically whimpering into your ear. You clenched around his fingers from hearing his needy tone, your hand rubbing faster, stronger circles into your clit.

“Need you t-to curl your fingers into me a little more; can you do that for me?” You begged breathlessly between moans, hoping he could follow along without any further direction. Choso hummed in approval and you felt his fingers curling up, pushing up into your walls, drawing closer and closer each time to exactly where you needed him until he landed right on that spot inside of you. You wailed as his fingers curled into you with precision, your back arching to press further into his hand. Choso groaned at your reaction, utterly enamored with making sure you made that sound over and over again, diligently pressing up into the same spot inside of you with a fast rhythm.

“Is this the spot you like?” Choso rasped against your neck. His fingers were moving quicker and more confidently as your body began to tremble in his arms. He was quickly learning the cues your body gave him, from how your back arched into his touch, how your breathing changed, or how your nails dug harder into his forearm. Words failed you suddenly as you felt that dizzying heat inside of you rising—coil winding tighter inside of your core as you worked yourself up with Choso’s fingers—and all you could do was nod your head desperately. You reached your free hand up and back, arm bending to tighten around his neck, anchoring yourself even further to his body as he pushed you further and further towards your edge.

“Gonna cum, Choso,” you warned him breathlessly, breasts heaving as you braced your body against his. Your legs shook despite the tight hold he had on your thigh, keeping you open for him as your walls began to clench tighter and faster around his fingers. He groaned into your ear as you writhed in his lap, your ass rubbing up against his erection, the delicious friction making him feel like he was about to spill himself.

You could feel that familiar heat, but something else along with it—a sharper build that was flooding your senses with want every time the pads of his fingers massaged against the rough patch of your inner walls. But you were too pleasure-drunk and gasping in Choso’s arms to recognize it until suddenly you were crying out and gushing around his fingers. Choso kept curling his fingers into you, groaning under his breath as he watched you squirt onto his hand as whimpers slipped past your lips, chest heaving and lips parted open.

Your hips twitched in his lap, your body quivering as your brain unraveled in waves of pleasure. Choso’s hips stuttered against your body until he stopped abruptly with a deep groan against your ear, his fingers stilling inside of you while his other hand clutched tightly to your thigh. Whimpered pants left your lips as you started to come down from your orgasm, slumping back against Choso’s shoulder. “Oh my god, Choso,” you laughed breathlessly, your cheeks flushed and body still buzzing from the aftershocks of just squirting all over his fingers. “That was so good; you did so good,” you clarified enthusiastically, turning your face to give him a winded smile.

Choso’s cheeks were flushed just as much as yours, his chin resting heavily on your shoulder. He slid his fingers out of you to hold your other thigh, softly rubbing your skin as he caught his breath. “I did good?” He asked you with a boyish smile, turning his head on your shoulder to meet your eyes. You laughed giddily at his reaction, kissing his cheek affectionately. “More than good, Choso. I– don’t even think you realize how amazing that was for me,” you giggled to him, thinking of how you might possibly begin to explain the concept of squirting to him after all of this. Choso just beamed at you in response, seemingly still coming down from his own physical exertion.

“It was good for me, too,” Choso smiled sheepishly at you. It didn’t take long for all the clues to click into place about exactly how “good” it had been for him, especially once you realized that his noticeable bulge had suddenly vanished. You pressed another soft kiss to Choso’s cheek before your lips met his, tenderly and slowly. The heat of the moment had settled into a warm calm, the song of the long-forgotten movie’s ending credits rolling on in the background of the living room.

AN: omg I have been so nervous to upload this because I feel like my writing skills are so rusty 🥲 but I really hope that everyone still enjoyed this 🫶 also, if you had asked to be tagged and were not, I am so sorry! I decided not to do tags on this one because it had been so long and I wasn't sure who all was still interested 🥲

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Working Ethics

He watched you shuffle out the door as you ignored the 3rd guy who tried to pick you up. He almost went back to people watching when he noticed you leaving and some guy he hadn’t seen before start to follow you, you were drunk but capable. 

You are capable. 

But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you got home safe. 

That’s what friends do. 

He abruptly stood up the drinks on the table sloshing slightly. 

“Where are you off to, pretty boy?” Derek appeared with another drink in his hand. He could finish the bars entire stock if Hotch allowed him to. 

“I’m done, see you guys tomorrow.” Spencer quickly shuffled out before Derek could sink his claws into him. He almost lost sight of you. 

“Come on sweet girl,” He did a complete turn to the alley down the side. “I promise tah treatcha right.”

“Not interested,” he slipped into a corner, he didn’t want to be all hero unless you needed him to. You were an incredible officer. You could whip up your badge and have him down in prison for half his life if you wanted to, maybe you wanted to let him off easy because he was drunk. 

"Hey now, don't be like that I can show you a good time.

“Let go of me you creep.” You sounded alarmed. “Hey, Hey drop the knife-” He didn’t even stop. He came over, pummelling the guy into the alley wall, a switchblade cluttering onto the floor. He dropped the guy and rushed over to where you were. The guy scuttled out the alley, cursing.

“Spencer…” he turns and he meets your worried gaze. Your eyes roving over him. “He didn’t cut you did he?” 

He looks incredulously at you. “Shouldn’t the roles be reversed?”

You were the one about to- so why were you- he-

The confusion must have shown on his face, you smiled. “Yeah but you could have also gotten hurt.” 

“Same as you. Put yourself first.” you looked away. You both know you’re not very good at that. He fully turns to you and you notice how his entire demeanour changes. He seems smaller now. He comes closer and checks you for any cuts. The warmth of the situation goes straight to your brain.

“Thank you,” 

“It’s…” what could he say. Common decency? He paused, “As long as you’re fine.” scratching the back of his head. You moved closer to him before you raised your hand. He froze. He literally stopped breathing. You chuckled slightly. You weren’t the only one going crazy.

“Breathe Spencer, I don’t want my saviour asphyxiating."

“Sorry.” He muttered breathlessly. You wordlessly reach forward and moved your fingers through his hair, careful as though not to startle him. A few knots here and there, you tried to ignore how he leaned unto your touch, how his breath came out ragged, how close you were and how his hands were levitating over your waist barely grazing.

"Thank you for saving me."

You couldn't help overthink everything that brought you here. His gaze was intense, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was trying to read your mind and he just might he’s a damn good profiler after all. You felt yourself getting lost in his eyes, unable to look away, . 

“I’m drunk.” you said leaning into him.

“You’re drunk.” his hands settle on your hips, gripping tightly.  His brain wanted him to push you away but he found himself pulling you in.

“I should leave you alone.” you said wrapping your arms around his neck, despite your words you lean in.

“You should.”

“Should I?” You don’t know what you’re asking him, but he seems to know.

“Don’t but…” you could see his inner turmoil as he grappled with himself.

“But?”

“Working ethics, I don’t know if I can leave you after.” Your lips were so close, his breath ghosted your lips. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to leave?” You moved closer against him, chest against chest, he hissed at the contact.

“Angel, don’t say that, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you tilted your head. “This?” your lips grazed his. “Or this?” pushing yourself against him even more. 

He looked at you with a look so despicable. He kissed you, matching with how he wanted you. Hard and rough. His lips slotted with yours, stealing all your air, his fingers gripped you so tightly it made you dizzy, all you could smell, hear, see, feel was Spencer.

You could feel his heartbeat, his breath, he only had one drink,

“You’re drunk.” he repeated, extricating his hands from you, taking a step back. "I'd be taking advantage of you. I should be leaving you alone.” He kept kissing you though, kissing you silly. “Tell me no, tell me to stop.”

“I’m not leaving you tonight and you’re not leaving me.” dragging him out of the alley.

______________________________________________________________

“Reid, where did you run off to yesterday?” JJ asked from around the corner. Spencer's cheeks tinted slightly as he ran off an excuse.

“Tired, it was a long night.” He nodded as he went back to his files. 

“Really? That’s exactly what she said-” Spencer’s head shot up a little too quickly. Derek’s eyes sparkled. 

“Tsk, you almost got away with it kid.” Derek patted his back. “So your place or hers?”

“What- who’s I don’t know what you both are talking about.” Spencer went on the defensive, he tried to control his movements but unfortunately he was in a room full of profilers.

“Sorry Spence but we got evidence, Derek saw you two on his morning walk.” 

Spencer’s mind floated back to earlier when he was leaving you. 

“I really wish I could drive you instead of dropping you somewhere else.” Spencer whined as he hugged you. 

“It’s okay, I even need to change. I can't exactly go in the same clothes as yesterday, or in your clothes.” 

“I mean, you do look good in my clothes…” his words elicited a blush from you as you remembered last night's events. You couldn’t wear your clothes due to some tears in your clothes which you blame him for. 

“Spencer!!!” he laughs and it’s so soft and hearty you can’t help but laugh with him. 

“C’mere.” he mutters and brings your head closer to his, kissing you so softly you melt in him arms. He pulls away slight;y and smiles at you. “I’m ready to take this however you like, fast or slow, it’s all in your hands.”

“Spencer…” it’s your turn to gush. “How about boyfriend and girlfriend then we move up from there?” 

“I’d like that.” You smile.

“Me too.”

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“Seems pretty boy is reminiscing. So you and her huh? And you didn’t tell us.” Spencer ignores him as he turns to his desk. A door opens somewhere and he instinctively raises his head to catch you entering, removing your hair from your ponytail, you just came back from the shooting range. 

He was mesmerised.

______________________________________________________________

no. 4 of Spencer Reid's firsts

[sl-ut]

sweet dreams

ended up having a baby dream during my nap and thought it would be a v cute burb concept for my sweet cliches series

set in this universe!

abby noticed that something was wrong with her girlfriend almost immediately after she returned from her morning run. she had, of course, left quite early and had been very careful not to wake her cranky pants gf up, but started questioning what she might have done to piss her off already when they hadn't even truly spoken a word.

y/n was in the kitchen when she got back, mixing herself an iced coffee and barely even responding to abby as she came over to kiss her good morning. abby shrugged it off, thinking she was still too tired, but when she rejected her invite to join her in the shower????? that's when she knew something was up.

she spent fifteen minutes in the shower, taking the extra time under the piping hot water to think it over. she knew it wasn't about her leaving a mess before she left; abby was the neat freak in the relationship, so it was usually her getting annoyed by clutter, not the other way around. they'd been on good terms last night, they had even found time in both of their busy schedules that allowed them some spare time to get it on...was it not good? abby thought she'd seen the telltale signs- the whimpers, the heaving chest, the swelling nail marks on her back... she'd never seen y/n fake it before, so she wasn't sure what she wasn't picking up on. unless... what if she had only ever seen her fake it???

then abby goes into panic mode. she finishes her routine as quick as she can (under ten minutes, our low maintenance queen!) and rushes out to find her girl curled up on the couch under a fluffy blanket, not even glancing her at abby as she took up the space next to her.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours? and don't say nothing."

the girl frowned before she stubbornly responded, "nothing."

"did i do something wrong?"

"no."

"then what's the matter? i don't like to see you so down."

"it's stupid."

abby scooted closer, pulling her girl onto her lap, "i could never think that anything to do with you is stupid. please tell me."

"fine, but you have to promise you won't laugh."

abby rolled her pretty blue eyes, "on my own life, i promise i won't laugh."

the girl let out a deep sigh before she mumbled something under her breath.

"gonna need you to speak up for me there, baby."

"i had a dream that i was pregnant and then i had our baby, and we lived in a cute little house with a dog and we were so happy..." she sniffled, "and then i woke up and none of it was real."

abby was silent for a moment before a small smile and chuckle began to crack through her forced serious expression.

"abby!" y/n slapped her arm when she finally broke out in full laughter, "you promised!"

"i'm sorry baby," she held her tighter to her chest to keep her from moving away and began to rock her, "i'm sorry. that was just so cute, if i didn't laugh i was gonna cry."

"i miss our baby."

abby was in her last year of med school, and thanks to her big beautiful brain (and her trust fund), she was remotely debt free. the two had already discussed their plans to start looking for a house in a nice neighbourhood as soon as abby graduated and got a permanent placement somewhere, but the discussion of kids had sort of been sidelined up until now.

the blonde shook her head, "i can't wait to meet our baby. just give me a year, and then we'll start making that dream come true."

y/n beamed with happiness, curling into her girlfriend's beefy arms, "i can't wait to carry your baby."

"trust me," abby chuckled, "i can't wait to put a baby in you. i bet i'll get it to stick first try, but i'm all about consistency. i'm thinking five nights a week minimum."

both girls giggled at abby's joke, snuggling closer together in a peaceful silence before y/n finally spoke up once more.

"abs... you know you can't actually get me pregnant, right? i mean, you're in medical school for god's sake."

[bi-bard]

The Angel, The Demon, and the University Student They "Adopted" - Aziraphale & Crowley Imagine [Good Omens]

Title: The Angel, The Demon, and the University Student They "Adopted"

Pairing: Aziraphale & Crowley X Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 2,071 words

Warning(s): headache, mention of break-up

Summary: In which a struggling college student stumbles upon a demon and an angel, who agree to help in any way they can.

Author's Note: to celebrate the announcement of the release date... and give a little comfort to those who are having a rough time in college right now.

----------------------

I had gone to that small bookshop for something to work on a paper.

I had been looking for it online, but nothing was affordable. My best option was going to be to find a small bookshop that didn't charge as much. I simply had my fingers crossed that it would work out.

I must've been walking around with my eyebrows furrowed for a little while because a man walked up to me. He was wearing a beige suit with a-little-too-perfectly white hair. He seemed friendly enough though.

"Can I help you find something," he asked. I paused for a moment. "Sorry, I'm the owner. I can tell you where everything is."

"Oh, okay," I chuckled. I pointed at a part of my paper where my potential sources had been scribbled down. "Um, yes. I'm looking for this... it's for a school paper."

"I see..." he muttered. "Wait here."

I nodded.

I watched him walk behind a set of shelves. There was maybe a minute of waiting before the man walked out again with the book in his hands.

"Oh, you are a lifesaver," I said excitedly. "Thank you! How much?"

He hesitated, staring at the book. As if he grabbed it without thinking about it but now was realizing that he was going to have to part with it.

"How about a deal," he offered after a few moments. "Once you're done with your paper, bring it back here in largely the same condition. No charge and you have no additional clutter to take up space in your home."

I grinned. "Sounds like a deal."

"Well, then, I wish you luck on your paper," he handed me the book

"Thank you," I said. I only took a few steps toward the door before stopping. "I didn't get your name."

He hesitated for a moment before replying, "A.Z. Fell."

"Oh, I thought... Sorry, I assumed this place had been open for a while, so I thought the name on the front was your father or something."

"Afraid not."

"Well, thank you again. I'll see you in a few days."

Which I did.

A few days later, my paper was done, and I walked back into the little bookshop.

"Mr. Fell," I called.

He rounded the corner. "You're back."

"I'm here to return your book," I held up the book as evidence. "Perfect condition."

"Thank you so much," he said as he grabbed it from me. "I hope you get a good grade on that paper of yours."

"Me too," I chuckled. "In all honestly, I don't think I've read it without just a little more of my brain frying."

"Oh no," he mumbled. "I... I could read it over for you. If that would help, of course. I won't force you to give me your paper."

"I... I can't ask you to do that."

"Well, that's precisely why I'm offering," he grinned at me.

I grinned back. "Okay. When would you like me to bring it by?"

"Do you have time now?"

"Um, yeah, sure."

"Here," he led me into a corner of the shop with a small table. "You get your paper put together and I'll make us some tea."

"Okay," I nodded.

As he walked out, I sat down and unzipped my bag, grabbing the binder that held my paper. I also grabbed a red pen just so it was more convenient.

When he came back, he placed a mug in front of me. I grinned and thanked him.

"You can go find a book to enjoy if you'd rather that than watch me read..." he looked at the paper in front of him. "(Y/n)."

"Thank you."

I took his advice. I took the mug of tea and started pacing around the collection of books. I was scanning the spines of the books when the doors of the shop slammed open.

"Angel!"

I jumped at the sound, looking over at whoever had stormed in. Another man, dressed in all black, sunglasses sitting on his face.

"Who are you?"

"(Y/n)," I said. "Who are you?"

"I have told you to not run in here shouting like that," Mr. Fell walked out of the corner that he had been hiding in.

"Who is this," the other man pointed at me.

"I just told you my name," I replied.

"How am I meant to trust you?"

"Why would I lie about my name?"

"Don't know, you tell me-"

"Stop it," Mr. Fell cut him off. "This is (Y/n). I am reading over a paper that they wrote for school."

"Why?"

"Because it's kind," he turned back to me. "(Y/n), this is... Anthony."

"Nice to meet you," I nodded to Anthony.

"Yeah, you too," he muttered, barely paying me any mind as he spoke to Mr. Fell. "We need to talk."

"I am busy-"

"Do I look like I care?"

"I can come back later," I spoke up.

"No, no, please, I promised to read your paper," Mr. Fell stopped me. "Anthony will simply have to wait."

"Excuse me," Anthony snapped.

"You heard me perfectly well," Mr. Fell mumbled. "Please, stay. I'll finish this paper."

Anthony glared at me as Mr. Fell turned around and went back to the table he had been sitting at.

If you had told me that day that the little bookshop was going to become such a place of comfort for me, then I am not sure that I would have believed you.

But it did.

I continued going to that little shop whenever I had the time. I would study, read, or just help with whatever I could help with. Mr. Fell was not a fan of me doing "so much" work around the shop, but I insisted. He had given me a safe space. The least that I could do was help him maintain it.

I grew closer to him as time went on. I even grew closer to Anthony.

Or Crowley, as I soon learned.

I still chuckled from time to time over how they told me their real names. I had been sitting at the table, scribbling notes for one of my courses.

They both stood in front of me silently until I noticed them. I raised an eyebrow at them. That's when they confessed that their names were fake.

When they told me their real names, I felt bad for chuckling. They both looked a bit confused.

"I'm sorry, but... your fake name just used your real name as a last name," I pointed to Crowley and then to Aziraphale. "And yours was your real name with a couple of letters taken out."

"Alright, we get it," Crowley grumbled.

"Thank you for telling me," I added. "I mean it."

"You're welcome," Aziraphale replied. Crowley didn't say the same until Aziraphale looked over at him with a somewhat grumpy look.

The three of us were only closer after that.

It was nice. Having that small support group that I could turn to.

Aziraphale was always ready to help. As soon as I opened the door of the shop, he was ready for whatever assistance I asked for. A hug, an extra set of eyes on an assignment, a quiet place to read a new book.

Crowley acted cold, but I could tell that he cared.

I came in one day with one of the worst headaches I had ever experienced. Aziraphale was gone, but Crowley had been waiting for him. I walked into the building with the heels of my hands pressed into my eyes. After grumpily explaining what was happening, I walked off to put my bag down and hide in the corner.

He waited for a moment before following me.

"Come here," he said.

"What," I asked.

"Come here," he repeated, holding his arms open.

I kept my eyebrows furrowed as I stepped forward. Once I was close enough to him, he grabbed my arm and pulled me forward into a hug.

"Oh," I mumbled before slowly hugging him back. "This is nice."

"Don't call me that."

I chuckled. "I didn't call you nice."

"Oh...," he muttered. "Well... don't get any clever ideas."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Crowley."

I closed my eyes for a minute, holding onto him a little tighter.

I don't know what happened, but I could feel my headache slowly fading away as we hugged. It felt like it was there one minute and gone the next. I let out a sharp breath when it was gone. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of my head.

"Thank you," I said after a while.

"Yeah, whatever."

That may have been the closest I ever got to a you're welcome with him and I was okay with that. For the time being.

I don't know if I truly realized how much Crowley and Aziraphale cared for me until I walked in crying.

I felt like a child. I was crying as I walked down the sidewalk.

When I made it to the shop, I almost sprinted inside.

Aziraphale jumped at the force I used to open the door. Any scolding died as soon as he saw me.

"Oh, dear," he muttered, walking over to me. "What happened to you?"

He pulled me into a hug as I cried. I hid my face in his shoulder, clinging to his suit a bit as I did. I saw Crowley walk out from around the corner.

"What's going on," he asked.

I stepped back. I went to speak but nothing came out.

"Come on," Aziraphale guided me to my normal corner, guiding me to sit down. I dropped my bag on the floor and wiped my eyes. "Take your time."

Crowley sat in the spot next to me while Aziraphale stayed standing.

"There's... There's this guy," I explained. "I... We were seeing each other for a little while. We went on a few dates. I thought... I thought it was going well. And then, he just... changed. And he sent me this."

I tossed my unlocked phone on the table. Aziraphale grabbed it first. I heard a disgusted sound escape him.

"That is just... despicable," he muttered, placing the phone down.

Crowley reached out and grabbed the phone. I saw his face twist in disgust as a reaction.

"I think he sounds like a waste of time," he said as he placed my phone down. "It's stupid to waste an ounce more of your time on him."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale was fast to scold him.

"What?"

"Now is not the time to insult (Y/n) about their relationship!"

"I'm not! I'm only insulting them if they decide to spend any more time on this person. What I did was just an example of bluntness."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look before turning back to me with a soft grin. "I am going to make you some tea. You just relax. And Crowley..."

Crowley smirked at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Be nice."

"I am not nice."

"Well, maybe now is a good time to try."

Aziraphale turned around and walked away from the pair of us.

There was a pause between the pair of us before I could speak up.

"Do you actually think that I'm stupid for wasting time on this guy," I asked quietly.

Crowley let out a sigh as he sat up a little bit straighter, tilting his head so he was looking me in the eye. "Not as stupid as he was for leaving you."

I felt a grin form on my face. He leaned over and kissed my head before standing up.

"I'm going to get you something a little stronger than tea."

"I don't drink-"

"And I clearly meant chocolate."

I chuckled and shook my head. "Thank you, Crowley."

"You're welcome."

He walked out of the little nook in the corner.

As he did, I leaned my head on my folded arms on the table. I felt my eyes slowly shutting. I felt bad because of what the pair were off doing, but I couldn't help it. It had just been such a long day. I couldn't help it.

As my blinking got slower and slower, I found myself thinking about how lucky I was to be in that situation.

I had never felt as safe as I was when I spent time in that little bookshop.

I would never be able to thank Crowley and Aziraphale for that.

But I would never stop trying to do so.

----------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[whatsnewalycat]

what do you need?

Pairing: BratTamer!Joel Miller x Brat!F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: no show spoilers, established relationship, non-canon compliant, post-outbreak, smut, swearing, brat “taming”, D/s dynamic, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, pain kink, impact play, collar wearing, maybe might have taken a snippet of dialogue from how the world works by bo burnh@m for horny reasons, unprotected piv sex, crying, shower, overstimulation, choking, spitting in mouth, fluff

A/N: I feel like this story is going to be presented as evidence when I'm rejected from the pearly gates post-mortem. Happy birthday to Joel Miller, sorry your birthday was a huge bummer that one time. Big big smoochies to @frannyzooey for helping me with several things and just generally being awesome.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

You’re having one of those days. 

You know. 

The kind of day where everything you come into contact with barbs into your flesh and tugs at your nerves. 

Noises out on the street too loud, cupboards too empty, coffee too weak, counters too cluttered, shower too cold, clothing too tight—fuck, even your skin feels too fucking tight. 

Overstimulated. 

Exhausted. 

Restless. 

You’ve given pieces of yourself out hand over foot, and now you’re at a deficit and the world around you is still hungry, even though you’ve been picked to bare bones. Everything is too much and too little all at the same time. 

The toddler that lives in the apartment above yours is throwing a temper tantrum. The kid’s defiant screeching rubs against your brain like fiberglass until all four walls of your living room feel like they’re closing in around you, squeezing you out like a tube of toothpaste, suffocating you. 

And you’re thinking: If I don’t release some of this pressure I might go all fucking Hindenburg and explode. 

The apartment door swings open, and Joel walks in, his broad shoulders all slumped like he’s carrying the goddamn weight of the word. He glances over at you as he slides the chain lock closed, “Hey, darlin’.”

You look up from your place on the couch, where you’re hunched over crossed legs, elbows digging into your thighs. All sharp angles and tense muscles. Without responding, you return your attention to the glass of moonshine dangling from your grip. Swirl it around a little. Take a big swallow and try not to wince as it burns down to your belly. 

Joel stands there for a beat, watching you, waiting for your manners to kick in. When they don’t, he huffs and stomps into the kitchen. Cupboard doors slam and glass clinks as he searches for a clean cup, then pours himself a drink. 

And, christ, he’s so fucking loud. 

Every noise he makes is an exclamation mark. A shard of glass pressing into your eardrum. A sliver wedging further and further under your fingernail. 

He walks over, eyes glued to you, each heavy footfall a stubborn grain of sand that won’t leave that space between your toes no matter how much you wiggle them. 

By the time his weight shifts the couch cushions and sets you off balance, tilting in his direction, you know what you need. 

You need to get under his skin like he’s under yours. To push him until his edges are hardened and sharp to the touch. You need him to pry open the emergency hatch and empty your mind. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Your nostrils flare. You bring the cup to your lips and take another big, burning swig of bootleg liquor, then say, “Nothing.” 

“Nothin’,” he repeats, his voice low and disbelieving, “Now, why don’t I believe that?” 

You sit up and glare at him, meeting his dark eyes, all shadowed by his drooping brow as he tilts his blank stare at you. 

Excitement flickers inside you. You tilt your head right back and drop your voice, mocking him, “Reckon it’s ‘cuz I got a fucken attitude.” 

His jaw tightens, mouth flattening into a straight line as he narrows his eyes at you, “You gonna talk about what’s got your panties all in a twist, or just be a nuisance about it?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him and shrug. 

“I see,” he searches your face, turning his wrist in slow circles, moonshine sloshing around in his cup, “You know, if you need me to do somethin’ for you, or… to you, all you have to do is ask. You don’ need to do this whole thing.”

“What thing?” you blink. Play dumb. 

His eyes roll a little as he brings the glass to his lips and tips it back. Taking its contents all in one swallow, he slams the glass down on the end table with a thunk. Shaking his head, he looks at you, “Are you fuckin’ done?” 

You smirk at him, dragging your eyes up and down his body. He’s studying you with this stern stare, teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw twitching like little warning signals: PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 

A warm fluttering starts at your center. Setting your glass down, you crawl onto his lap. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but watch your face as you drag your fingernail along the tightened line of his jaw. 

Threading your brows together, you coo, “You’re just so cute when you’re angry.” 

“That’s enough,” he grabs your hand and squeezes it hard enough to make you gasp with delight, then says, “Open your mouth.” 

“Make me.” 

It happens so fast. 

One hand on your forehead, the other gripping your jaw, yanking your mouth open. 

“Stick your fuckin’ tongue out.” 

You do. 

You hear it first. The squelch of him gathering moisture. He spits onto your tongue, his saliva moonshine flavored and melting into yours. He does it again, then groans as he rubs it into your tastebuds, the rough pad of his thumb scraping against the tender muscle. 

“So, what, you had a shitty day, now you’re actin’ out? Tryin’ to get me all worked up so I punish you?” 

The words are all hoarse and heated against your cheek. His cock twitches beneath you and you grind into him, tongue still stretched out. 

He spits on it again. 

“Is this what you wanted, you little shit? Hmm?” he tugs on your chin, “Do you like it when I spit in your fuckin’ mouth?” 

“I like it,” you tell him, nodding, placing your palm on his chest. 

His throat rumbles like he’s pleased. He loosens his grip, then brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, glancing down at your mouth, “Do you want more?” 

“Yes—yes, please.”

“Much better,” he purrs, “Open.” 

You open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue. Another hot wad of spit plops down on it, moonshine flavored, Joel flavored, and you moan.

He cups your cheek and murmurs, “See? You can be a good girl. Can’t you?” 

Sparks sizzle up your back bone. You nod and bat your eyelashes at him, closing your mouth and swallowing his spit, sliding your hand through the soft patches of gray in his beard. 

His throat rumbles. Dark gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, ”Now, tell me, darlin’, what do you need?” 

The question trickles down the middle of you and twists into a stubborn knot. Your heart flutters when your lips part, but courage dies in your chest. 

You shake your head and mutter, mostly to yourself, “It’s stupid.”

His brow furrows just slightly. 

Heat blooms in your chest and on your face. Nervous energy makes your throat bob and your tongue go numb, and you shake your head, “Sorry.” 

He fully frowns now, searching your face, “Sorry? What for?”

You shake your head again, dropping your gaze, and clamp your mouth shut. 

Joel releases a big sigh, curling your body into his, and kisses your forehead. He murmurs against your skin, “Do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” 

He lets you sit in the wake of your own answer. The weight of his expectant silence wriggles under your skin and makes you squirm. You cast your gaze downward and shrug, “I don’t know.” 

He’s quiet.

When you glance back up at him, his expression has softened into one that makes your heart ache. It’s almost doleful, the way he looks at you. 

“I don’t know how to explain it, I feel,” you intertwine your fingers with his, “Empty here,” you pull the clasped hands to your chest, “But full… in-in my head. Everything feels like too much—I don’t know, Joel.”

The tears that prick your eyes take you by surprise. Usually you keep these pesky blue feelings to yourself, so as not to burden him. You should be used to this world by now. Your skin should be thicker. 

You feel weak. 

Pathetic. 

Shame rips through you. More tears erupt from deep within your chest and stream down your cheeks, burning the whole way. A rush of adrenaline pumps through your body. It tinges your blood cold and makes you panic. 

You let go of his hand and bring your knees to your chest, burying your face between them, blubbering, “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t,” he sighs, not quite sure what to do with this, and slides his warm palm up and down the curve of your back, “It’s—it’s ok.” 

All you can do is shake your head. It’s not ok. He doesn’t want someone like this. A crying, sputtering mess. Someone who gets upset because, what, noises seem too loud? 

“Look at me, babygirl.”

You can’t help the whimper that bubbles up your throat. He only uses the term of endearment during rare, tender moments. When he needs you to know, really know, that above the games and the rules and the agreements behind the locked door of this apartment… he cares for you.

You sniffle and wipe your tears on the stiff denim of your work pants, then peak up at him. 

He searches your face, and says, “Let me take care of you.” 

Your eyebrows thread together and your lips part. He just keeps staring at you like that, so earnest, his eyes fertile earth you could take root in. 

“Ok,” you whisper. 

“Go take a shower. You can be a good girl and do that for me, can’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

You stay there for a moment, eyes locked on his, and ask, “Can I have a kiss?” 

He hums, dropping his gaze to your lips, “How do we ask?” 

Heat coils around you. He studies your movements as you unfold yourself and sit up straight, then climb on top of him, knees framing his hips, “Can I have a kiss… please?” 

His hands land on your waist, “Course you can.” 

You slide your palms up his chest, his neck, to cradle his jaw, then lean in to capture his lips in yours. The kiss is molasses and moonshine. Syrupy and rich. Intoxicating. It warms your insides and leaves you wanting more. 

When he pulls back, he smooths his touch around your backside and gives your ass a firm smack, “Go on now.” 

You try on his Texas accent and tease, “Go on, git,” and start giggling when he blinks at you, then add, “Ok ok I’m going!” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, y’know that?” he calls after you as you scamper into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. 

You pull back the shower curtain, flip on the hot water, and strip off your clothes. The weak stream splatters hot against your skin when you step inside. For a minute, you just stand there with your eyes closed, relishing the warmth. 

The bathroom door opens, then closes. 

You wash your hair as Joel strips off his clothing into a pile on top of yours. His shadow on the shower curtain grows, then disappears as he pulls it back and steps inside. Your eyes close as you tip your head back into the water stream and massage the conditioner from your hair. 

He plants his palm at the small of your back and brings himself closer. A soapy washcloth meets your bellybutton and moves in circular motions, working up a lather. When he hits a weak spot, and a tickle shoots up your body, you giggle and grab his wrist. 

“You don’t like it?” 

Feeling through your wet hair for any remaining gobs of conditioner, you open your eyes to meet his, grinning, “I do, I’m just ticklish.”

His lips curve into a smirk and he shakes his head as he returns his attention to the task at hand, scrubbing the day’s grime off your body. The hot water works with his meticulous attention to dull the serrated edges under your skin. 

“Turn.” 

You do, taking a backwards step towards him. Your nerves tingle with want, the snarled tips of them all stretching in his direction, untangling to beckon him closer. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and starts on your back. Your shoulders relax under his praise. Under the firm pressure of the washcloth scouring your skin. He draws circles down your spine, around your hip, between your legs, leaving a trail of suds for you to rinse off. 

When he’s finished sudsing and you’re finished rinsing, he says, “Go wait for me in the bedroom,” so you swap places with him and squeeze the excess water from your body and hair. You step out onto the bath mat and wrap a towel around yourself, then tiptoe into the bedroom. 

Across the patchwork quilt, Joel laid out your collar. You dry yourself off and fasten the leather strap around your neck, then wait for him in the middle of the bed with your legs crossed. 

When Joel enters the room, it seems to shrink around him. Every inch of him is gleaming and dewy, his hairline all steely gray and combed back into damp, dark waves. He appraises you while tucking a ratty towel around his waist. You feel your shoulders pull back. Your spine uncurls, pointing straight at the ceiling. 

His eyes flick around the room as he walks to the side of the bed and hooks a finger in the little loop of your collar, tugging you to your knees. You crawl to him, following his firm guidance until you’re eye-to-eye and just an inch or so apart. 

Under the squeaky-clean soap scent lies something so unmistakably Joel. Woodsy and masculine, it cattle-prods your heart. 

“What am I gonna do with you?”

Heat sparks from deep within you and blooms in your guts, your cheeks. You feel yourself arching towards him, leaning closer, trying to taste his breath. 

Some smart-aleck answer parts your lips, but he preemptively interrupts you. 

“Rhetorical question.” 

An amused smile twitches the corners of his mouth. 

His mouth. 

You stare at it, fingertips buzzing with energy, yearning to feel the soft curve of his plush lips.  

“Look at me.”

Your eyes flick to his, smoldering but critical. A wide, calloused palm lands on your waist and slides around to your backside, cupping the heft of your asscheek. You swallow hard. This thick, pulsing ache starts between your legs and makes you whimper. An attestation to your pliancy. 

His throat rumbles and he pulls a sharp breath through his teeth. Joel likes the noise, because he knows what it means. It means you’re putty in his hands. Giving yourself over to him, letting him take control. He digs his fingers into the tender flesh of your ass and smirks when you gasp.

“That’s what you need, hmm?”

You nod, eyebrows drawing together, batting your lashes at him. 

He doesn’t let up. Quite the opposite, actually, he grips you harder, rumbling out, “Jus’ need someone to take care of you? Fuck the angry out of you?”

Again, you nod. 

He tugs on your collar, “Use your words.”

The grasp is bruising and constant and fucking delicious. Dropping your gaze, you  breathe, “Yes si—”

“Look at me.” 

Your cunt clenches around nothing as you comply, meeting his lust-blown eyes. 

“Yes sir.” 

“That’s better.”

Joel releases your ass cheek and tugs at your collar. 

When his lips meet yours with a firm, ravenous kiss, urgency overcomes you. You clamber closer, hooking your hands behind his neck, dragging your nails through his damp curls. Each time the kiss renews, it gains traction, intensity, evident in his nips and groans, and his harsh, wandering touch. Grabbing your ass, your tits, your thighs. Pinching your nipples so hard you gasp and nod. 

He buries his fist in your hair and pulls back, panting, “Turn around ‘n’ bend over.” 

You do, reluctantly parting from his lips to spin 180° and raise your ass in the air, pressing your ear to the mattress. 

“Close your eyes,” he knocks your knees further apart, and when you comply, letting your eyelids flutter closed, he murmurs, “That’s it. Now you’re gonna sit there and take what I give you, hmm?” 

The rough pads of his fingers trail electric up your seam, ghosting along the hungry, aching nerves. You gasp and nod, “Yes sir.” 

His throat rumbles, and his fingertips start to work your throbbing clit in hard-pressed circles. He’s heavy-handed in the way he touches you. It’s not delicate, or teasing, or gentle—it’s fucking perfect. Heat bubbles up your middle and spreads across your skin, pulling a whimper from your throat. 

Joel’s free hand slides up your spine, his palm pressing firm and slow across every vertebrae, coaxing you to stretch your backbone, arching your hips towards him. 

“There we go, that’s my good girl—”

You moan at the rush of pleasure his praise gives you. Your heart starts to thud, heavy and thick in your chest, and his hand between your legs starts to work you faster, jolting your center. 

“Fuck, Joel—”

Another gravelly sound surfaces from his chest. He slaps your ass, hard and firm, and you gasp at the sharp sting. He does it again. The smack rings in your ears and the divine pain it’s coupled with resonates deep in your bones. He does it again and again and again, all the while rubbing your clit in vigorous, tight circles, growling out, “All fuckin’ wound up, acting out, this is what you needed, hmm?”

“Yes yes yes yes—”

The feeling at your center grows and spreads, building building building—then it swallows you whole. Your body convulses with pleasure so acute and overwhelming, you try to pull away from him, to close his hand between your thighs, but he grabs your hip and kneels on your calf, keeping you spread open. 

“Don’t you run away from this,” he barks as you let out a choked sob, “You take this fucking like a good girl, you hear me?”

“It’s—fuck, it’s it’s—”

You want to tell him it’s too much, but the tide of pleasure draws you back with violent force and washes over you again. The noise that comes out of you is guttural, barely human, this half-howl, half-cry. It’s excruciating and overwhelming and so fucking good. 

Joel chuckles, “That’s it, let it go, darlin’.”

You do. A sensation overtakes you, that’s warm and secure. The weight strapped to your shoulders, that skin-too-tight, noises-too-loud sort of feeling melts away and you nod, “Yes, sir.”

He withdraws his hand from between your legs and grabs your waist, bringing your bodies closer. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance and he plunges forward. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you gasp as his thick, throbbing length slides into your well-lubricated cunt. 

He splits you open cell-by-cell, his own needy moan mingling with yours, and tells you, “God, your pussy—fuck, that’s good—”

There’s no warm-up period. No sweet, slow strokes, or whispered words of comfort, or gentle anything. Immediately, he’s fucking you hard and fast. You push back against his harsh thrusts, each impact devastating and intoxicating and heady with a feral energy that fills your body with static. 

Joel closes a fist in your hair and yanks, tilting your head to the ceiling, and you let out a long, sick moan that makes him groan with delight. His arm slips around you and pulls your back to his chest. Your head falls back on his shoulder, mouth gaping open to babble out, “So fucking good, fuck fuck fuck—I fucking love it, Joel, holy fuck—”

His big hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, restricting your airflow, and you let out wheezing, gasping breathes as he grunts in your ear, “Yeah you fucking do. Pussy jus’ needs a good pounding, that it? My little slut just needs to get fucked, hmm?”

You whimper and nod, as much as his grip will allow. His fingers crush your pulse, leaving you light-headed. The scraps of breath you manage to take in carry the sharp, tangy scent of sex. You revel in the feeling of him filling you over and over, each roll of his hips collects electric at your core, gaining traction and energy. 

When you look up at him and meet the corner of his dark, lust-blown eyes, he releases his grip on your throat and pulls you into a heated kiss. Both of you start to take in short, frantic breaths, passing soft moans back and forth. That gooey static in your middle grows and grows. Your limbs start to quiver and you cry, “Oh my fucking god, Joel—you’re gonna make me come—”

“That’s it, babygirl, let it go.”

You do. 

You let it consume you, a bright, blissful warmth that pulses through every inch of your body. Joel moans as your cunt clenches down around him, then pulls out in time to shoot his load onto the bedspread. 

For a moment, the only things in existence are the two of you. His ragged breath in your ear, your heaving chests and empty minds. 

He departs your body and stretches out on the bed with a groan. You only feel his absence for a second before he hooks his finger into your collar’s loop to pull you closer, “C’mere.”

An obedient creature, for the time being at least, you follow the suggestion and curl up at his side. You smooth your palm up his heated chest, all dewy with sweat, and admire his broad frame. His distinguished features. While surveying the map of scars and wrinkles and grays on his rugged exterior, your gaze meets his, and you find a remarkable softness there. 

He seems to study you with the same sort of reverence as you do him. 

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” 

It makes you smile, which, in turn, makes him smile. A gorgeous and rare spectacle. The expression carves out a dimple in his cheek and crinkles the corners of his eyes.

You scoot closer and kiss him, your lips soft, gentle. He kisses you back in a similar manner, slow and sweet, twisting your brain in a big, beautiful kaleidoscope of emotions. 

The intimidation you felt when you met him, still hot-to-the-touch after all these years, tumbling around with tiny glimmering glass bits of desire and apprehension and pride and excitement and awe and dread and security. 

And love. 

Of course love, even though neither of you dare look at it directly. Only suckers allow such a thing to exist in this world. But it’s there, nonetheless. Weaving its way through each fragmented shard, pulling it all together. 

[gremlingottoosilly]

you/your anons have got me hooked on cyberstalker!König so here are some rando headcanons:

-will go through your likes on twitter and grit his teeth if he saw you liked a man/celebrities selfie, god forbid their a male friend because he will spiral into convincing himself that this is like cheating (you two have spoken once) and he has to do something about it

-if he saw you simping for someone casually he would have to step away and let his anger out in the gym because otherwise he would start weighing the pros and cons of murdering Henry Cavill or something

-has a dragons horde of items you liked/expressed interest in because he has a whole plan when he kidnaps you he would offer it as a way to calm you down. this plan is flawless obviously

-you liked a picture of cat ears and a maid outfit ONCE and he has jerked off to that mental image at least 5 times a week

-will try to get into the things you tweet about just to start a conversation but gives up halfway since he doesn't have the best attention span, tells himself that you'll just tell him about it when your together because he could listen to you for hours <3

-that is not hyperbole btw you once posted a video giggling at something your cat was doing and he has put in on in the background as he gets through his day

-has printed your selfies to cum on stare at because he can get headaches if he stares at a phone screen for so long (hes OLD your honor)

-everytime he likes a song/movie you enjoy it fully fuels his delusions that you two are soulmates

-has found your pinterest boards and already has a downpayment on a house that matches your preferred aesthetic perfectly

-kisses the screen when he sees your selfies. nothing to add to that its just something he does

-LOVED when the 'big boy' song went viral and saw you posting about loving it, again, you two are clearly soulmates

i didn't realize how long this is I am so sorry

Omg!! It's literally so perfect, you crawled in my head like a little bug and now you are munching on my brain and I would let you because you are just chill like that. Konig is an old-fashioned stalker who doesn't have time to literally stalk you, he is a busy man with a busy life, so he catches up with your socials instead!! More under the cut

He googles every term he doesn't understand, and reads recaps of whatever show you were watching, just so he could save time on actually watching it. He writes everything in a diary, every little detail because he knows a bit about internet safety from Hutch and he just knows that this precious data is far more protected in the front pocket of his vest, in a tiny and scrawny notebook. He saves every picture and prints it, just to see every tiny detail. Your favorite color, your favorite decorations. You like pink sanrio fluffy style of decor? He doesn't understand it, and don't see a point in just adding to the clutter, but he will buy you as much Hello Kitty and My Melody stuff as possible. Something minimalistic, but expensive? He understands it a bit more, and he is happy to finally use his money for something nice and not just beer. He would be grinning like a cat with the cream if you like video games -- especially the ones he likes, the violent action ones. He can't let go of the war even at home, and having a perfect game when he doesn't actually have to worry about being in danger but putting as many enemies down as possible is nice, really. You would have to explain the point of Minecraft to him though. The celebrity crush one omg!! Konig is insecure because if you like more normal, traditionally attractive male celebrities, he just knows he can't compete. However, there has to be something wrong with you if you really like Konig, so he doesn't mind - after you stop liking those celebs of course. God save you if you have some porn in your twitter likes - he would try to implement it in your sex life. Bondage? He already knows how to make really good knots. Cnc? It's basically your whole sex story already. He would never let you forget about every embarrassing little picture you liked, and he enjoys thinking of you as a perverted thing that needs some good punishment. If you do cosplay...oh boy. Even the most normal costumes are a good jerk-off material for him. Even if you cosplay male characters, he'd find a way to sexualize you -- it's not really nice of him, but this old man finally got what cosplay means and he is not letting go of this knowledge.

His soldiers think you're his wife already because he keeps your photo, a fucking collage of your photos, on his desk and a polaroid of you in his vest pocket. Poor ol' you, having stalking problems and not even knowing about it because he is too busy to actually court you.

[scriblubed-bonnibel]

Super Blind

Close friends to lovers | Jordan Li x (gn)reader

Reader will use they/them pronouns as well (lets go nonbinaries woooh <3) Just some oneshot I’ve been brain rotting about while scrolling through tumblr.

Summary: Jordan and y/n have been flirting every now and then but can’t seem to confess. One day they just… do.

Context: reader has powers that affect their emotions. Be it taking them from others, making them feel emotions, just reading their emotions, and sometimes they can even exude their emotions; having others feel it when closer to the reader.

Warnings: bad language, cute moments, kissing

If you aren’t ok with the whole “switching between masc and fem” thing then feel free to click off (tho i doubt it cause ure reading a Jordan Li fic so yeah)

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“Emma I don’t know anymore! Jordan’s probably high fucking some- fucking dude! And I’m here lonely-“ “hey!” Emma looks at me offended, “and ranting to my best friend about my crush for like what- years now!” Emma stands up and puts her hands on my shoulders, “hey, if it’s worth anything. JORDAN TOTALLY FUCKING LIKES YOU YOU IDIOT.” She shakes me back and forth.

“You’re just saying that” I brush her off and flop on my bed. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She looks at me dumbfounded and as if I said the stupidest thing ever. “They literally gaze at you. And did you not notice the fact that uhhh you have flowers on your desk from them!” She gestures to the small flower arrangement on my desk.

“Big whoop. They got those flowers for me after I recovered from that stupid slip.” I rolled my eyes at her. “This-“ Emma trails off in frustration and face palms. “Listen, I’m just saying, Jordan, one of the top students, most probably maybe possibly has a crush on you maybe wants to even fuck you!” I laugh at her and just pull the covers over myself. “I doubt it! Now leave cause I’m pretty sure you’re late for one of your classes.”

“OH SHI-“ she’s cut off by the sound of a door slamming shut. “Loser” I laugh and close my eyes under the blanket, trying to just forget about Jordan… Jordan… Jordan… and.. y/n. Y/n and Jordan. A dreamy sigh escapes my lips as I swoon once more. Without even realizing, sleep takes over me.

Gentle knocks from my door wakes me up. “Emma for the last time my door is always open!!” I yell. “You lock your door once when she wants to visit and she just forgets it’s always open..” I grumble. The door opens slowly. “Y/n..?” Jordan’s voice calls out.

wait

Jordan’s. Voice? Their. Voice? Panic shoots through me as I sit up in distress. “Jordan-“ i cough quickly to try to sound less panicked, “uh- ahem Jordan! Hey, hi! DONT COME IN- I’m- my room is a mess-“ I look around and see the door still cracked a little bit. “Not- not looking! Just wanted you to know it’s me!” They say, laughing softly… I sigh again… their laugh- FIX YOUR ROOM AND YOURSELF GET IT TOGETHER.

I run to the full body mirror and fix myself up. Taming my bedhead, adjusting my sleeping shirt and shorts, making sure I look normal but also… maybe a tiny little bit cute. I fix up the random clutter on the floor and spray a little bit of cologne everywhere.

I get to the door and put my hand on my heart to sorta calm down. Okay… one.. two.. three and-

There is no denying how stupidly in love I looked the moment I opened the door to see them in their feminine. Eyes softened, lips in a content smile, and sighing dreamily. “Hi~” I breathed out, still swooning. They dont help my case at all when they smirk and look at me in a similar manner. “Hi…” they trail off, blinking a few times before getting both of us out of our trance.

“Sorry for uhh the whole emotion wafting off of me. Still learning how to control it.” I laugh awkwardly. They wave their hand in a ‘nah dont worry’ motion, “Y/n you know I dont mind that at all. We’re all learning.” We both smile briefly, “so, whatcha doing here?” I open the door wider and sit on my bed. They enter, closing the door behind them, and sit next to me. “I uhh honestly…” I wasn’t looking at them, too busy fiddling with my hands, but I heard them change into their masculine form. “I was just around.. and wanted to hang with you…” ‘hang out.. with me?’ I thought before I looked at them.

They were.. already looking at me. A blush slowly crept up on my face as I internally panicked, replying to cover up my distress. “Uhh yeah sure, we could invite Cate for a girls time, or maybe have Emma ditch for I dont know-” I get cut off “why not just us?” They ask, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just us?” I repeat. “Y’know… just Y/n and Jordan. Just us.” Their gaze is turned away for some reason.. “I MEAN- if you don’t want to then yeah of course Kate could come arou-” they began to ramble but I touch their hand gently, focusing on calming their emotions down.

“I would like that” I smile. “Yeah..? Like a date right that’s what I’m trying to invite you to” they clarify, their emotions wafting to me… infatuation, swooning, happiness… ‘they’re happy…’. I smile and nod happily.

They stand up and offer their hand, then an uncertainty surfaces on their face. “Uhm… do you want feminine or masculine..?” They ask still in their masculine form. “Are you shitting me? How many times do I have to say this. Anything is fine as long as it’s what you want and what you feel like.” I smile up at them and stand from the bed to give them a quick hug. I hear them changing into their feminine form/nothing change as they decide to remain in their masculine form and push them to face away from me. I smile, feeling more comfortable with them again, dropping the whole “in love with you” deal and being my authentic self.

“Now don’t fucking peak, lemme just change clothes.” I said as I looked at my closet. “Where’re we going again?”

Jordan’s POV

‘I cannot fucking believe they said yes- I mean I know Kate said they liked me but I was still unsure-‘ “Jordan!!! Helloooo?” I’m snapped out of my thoughts when Y/n shakes me from behind. “Earth to Jordannn, where are you taking meeeeee.” I chuckle at their antics, “just dress casual, we aren’t going to the fucking gala or something.” I laugh and I hear shuffling behind me. Tempted… I turn slowly- “not a fucking peep Jordan Li.” They say sternly. I laugh and put my hands up in defense “alright alright.”

Moments pass and I feel two taps on my shoulder. I turn and smile at them. Wearing such comfy yet cute clothes to our first date. Our first date. Damn.

Reader’s POV

Walking around with Jordan Li was normal. We would do this from time to time whenever stress got to us. But this was different. This was a fucking date. Like, hand brushing against each other, got coffee or tea kinda fucking date.

We decided to walk around campus, much to the distaste of Jordan. “You are sooo fucking lucky I put up with your goody-two-shoes behavior” they tell me, squinting playfully at me. “I am very lucky thank you.” I respond to spite them. They smile and shake their head.

We walk in comforting silence. It’s so strange how the context of a walk can change the whole way it feels. Normally we would just walk casually and we would talk about anything and everything. Shoving each other, being just friends. But now… it feels so… pure? I guess… like puppy love. Jordan taking glances at me and I would do the same. Whenever we meet eyes they’d chuckle as I look away shyly. They’re just… too sweet.

“Are you enjoying?”

I look up in surprise, not realizing we had stopped walking. “Yeah of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, worried I had done something wrong. “Just making sure, that’s all. Cause I wouldn’t want to be the only one enjoying our date” they smile at me sweetly. A worry forms in my stomach when my brain starts to go on hyperdrive. They aren’t… joking about this right…? My walls start building as I worry that Jordan was just put up to this for a stupid fucking prank.

Jordan takes my hand in worry, shifting to their masculine form. A tendency they did when they were worried about me. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did I say something?” I pull my hand back slowly. “You aren’t.. doing this for a dare right.. cause- cause I know I’m not that good at hiding my crushes but if this was a fucking joke I swear-” I’m suddenly silenced as they pull me in close for a hug. “I know Y/n. If it’s a joke, you swear you’ll make me miserable for the rest of my life.” Their chest rumbles as they chuckle. “It’s not a joke… the only thing I had help with was ask Cate to make me go to your dorm and ask you out blatantly.”

I step back a little, “you what?” I laugh incredulously. “Listen! I keep hearing rumors that you like me but I never saw it! Cate always told me that I was Super-”

“Blind?” I finish their sentence. “Yeah, Emma told me the same thing” I shake my head and laugh in disbelief. “So… you do like me?” They ask, as they lift my chin to look into their eyes. My breath hitches and I nod quietly. “Good.. cause.. I like you too… maybe.. even more than like.” They smile and shift back to their feminine form, something they did.. when they felt comfortable with me.

Their hand on my chin slowly travelled to my cheek and soothingly rubbed it with their thumb. The blush from earlier creeps up again and I silently plead that Jordan can’t feel my face slowly heat up. They chuckle, “I never realized how cute you looked whenever you blush…” the warmth blooms past my cheeks and into my chest as the butterflies flutter more intensely. “Y/n..?” Jordan asks softly, their eyes not even trying to hide the fact that they’re looking at my lips. “Yes..?” I reply just as softly.

“Can I.. kiss you?” I stop functioning the moment they stop talking. Unable to speak I do one slow and obvious nod to say yes. “Thank you” they smile and lean in lips barely touching, as if telling me that if I wanted to back out now, now is the time. But fuck that I’m getting that kiss.

I smile and kiss them deeply, tiptoeing a little bit to wrap my arms around their neck. The smile on our lips palpable and our emotions mixing with one another as pure happiness exudes from the both of us.

We part after a moment, smiling widely. They chuckle softly. “What’s so funny? Was my breath bad- did I hit your teeth? What is it what?!” I panicked.

“Nothing nothing!” They laugh, “Just… you’re so cute… I couldn’t stop feeling your butterflies wafting off of you ever since we started the date. And well.. every time you see me.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” I gasped and hit them playfully, they shift to their masculine form and held my hands together in front of me. “I didn’t tell you because…how could I tell the cutest person in the world,” they lean in and kiss me gently once more and whisper, “that even their emotions are cute?”

This person will be the end of me… and I love it.

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EEEE I’m so glad I got to finish this cksndjsz my brain cannot for the love of me stop thinking about Jordan. THEY’RE JUST SO CISJDJSZJ C U T E.

Anyways, feel free to give comments on how I can improve ! And ofc I hope you enjoyed ♡

Edit: holy f u c k- Im v surprised this is getting 300 notes 😭 im very glad people are enjoying !! College is just biting my ass but I’m writing other fics from other fandoms!

Take care always!

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

City of Love II - Matt Sturniolo

Pairings - Matt Sturniolo x fem!Reader Summary - part two of City of Love. Matt makes plans for another dinner-movie night, gifting you a sweet housewarming gift. The sore topic of your previous long-term relationship comes to light, leaving Matt to wonder if you're still stuck on your ex. Warnings - strong language. Fluff!! Angst?? W/c - 2570 A/n - Heyyy lovely readers 🫶🏻 this is part two to City of Love! Let me know what you guys thinks, I will be continuing. Not sure how many parts I'll do yet, but I’ll keep you updated, so stay tuned!! Also, sorry for posting it so late. I had to grocery shopping when I got off work😭 City of Love is based off of this request! ❤️ Check out my masterlist for more of my work! Thank you for reading & interacting! (Dividers and photos are not mine; all credits go to original owners) Tags - @lvrsturniolo (if anyone else wants tagged just let me know!!)

The cool autumn breeze swept through your living room as you sat on the floor, unpacking the few boxes you had. Being a minimalist, you didn’t bring much in the move besides the essentials - dishes, clothes, your bed, bathroom stuff, and a couple random pieces of furniture. You felt like moving to Boston was your calling. A new start. You didn’t want anything in your house that reminded you of the breakup. 

It has been more than a few days since your first night here. The night Matt had you pressed against your kitchen counter with his lips on yours. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it at every given second of the day. You and Matt hadn’t even talked about the kiss. Granted, he’s been over every day since, he hasn’t even made a move on you or mentioned that night in your kitchen. This left you feeling like the kiss wasn’t important to him as it was to you. It was like it didn't exist to him, it never happened. Wrecking your brain trying to figure out whether or not he felt the same connection as you felt, left you mentally exhausted, and it had only been four days. 

An exaggerated sigh breaks through your lips, and you try to focus on unpacking. You knew you needed to get this done before Matt was supposed to come over. He texted you last night, asking if he could come over for another dinner-movie night. Even if you didn't know what was going on, you enjoyed his company. Packing all your clutter onto an entertainment stand you picked you last night. The 65-inch tv you purchased, along with other things, sits on top of it. Your house was starting to feel more like a home day by day, and Matt had a lot to do with making it feel that way. Constantly checking on you to see if you needed anything and making it a mission to come over every other day. You were grateful for the company; it made the heartache of leaving your best friend and parents behind a little more bearable. You were still upset over the situation. In a way, you felt like you let your ex-boyfriend get the best of you, running you out of town. Deep down inside, you knew it was different - The City of Love held a special place in your heart. You always had a hankering to find a love like your parents had - dancing in the kitchen, singing in the car, kissing in the rain, real, pure love. That’s what you searched for. 

It was almost 5pm by the time you finished unpacking the boxes in your living room. You cleaned up your mess, preparing the room for Matt’s arrival. Even though your house was still bare, you wanted it to be somewhat presentable. Fixating on yourself next, you make your way to your hall bathroom, looking over your appearance. You fix your hair and apply chapstick, in case he had the courage to kiss you again. Probably not, but a girl could only hope. A knock at your front door pulls you from the ‘what ifs’ running rampant in your head. 

You rush out of the bathroom, not caring to turn the light off behind you, “coming!’ 

As soon as you reach the door, you swing it open, revealing a nervous Matt. He had a gift basket with various items in one hand, and a potted aloe plant in the other. You take in the sight of him, standing there with his cheeks red as can be. It made you want to jump in his arms and attack him. “Matt!” you gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth. 

He lets out a chuckle, “housewarming gift. I have Italian food on the way too,” he states in a nonchalant tone. 

“Come in!” your tone being the complete opposite of his, excited and urgent at the same time. You had a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that Matt took the time to buy you a gift. Whether it was a housewarming gift or not, butterflies fluttered in your stomach knowing he thought about you enough to go through the hassle. You had never gotten a random gift before, only on special occasions. Matt steps inside, taking in the small changes of your living room. A newly added entertainment stand in your foyer and living room, along with a fuzzy rug and flat screen tv. The fuzzy rug being the best purchase, you were tired of your butt going numb from the hardwood floors. You follow his gaze, “my couches are in shipment as we speak. They should be here later this week, but I got a fuzzy rug!” you wiggle your eyebrows at him. You felt proud of how quickly you were adjusting to your new life, you were in a good mood. 

Matt lets out a real laugh, “good. I’m tired of my ass being numb every time I get up,” he says, taking the thoughts right out of your head. It was simple things like this that convinced you your connection with Matt was something deeper than the surface. He read your mind almost every time you spoke, and it made you wonder if you had the same effect on him. 

Turning your attention back to him, “this is really nice of you, Matt.” You didn’t want to let his thoughtful act go unnoticed. You were extremely grateful for everything he has done for you so far, even if it was just keeping you company and buying you dinner.

He clears his throat as you take the gift basket from him, “I know it's late timing, but in my defense i've never had to buy anyone a welcome gift before. My brother Nick helped me pick most of it out, he knows what girls like,” he rambles on. You stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next. As flustered as you were, you didn’t want to take the cute gift and potted plant as a romantic gesture. It was a housewarming gift, like he said.

“He’s gay so,” he trails on awkwardly. The unneeded information throws you for a loop, making you scrunch your face together. Realizing it seemed judgmental, you quickly correct yourself, “not like that! Gay people are cool, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” letting out a nervous giggle. Matt smiles at you like he understood exactly where you were coming from. He was the type to let his facial expressions do the talking before his mouth did, you guys had this in common - like just about everything else you talked about. You change the subject, redirecting your attention to the gift basket. It was filled with a plushie, a throw blanket, a pair of fuzzy socks, face masks, your favorite candy, and a cinnamon apple scented candle. You smiled, knowing he put together the perfect basket for you. “I didn’t know what candy to get so I got my favorite.” 

“Yea, y/f/c is my favorite too,” you confess. You feel redness creeping to your cheeks, inch by inch. “Looks like I’ll have to pick up extra on store runs then, huh?” his comment makes your heart race so fast you feel like it could jump out of your chest and run around the block. “Nobody has given me a gift like this before. I really appreciated it,” you mumble, feeling like you exposed too much. 

“Nobody?” he asks, astonishment spewing through his voice like a pot boiling over on high heat, “like, ever?” 

You break your focus from the thoughtful gift basket to look at him, “like on birthdays and stuff. Not anything like this though.” You felt like you could be honest with him. When he was around, no judgment was casted on you, or at least that’s how you felt. 

He lets an, “oh,” fall from his lips. Immediately cringing at his insensitive response, before he can say anything else there’s a loud knock at the door. You head snaps toward the door, furrowing your eyebrows. The ring doorbell still wasn’t set up, so not knowing who was on the other side made you feel uneasy. “Relax, I ordered dinner, remember?” Matt sounds over your shoulder before he approaches the door, pulling it open to reveal a man who looks identical to him. Your eyes widen at the thought of two Matt’s walking this Earth.

'What in the actual fuck is going on?' you thought to yourself.

“They delivered the food to the house again,” the spitting image of him states, in the same nonchalant tone Matt carries with him all the time. Matt thanks him in a dry tone, grabbing the food, and rudely shutting the door in his face. You watch as he brings the food to the living room, clearly thrown off at his brothers, surprise appearance. 

You follow him, deciding to address the elephant in the room, “you’re a twin?”

Matt, on his knees, setting dinner on the rug that’s placed in the middle of the room, lets out dry chuckle, “you really don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Should I? Don’t tell me you’re a part of the mafia,” you joke. The sudden change in his mood made your head spin. You didn’t know which looked sexier, mad Matt or happy Matt. Either way, you were here for all of it.

An amused look spreads across his face, “no, nothing like that,” and he lets out one of those real laughs again. Something about that laugh made you smile bigger than you already were. His smile quickly fades as he picks up your tv remote, “come sit. I’ll show you,” you pop a squat next to him, watching him open the youtube app, and type in ‘The Sturniolo Triplets’

“Triplets?” you ask as he clicks the first video that pops up. Him and two spitting images of him pop up on the screen. You stand up pointing to him on the screen, who was sitting in the driver's seat, “this is you?” 

“I'm impressed you can tell which one is me,” a smirk pulling at his lips as he gets up, disappearing from the room. You study the screen while he’s gone. They were definitely triplets alright. You could easily recognize the one from earlier sitting in the passenger seat. The one in the backseat seemed like he was a lot more bubbly than Matt was, being he was already yelling 30 seconds into the video. Matt reappears into the room with plates and silverware in his hands. You look at him, “first off, I can’t believe you never told me this, and second off, I can spot your resting bitch face from a mile away.”

Matt erupts in a fit of laughter, making it impossible to not join. Real tears come out of his eyes as he tries to collect himself, “I do not have a resting bitch face, Y/n.”

You smile at him, taking your seat next to him, “whatever floats your boat, Matthew.” Teasing him had become a hobby for you at this moment. You had a feeling Matt knew you enjoyed it, which was the only reason he’d keep it going. Willingly falling into your trap every time he seen it coming. He loved the playful spirit you had, it reminded him a lot of his mom.

You and Matt eat dinner, watching a couple different videos of theirs. Each video he clicked had millions of views, making you wonder how you never put two and two together. It was clear to you he was a famous youtuber with a large following, and it was crystal fucking clear he had millions of girls swooning over him, yourself included. And that intimidated you.

Little did you know, Matt finding out you had no idea who he was, attracted him to you even more. 

You groan, setting your plate down, “I’ll throw up if I eat anymore.”

“Leftovers,” he chokes out with a mouth full of food. You watch him as he points to the take-out container, “too good to throw away.” You nod, taking a mental note from earlier; Italian was his favorite. It was your favorite too, so you knew exactly what to cook when the time came, if it did.

After Matt finishes his food, he turns his attention towards you, “you said earlier nobody has ever given you a gift. I need you to elaborate,” he tells you, almost like he's demanding answers. This whole week, you had found out so much about him and told him so little about yourself. Only agreeing with what you had in common, you knew Matt needed more from you, so you finally decided to let your guard down. “Like I said before, birthdays and special occasions, sure. But not random gifts like that,” you tell him honestly, hoping he’d leave it at that.

“No random gifts? What about valentine's day?” he asks, pressing the topic. You let your eyes meet his, shaking your head in response. “So, you’ve never had a boyfriend before?” his question hits too close to home, making you look away. Nervously biting your lip, “I've had a boyfriend before. I actually just got out of a relationship a few months ago,” telling him matter-of-factly.

Matt quickly turns his head to look at the tv, “damn. How long?” he looks at you again. It’s almost like he had to read your face when he was talking to you, but you understood because you felt the same way about him. You shoot him a questioning look, this time telling him to elaborate. He doesn’t say anything, indicating he wants to know whatever you’re comfortable telling him. “Four months since the breakup, together for three years,” you confess, feeling nauseous even saying it. 

Matt raises his eyebrows, and you can tell he’s a bit taken back. “Oh,” is all he says. His eyes drift from you, to the tv, and he scrunches his face, realizing he sounded insensitive much like earlier in the night. “I mean, sounds rough. Four months doesn’t seem like enough time to heal from three years,” he tells you quietly, sticking his foot further in his mouth. He wasn’t wrong; four months wasn’t enough time to heal from a three-year long relationship. Matt being there helped more than either of you knew. For the first time, he didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear, instead he told you what you needed to hear. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt your feelings.

“Yeah, well, he checked out a long time ago and so did I,” your tone becomes sharp, not wanting to talk about it anymore. You turn back to the tv, showing him you weren’t talking about it any longer, and hoping he’d take the hint. You watch the rest of the car video playing on your tv, and you can’t help but feel a light sense of tension in the air. Humiliation boiled in your gut, knowing you more-than-likely ruined your chances with Matt. He’d never take you seriously, knowing you were fresh out of a long-term relationship. Matt ends up leaving after the video finishes, giving you an awkward hug goodbye, shooting sparks up your spine like he always does when he touches you.