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nereidprinc3ss · 30 days ago

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diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway.

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist.

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes.

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved.

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table.

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops.

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go.

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying.

He bites his lip thoughtfully.

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat.

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone.

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step.

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods.

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently.

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down.

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU.

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass.

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk.

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light.

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful.

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks.

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier.

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it.

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one.

It slowly fades, and you sigh.

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm.

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself.

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there.

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff.

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure.

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone.

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve.

“Oh,” you murmur.

A moment passes.

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat.

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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thelostconsultant · 3 months ago

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Not a gold digger

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Fans think you only want Max's money. But as it turns out, you were wealthy before he came into your life--you just don't make it obvious.

warnings: No smut, but there's a part that makes me say MDNI.

note: So... I'm kinda back? Idk, I'll see if I'll stick around.

The toxicity of the fandom was becoming quite entertaining, really. It was the third time since you and Max had made your relationship public half a year ago that someone started an anti gold digger campaign to protect your boyfriend. They truly believed they were doing this for a greater good, and they all begged Max for his attention.

It always began after they sniffed out he had given you something expensive as a gift or took you shopping to a luxury boutique. While there were some people who tried to protect you by pointing out that maybe he enjoyed showering you with gifts, the rest didn't care about that.

You lived in a small apartment back home, you were driving a five years old Renault SUV, and no one knew what you did for a living. This was enough to enrage them and make them believe all you wanted was Max's money at the end of the day. Just think about the way she's looking at him, one of them wrote about two months ago, she's so clearly not in love with him. Poor Max, someone please save him.

Ridiculous.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when he got home and kissed the top of your head.

You were sitting in his sim rig, using the time while it was free to practice, because you wanted to play with him when you weren't here together, and he was more than happy to show you the basics. “Someone started another campaign to cancel me,” you replied casually as you got out with his help.

Even when you were standing in front of him, he didn't let go of your hand, instead he raised it to his lips to place a soft kiss on its back. “Gold digging?” You nodded with a sad look on your face, but less than five seconds later you were both laughing. “Look, I know you're having way too much fun with this, but–”

Without waiting for him to finish, you raised your hand to make him stop. “I'm not stepping out of the shadows, Max. I've been hiding for years, even fucking Forbes doesn't know my real name or face,” you told him.

Back in the old days, when Bitcoin appeared, your geeky uncle had gotten into mining and trading it. He knew the potential, so he put most of his savings into buying them, then he held onto them, and by the time he got sick years later, he knew they were valuable and would be worth a lot more in the upcoming years. In his will, he left his savings and his wallet to you, giving you the chance to use them as you wished since you had learned everything about crypto from him.

So now you had Bitcoin as well as old fashioned investments, and you had used your money to help out an up-and-coming tech company for a forty percent share, and it was later sold to a tech giant for a lot of money. But despite your wealth, you chose to stay under the radar, because you loved your small apartment, and you weren't about to trade it for some fancy penthouse.

You had met Max the year before in Las Vegas. F1 was a sport you watched with your uncle while he was still alive, and you were hell-bent on getting a VIP pass for the weekend. If you asked your boyfriend, he would say it was love at first sight, but in reality he was just annoyed by you. For a solid ten seconds, he would correct you every time you talked about it.

You agreed that you would hide in Max's apartment until this latest campaign died down, which gave you some time to spend together in peace. Every now and then you checked the tags to see how things were going, and after the silence of the past few days, today your name was trending again. Ready to have a good laugh, you opened the tag, but the most popular post gave you a minor stroke.

“Oh, fuck me,” you yelled as you launched your phone into the couch.

Max pulled the headset down to his neck as he looked over at you. “Is everything okay?” You raised your finger to your lips as if you wanted him to stay quiet, but luckily he got the message. “I'm muted. So?”

You grabbed your phone and went over to him. “They know. One of those idiots from the company I helped back in the day posted a tweet to protect me, saying that if it wasn't for me being an angel investor, they wouldn't be millionaires now,” you summarized as you gave him the device.

He scrolled through a series of tweets, and found a post from a journalist of Forbes in which he promised a proper investigative piece based on this info. He handed you the phone, then wrapped an arm around your waist. “It's okay, schatje. I know that's not what you wanted, but maybe they'll stop with the recurring hate campaign now,” he tried. “And if you’re worried about the article… Don’t be. There is nothing compromising about you. Yes, you inherited the money, but you have proven you know what to do with it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you admitted with a sigh.

“I’m usually right. C’mere,” he said as he reached out to pull you closer, but you glanced over at the camera. Rolling his eyes, he quickly turned it off, then gave you an expectant look. “Will you hug me now? And I want a kiss too.”

With a laugh, you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss. But he wanted more, his hand slowly sneaked under your shorts, his fingers running over your clothed cunt before he decided to pull your panties aside and dip a finger between your folds. You moaned into the kiss, but he pulled away a second later to lick his finger clean.

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you patted his shoulder and walked back to the couch. You could feel Max’s eyes on you the whole time, and when you looked at him again, he flashed a devilish smile at you. “I should quit the stream. Now that I had a taste, I want more,” he told you.

“I’m not going anywhere, just try to be patient.”

He looked back at the screen, then put the headset back on his head and unmuted his mic. “Sorry, I have to go. See you next time,” he told the others, then logged out. You couldn’t remember the last time he left the sim rig this fast, and only a few seconds later he was kneeling in front of you, eagerly reaching up to pull your shorts off you.

liked by user1, user2 and 947,896 others

f1gossips: Breaking news! Turns out Max Verstappen's girlfriend isn't a gold digger after all as she has her own fortune according to the investigative article published by Forbes. Will the fans apologize?

view all comments

user2: And here I was, thinking she's just a greedy airhead...

user3: Easy to be wealthy with your uncle's money.

↳ user4: Have you read the whole thing? She invested the money and helped out several startups--that later became pretty successful--as an angel investor. Yes, maybe she inherited a lot of money, but she knows what to do with it.

↳ user5: May I remind you how many F1 drivers started their careers with their families's money?

user6: Told you she wasn't a gold digger. Suck it, haters.

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,577,353 others

maxverstappen1: If you don't buy your girlfriend gifts every once in a while, you're a bad boyfriend. I love to spoil her, it's not a crime. I love her, I'm proud of her, and you can send us as much hate as you want, it will only make us stronger.

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: I'd be perfectly fine without the gifts, I already told you.

↳ maxverstappen1: I don't care.

landonorris: You're absolutely right!

↳ maxverstappen1: You're single, how would you know?

↳ landonorris: Just FYI, I've been in relationships before.

danielricciardo: You're so disgustingly smitten with her. (I love you both.)

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #before i get the question again this is a random cute pic that came up at the top in the google search #no i wasn't paying attention to skin color

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lacroixqueen · 3 months ago

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i can fix him no really i can (18+, dubcon) ex bf deadpool x down bad reader

Summary: your ex boyfriend deadpool shows up at your apartment after many years and he's badly hurt so you need to help him but he also wants to fuck you because he's toxic :/

Pairing: ex bf deadpool x fem!reader with unresolved feelings

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Tags: dubcon, making out, flirting, wounded, angsty

It was Friday night, so naturally, it was pouring rain outside. You were already snuggled up in bed with a bowl of popcorn and your favorite movie locked and loaded ready to play. Until you realized exactly what this perfect evening was missing: ice cream. You quickly got up out of bed and moseyed your way into the kitchen.

Before you could swipe your favorite gelato from the top shelf, you heard a loud crash emanating from your living room window. You froze in your steps for a moment, and then grabbed the largest kitchen knife you could find in your vicinity.

Inching your way towards the noise, you were about to swing your weapon at the intruder before a nearby lamp flickered on and you laid eyes on a face you could recognize from a mile away.

“Holy fuck, put that shit down!” the assassin in all red and black exclaimed, taking the knife out of your hand with ease.

“Wade?!” you said, placing your hands on your hips. “What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in what, five years?”

“Great to see you again too, sweetheart,” he replied, noticeably clutching the lower part of his abdomen. “I just thought I’d swing by and say hi.”

“Wade, you are bleeding,” you pointed out, rushing to his side. “What the heck even happened to you?”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he muttered through gritted teeth, sliding his arm over your shoulder, which immediately caused your back to tense up. “But if you want the short version of the story, let’s just say I pissed off someone who had a giant sword for an arm. Like, he drove that shit through my fucking brain! It’s okay though, I’ll get him back for that one of these days, he’ll see.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed as you guided him to sit down on your couch. “Just.. don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna grab some stuff real quick.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it!” he chuckled playfully. “Also, did you do something new with your hair? I love it. It’s like your old color but just subtly different. Hey, did you like tone it? Was it that salon next door? Because their cut and color deal is to die for.”

“Stop doing that,” you shot back, ambling over to your first aid cabinet.

“Stop doing what?” he said with a feigned innocence.

“You know what,” you responded bluntly, pulling out a set of tweezers, gauze, and saline.

“What, flirt with you?” Deadpool asked, sitting up a little bit more enthusiastically now. “Honey, we’ve been broken up for a long time, do you seriously think I would pick this moment to hit on you? Because you would be sorely mistaken. I am happy to report that I am 100% completely over our relationship and have moved on to bigger better things in life like car sales and snorting cocaine with Blind Al. Oh, she said she misses you by the way.”

“Your timing has never been impeccable,” you commented, kneeling before him with your wound care supplies. Before he could protest, you parted his legs open and rested your forearms on his thighs. This was making him blush harder than he would ever care to admit to you. “Now can you lift your suit up for me, please.”

“We’ve barely caught up for five minutes, and you want me to strip for you already?” Wade chirped, placing a melodramatic hand on his chest. “I mean, I’m all for it but aren’t we moving a little bit fast here?”

“You’re doing it again..” you sighed while shaking your head. “Can you just please not make this more awkward than it already is?”

He grumbled a bit before finally lifting up his suit, revealing a sizable gash slightly to the side of his V-line. There were multiple shards of glass embedded into the wound, glistening menacingly in the dim lighting of your living room.

“Holy shit, Wade,” you breathed while laying out your instruments. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Look, maybe I pissed off an intergalactic space fascist or two,” he mumbled while shrugging his shoulders. “But who’s counting? Besides, the next time I get my hands on that freak I’m going to gut him from the inside out and make him eat it. Ooh, that would be satisfying, it’s making me so hard right now.”

“Always the pacifist,” you murmured sarcastically, taking your tweezers and dislodging one of the largest glass shards from his wound. “Have you ever considered, oh I don’t know, volunteering at the soup kitchen? Being a contributing member of your community? It doesn’t always have to be about bashing people’s faces in.”

“Jesus fucking shit on a stick motherfucker! Fuck!” he yelled as you removed the glass piece. “What kind of archaic method was that? At least numb me up first? Or I don’t know, buy me dinner?”

“Oh don’t be such a little bitch. If you wanted anesthetic, you could have just gone to the urgent care across the street,” you said matter-of-factly. “Besides, this isn’t exactly a professional clinic.”

Wade’s breathing became heavier when he noticed your soft tits pressing up against his leg as you focused harder on prying out a stubborn shard of glass. And how your lips curled into an adorable little pout when you were extra concentrated on something.

“You know, this would be the perfect opportunity to give me head right now,” he said with a smirk under his mask. “Like, you could not be in a better position.”

You tried to ignore his lewd statement, focusing on removing the smaller shards of glass in his wound. You gasped when you felt his leathered hands reach into your hair, gathering the locks between his fingers to form a ponytail.

“Wade!” you groaned, immediately setting down your tweezers. “I said stop, so quit it.” You shook his hands out of your hair, re-directing your attention back to his injury.

“Oh, but you always looked so hot doing it!” he reminisced, clasping his hands together like some dazed fangirl. “And you were amazing! Like, took the entire length, it’s like you didn’t even have a gag reflex! I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, and you always swallowed without me even having to tell you. Do you know how rare of a find that is? Because I haven’t gotten head that good since the day we broke-”

“One more word out of your mouth and I’m literally not going to help you anymore,” you interrupted, staring him dead in the eye, which was quite effective at shutting him up.

You finally removed the last piece of glass, working a bit more efficiently now that he is not constantly interjecting with his fantasies about you.

“Aaand, all done!” you said, tucking the debris into a wad of gauze. You cleaned the wound with some saline and covered it with a large bandage. “Yay, that actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Well of course, I’m literally a self-healing mutant,” Wade replied, pulling his suit back down to cover his wound. “Someone has literally shot me in the head before, but here I am, still kicking!”

“But it’s not like you can just heal foreign bodies out of yourself,” you countered as you cleaned your bloodstained tweezers with some bleach and a cloth. “You would have been in pain for days if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he sneered. “But thank you sweetheart, that actually did get me out of a pinch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a big ugly bad guy to send back to his dimension, and time is money, so I really should get out there before he blows up another building downtown or God forbid beheads a baby or something.”

“Nope, you are going to stay right here,” you established as you closed the lid of your first aid kit. “Because I’m not gonna have you come back here multiple times again throughout the night and me not sleeping at all.”

“Wow, so now you’re just being a selfish bitch!” Wade said, crossing his arms over your chest. “Did you hear that, innocent bystanders? She could give less of a fuck if the world was set ablaze the next morning because I wasn’t there to stop it!”

“Oh, the world will be just fine,” you stated. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go to bed and you are going to sleep on the couch-”

As you got up, your stance wobbled a bit and you found yourself collapsing face forward onto Wade’s lap, your lips just barely brushing against his mask. You grasped onto his shoulders out of instinct, steadying yourself.

“Ohhh I see what you’re doing here!” the assassin called out. “You want me to stay so badly because you are just a horny little slut who can’t get enough of me! Well that’s no problem at all, because I am actually completely open and willing to do this, just know that my hard lines are scat, vomit, and furry. I don’t know why I can’t get into those animal costume things by the way, just something about the eyes..”

“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight, Wade Wilson,” you said, enunciating every single word. “I just.. lost balance.”

“Uh huh, ‘lost balance’,” he repeated, making air quotes with his fingers, his gaze not wavering. “Well if that’s the case, why don’t you kiss me and not do anything else? Since you’re so certain.”

“I’m not kissing you either,” you snapped, gasping a bit as you felt his hands slide over the curve of your waist, tugging gently at the fabric of your cami.

“You’re just saying that because you know if you did you wouldn’t be able to resist doing more,” he accused, voice darkening all of a sudden. He lifted up his mask to reveal just his lips. “So kiss me, Y/N. Since you’re sooo not attracted to me like that anymore.”

You sighed a bit as you felt the tips of his lips brush against yours, his hot breath entering your mouth, almost inviting you to lean in closer. You also realized you were never one to back down from a challenge. You went ahead and wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips into his. You tilted your head slightly to the side, allowing a couple strands of hair to fall down your face.

So you kissed him, your soft pouty lips blending seamlessly with his bruised, callused mouth. He was hungry, voracious for you even, wanting you so desperately as he pushed his tongue into you. And you allowed him to. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer towards his body as you kissed him back. Your tongue twirled against his, a little whine escaping from your lips as he broke the kiss momentarily to catch his breath.

He grasped one of your bloodstained fingers, and sucked his own blood off of them, licking his lips mischievously after.

“W-wait, Wade, stop..” you gasped, leaning back a bit once you felt his hand sneak over your taut stomach and grasp your neck firmly. “I-I can’t do this.”

“Aw, but we were getting so into it babydoll,” Wade whined, his grip tightening a bit around your neck before finally releasing you. “What happened? Are you getting cold feet because you remembered I’m so good at it?”

“No, it’s just I can’t catch feelings for you again,” you admitted, unclasping your hands from over his shoulders. “I don’t like it when I get like this with you.”

You stood up from the couch and turned your back to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Ugggghhhh you always get so dramatic like this,” he said, standing up to follow right behind you. “I promise you it’s not that serious. Think of it like this: just two people fooling around and then calling it a night. We don’t have to get into all that messy bullshit from the past if you don’t want to. We could just.. What’s the word my therapist says all the time.. Oh! Compartmentalize. Yeahhh that’s it. You know, you get really good at shit like that when you watch multiple people you care about die in front of you, it’s pretty great.”

“But it’s not that simple Wade, I can’t just..” you sighed as he wrapped his arms over your torso, pressing his chest tightly against your back. He slightly lifted up the bottom of your cami, playing with the top of your panties that peaked out of your shorts. “Please.. don’t do this to me.”

“What, this?” he asked before sliding his tongue over your exposed neck, still playing with the top of your lacy panties and twisting the little bows around his fingertips. “Love these by the way, are they new?”

“St-stop..” you stammered, breath quickening as he rolled up your tank top to eventually reveal your delicate bralette, which accentuated your cleavage perfectly. You felt his hot breath splash against your shoulder as he panted at the sight of your body gradually revealing itself to him.

“Wow, you look even better than I remember!” he commented, playing with the little ribbon in the center of your bra. He used the palm of his gloved hand to rub aching, undulating circles over your toned stomach. “Have you been working out? And by the way, love the statement piece, it goes really well with what you have under too! Ugh, I love when you wear a matching set for me, which reminds me, remember that gorgeous lingerie you had on that one Valentine’s day? I still can’t get it out of my head! Oooh, do you still have it? Because if so I would love to uh, borrow it for a few days if you don’t mind?”

You broke away from him, stepping towards your bedroom door, back still faced to him. “I have to go to sleep now,” you said, trying to conceal how flushed your cheeks were getting in the dim lighting. “You can use the sofa but please be gone by morning.”

You twisted the handle to enter your bedroom and slammed the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to regulate your breathing by counting numbers and steadying yourself by grasping your dresser while the room spun.

“Welp, at least I tried,” you overheard Wade mutter nonchalantly. He stepped over to your living room window, unclasped the locks, and disappeared out into the night. Like it was just another pit stop in the evening for him.

Eventually, you found yourself back in bed, staring at the ceiling as your heart continued to pound against your chest. You tossed and turned the entire time, wide awake, until eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and had to find some relief.

So you regrettably, masturbated to the thought of him, legs shaking underneath your sheets while you clasped your hand over your mouth. This was something you did way more often than you care to admit. And only then was sleep able to reward you.

#deadpool #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson #deadpool x reader #deadpool x you #deadpool x y/n #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x y/n #marvel jesus #marvel #mcu #marvel movies #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #marvel comics #the avengers #avengers endgame

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months ago

Note

Hello, hello! Congrats to the milestone! For the festivity may I wish for a fic with 1/A; 2/Canon- adjasond; 3/Hurt/Comfort and 4 is up to you. If it fits your jam, would be an outsider pov be possible? 👀

Thank you so much for the ask, I definitely gave myself some feels writing this one! I've never done a Wayne POV before, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. 🥲

Your first warden

Words: 999

Rated: T

Tags: POV Wayne Munson; Good uncle Wayne Munson; Child neglect; Child abuse; Alcohol abuse; Drowning; Referenced parental death; Eddie had a shitty childhood; Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Hurt Eddie Munson; Recovery; Caretaker Steve Harrington; Hurt/comfort

The first time Eddie almost died, he was two years old.

Al had insisted on bringing him along for that fishing trip. A proper men's day out, he'd said. Of course Al’s idea of a proper men's day out was hitting the booze the second they arrived. By the time Wayne heard him snore, little Ed had already wandered off.

He found him floating face down between the reeds a few yards away. The water lillies and the pretty lights rippling on the surface must've drawn him in. Wayne thinks he lost five years of his life in the seconds between pulling him out and the kid's first coughs filling the air.

“‘s okay, kiddo,” Wayne murmured as he rocked the both of them, tears and lake water drenching his flannel. “‘s okay. I gotcha.”

The ruckus drew Al, of course. He took one look at them and yanked Eddie away by the arm, slapping him hard across the face.

“Quit howling, it's your own damn fault for going in the water. And you,” his eyes found Wayne's and his face twisted into something ugly. “Who d'ya think you are, his fucking guard dog? Keep your nose outta things that don't concern ya.”

And maybe it was because Wayne never liked being told what to do, least of all by his drunk, deadbeat brother - but he promised himself something on that day.

For as long as Eddie would need him, he'd watch over him.

He'd often think back on that promise over the years. Teaching Eddie to ride a bike. Letting him sob into his shoulder at his mom's funeral, daring Al to say something about being a man one glare at a time. Taking him in when he showed up on his doorstep, bruised and beaten, hair shorn so short his scalp was bleeding in places.

Wayne never regretted his decision, and he never broke that promise.

Until the day Eddie almost died the second time.

The beemer parked by the new trailer is a sight he should be used to by now. Still, Wayne can't help but grumble as he makes his way up the porch steps.

Don't get him wrong, he'll be forever grateful to the Harrington boy for carrying Eddie out of literal hell, but he isn't sure if this new friendship between the two will ever be anything but bizarre to him.

Maybe it's because the Harringtons don't mingle with the likes of them, or maybe it's because the lad is the exact type of kid Eddie hates with a passion, usually.

Maybe it's because Wayne has noticed the way Eddie looks at the boy. He's always had a way of getting in too deep, Eddie has. Drawn to pretty flowers and rippling lights that'll slip through his fingers when grasps at them, luring him in until it's too late.

The first thing he hears when he steps inside is a thud, followed by a wince. He's just taken the first step when Harrington barrels out of the kitchen and into Eddie’s room, completely unaware of Wayne standing in the door.

“Eddie? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” comes Eddie’s reply, and Wayne knows that tone. The just-got-caught-doing-forbidden-shit one. “Just trying to put up this fucking thing.”

Toeing off his boots, Wayne hovers closer to the half-open door. A look inside reveals Eddie, sitting on the bed with a sheepish grin on his face and that giant banner he made for his band beside him. Harrington, back turned to the door, huffs and picks up the hammer lying on the ground.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds, climbing onto the bed and gesturing for Eddie to hand him the banner. A few swift movements and knocks of the hammer later, it’s hanging. “You could’ve opened a wound. Again. What do I need to do to make you stay in bed, tie you up?”

Eddie grins toothily. “Okay, one: I am in bed, technically. And two: oooh, kinky.”

Wayne groans soundlessly. Harrington rakes a hand down his face, plopping down cross-legged on the mattress.

“Eddie.”

Their knees bump together. Now that he has turned and he can see him in half-profile, Wayne recognizes the concern on Harrington’s face. Eddie’s grin shifts into something softer.

“I know,” he says, watching his hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pajama pants. “It’s just … It’s annoying, not being able to do anything on my own. Being such a goddamn burden all the time. To Wayne, to the kids. To you.”

“Hey.” Harrington’s hand settles on top of Eddie’s. “You're not a burden. We're all glad you're here. I'm glad. You know that, right?

Eddie flips his hand, tangling their fingers together, and Harrington doesn't pull away.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “I know.”

Harrington smiles, reaching up to cup Eddie’s face with his free hand.

“You just wait,” he winks. “You'll be back to walking on tables in no time. And in the meantime …”

Eddie melts into the touch, lashes brushing the other boy's palm as his eyes flutter shut.

“In the meantime, you got me.”

“I gotcha,” Harrington confirms, and leans in.

Wayne is just about to sneak away when the kettle whistles in the kitchen. The boys turn … and then they all just sort of freeze.

“Hiya, boys,” Wayne rumbles when they're still silently gaping at him a few seconds later.

“Mr. Munson,” Harrington croaks. “I mean … sir. I mean … hi?”

“Wayne?” Eddie blurts. “H-how long have you been standing there?”

Wayne considers that question while both boys continue to stare at him with matching scarlet blushes coloring their cheeks. Their hands are still lying entwined on the mattress between them.

“Long enough, I reckon,” is what he finally says. “I'll take care of the kettle, Steve. You lads stay put.”

And with that, he closes the door on their confused faces and makes his way into the kitchen. It's been a long day, and he's looking forward to resting his feet.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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reverieblondie · 1 year ago

Text

Be Sweet to Me

Chapter 1

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Fem!reader

Warnings: None for this chapter, but there will be eventual smut, Pining, and teasing. For now- Fluff and Miguel struggles with grumpiness and realizing his touched started, but he's just over worked. Alternating POVs

Summary: People say many things about you're co-worker, and sure he's not the most social but you won't give up being friends with him! Little do you know Miguel is juggling so much in his life, and getting used to you is proving to be more difficult than he thought.

A/N: I am so excited to be finally be making this series! The Alternating pov's is different than what I normal do, but I think it works best for this story! This is heavily influenced by the song Be Sweet by Japanese Breakfast. Unsure how many chapters this will be, so look out for updates! if you would like to be tagged please comment to let me know!

Word count: 3,447

Part 2

“Y/n, I need you to organize the samples and make sure that all the documents are in order before the meeting.”

Giving a slight huff you stop your work, turning on your heels to face your coworker.

“Okay, but what's the magic word?” you playfully tease with the slightest hint of condensation.

Turning his head you see the unenthused glare in his eyes despite them being shaded behind the round tinted glass. You're still not fully convinced he needs those things inside, some kind of light sensitivity he's explained once but you suspect he might just like the cool guy aesthetic it gives him. Though you wouldn’t blame him if that was truly the case, it does look kinda cool.

Face scrunched in that way you have gotten used to seeing over these past few months since working here at Alchemax. Chiseled jaw clenched shut, his full lips pressed in that iconic frown, thick brown hair styled back to try and tame the unruly waves, and tall bulky figure that you used to be intimidated by, (okay, sometimes you still are) but you have slowly adjusted to your co-worker: Miguel O’Hara.

He stared at you for a beat before turning back to his work without another word, his oh-so-subtle way of telling you to shut it and do as you're told. “Alright alright, I’ll get it done. Don’t have to tell me twice.”

One thing you have learned about working with Miguel is he may not always speak with words so if you want to create an effective work area with him you have got to be good at reading his expressions. Working with a guy like Miguel had its challenges, for one his mood: he's not exactly the easiest to get along with, and people call him cold or cocky depending on the day.

Then there was how busy he kept himself, always working on something, typing on screens, working with experiments, or tapping away at that clunky watch of his. Even on the days he’s not around due to him ‘working from home’ you can tell just by his face that he hadn’t given himself time to rest. What on earth could keep a man so busy? Well…you had an idea or two…

Despite his grumpy demeanor you were determined to become friends with Miguel. It didn’t matter what others would tell you about him or how much he distanced himself, you saw the subtle glances, the repressing of smiles, the slight cracks in the shell, You two would become buddies you were sure of it. Maybe he just needed someone to show him the effort, to be sweet to him, then maybe he could lighten up and bring his walls down.

Pulling out all the stops nothing was going to stop your attempts, you were always nice (even on days where that was particularly hard) Helping with things he didn’t ask of you, organizing and cleaning up behind him. Coffee was always a winner, you knew exactly how he liked it too, you kept making different attempts then stopped on the one where he wasn’t making a face while he took his first sip. -Success!

Then there was the friendly encouragement, pats on the shoulder, and high fives. Sure he seemed hesitant to them at first but he slowly became used to them, baby steps.

Every passing day was closer and closer to your friendship blossoming!

Magic word…was she serious? Why should he say please? It's her job to listen to what he tells her and do what he says considering he’s worked here longer. Miguel keeps typing away at his computer, lamenting in his mind how his co-worker was quite the character.

Miguel couldn’t deny that having a co-worker who was tasked to help him in all his research did help him out more than he would ever admit. Having to juggle the secret identity of Spider-Man, being the leader of the spider society protecting the multiverse, and having to keep his role as head geneticist in Alchemax. Everything could get taxing very quickly on him. Layla was a great AI assistant but she was limited, so having an actual person tagging along to help him with work was bearable, though…you were a bit exuberant and that was taking some getting used to.

The jokes, the odd habits, your clumsiness, the smart remarks you mumbled under your breath, your overwhelming friendliness. All this he could begrudgingly handle, but the thing that was still overwhelming him was the touching! Sometimes it wasn’t even touching at all you would just be so close.

First noticing it when you would stand so close that he would accidentally bump into you, if he was looking at a sample you were leaning over him to watch. You had no spatial awareness, running into him, running into things! The first month of you working here you broke so many things by running into them he thought they would run out of beakers.

Then the friendly gestures started happening. Miguel was used to people keeping their distance, meeting his gruffness, but you…oh no…you must have seen it has some challenge! The encouraging words, patting of his shoulder, spontaneous high fives, squeezing past him in tight areas, adjusting his coat for him, dusting off crumbs from his chest! Your Friendly proximity made him tense, it was…new and different, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Though it could be worse, you could be a completely useless idiot. To Miguel’s surprise you did have a brain in that head of yours, so the trade-off for actual decent help was some playfulness from you he would just deal. It’s not like he wasn’t used to playful coworkers, the spider society made sure of that. Still, you were different…and that blossoming tingling your touch would leave on him…it was…annoying.

Miguel's eyes move over to you as he watches you begin the task of organizing the samples and getting everything prepared for the meeting. Begrudgingly he was tasked with having to explain the recent studies and developments the two of you had made. The meeting was honestly bullshit, he hated having to report to the chairman, but they liked to keep a thumb on Miguel, making sure he was still their best brain. In fact, you had offered to take over and run over the presentation for Miguel but they denied that, had to be him…bastards

For a moment you turn your head and look towards Miguel meeting his eyes, you shoot him a thumbs up and a smile, that friendliness still shining through. With an annoyed huff, he turns away getting back to his work. Still adjusting…

The two of you worked diligently for a couple of hours, in silence of course, there was no time to get distracted with chatting when so much needed to be done. Rubbing his hands over his face he could feel a wave of extortion taking over him. Sleep was something he wasn’t getting regularly, there was just never enough time in the day so sacrifices must be made.

Eyes growing heavy and vision slightly blurring he feels himself slipping, but he can’t, he won't. Then a shrill alarm begins to blare from Miguel's wrist snapping him back awake. Miguel is quick to place his hand over his watch and sneak out of the lab unnoticed, lucky for him you were too concentrated on your work to notice his absence. Checking the message on his watch, it is a local emergency, something he can handle in fifteen minutes tops. With a quick few cracks of his neck, he's leaving to save the city again.

Stretching feeling accomplished in yourself getting everything prepped single-handedly. Roaming your eyes around the lab you note the lack of bulk in the room. Huh, no Miguel? He must have done one of his disappearing acts again, probably just going to lunch without you. Invite yourself to lunch with him one time and now he doesn't even tell you when he's going. Matters on that guy, oh well, you might as well go get something before the meeting anyway. Coming to a stopping point you gather your things for a nice quick bite in the cafeteria.

“I can’t see how you can work with him.” Ah, so much for a nice quick bite…

Sitting there trying to enjoy your lunch it’s the usual suspects who come to sit next to you, talking more at you and around you rather than to you. You can’t help but think that this annoying tinge you feel is what Miguel felt when he was ambushed by you. Though you couldn’t have been as annoying as these people. Complainy and gossipy types are not the best combos with your meal.

Their subjects range from many topics like complaining about work, to failed experiments, personal problems, idol gossip, then it lands to the one directly aimed at you…Miguel. As soon as the question is asked you're looking up from your food to see all eyes on you. Chewing quickly and swallowing to ask your question.

“I’m sorry what?”

Sophia groans, “O’Hara, how can you work with him?”

“Uh, well he does his thing, I do mine?”

Julius chimes in “Isn’t he a total dick to you though?”

Cassidy is now giving her input to the topic, “Oh I can only imagine what you go through on the daily.”

“Well ac-” trying to interject, you can’t even get a word in till you're being cut off by one of them.

“Yeah! Like I bet he is always bossing you around.”

“And probably insulting you in some way,”

“One time he called my team brainless idiots because we messed up one small thing” -it was not a small thing, that took you and him an all-nighter to fix…

“That was-” you try again only to be cut off once more.

“Oh, and he is always being rude!”

“God, how can you work with that monster!”

With that last comment you had it, the noise wasn’t meant to be as forceful as it came out but they kept cutting you off and then bad-talking your research partner, you were fed up. Slamming your hands on the table with a hash slap, effectively silencing them, you rise from your seat grabbing your tray in the process.

“If you have issues with him you should speak to him like he’s a person. He’s not some monster. Sure, he is not exactly social, but if this is how people talk about him behind his back it makes sense why he keeps his distance... I've lost my appetite, excuse me…”

With that, your lunch break was over.

“Spider-Man!”

“You saved us!”

“He’s a hero!”

“But…he’s kinda a jerk…”

“Didn’t he punch an old lady before?”

“I thought she punched him?”

Uhhgg…would anyone ever get that story right? Miguel is prying the last bus hostage off him as they cling tightly to him. The vulture from his dimension was up to his usual antics but he made quick work of him and was now cleaning up the shocking mess. Having to save the people from the bus was no big deal, it was the pushy reporters, camera lights flickering in his face and the clingy person keeping themselves pressed to him that was the pain to deal with. Taking deep breaths he’s trying to keep his cool, but he can feel himself threatening to boil over.

How come he can’t just ever save people and leave? Why was there always this extra crap to deal with? Finally getting the person off and seeing that all of what he could do was done he's trying to get out of there, but people can be so pushy…

Questions, Comments, Flashing lights, Praise, Criticism…he couldn’t help but snap,

“Get out of my way! Leave me alone! And for shock's sake, try to learn to protect yourselves!”

The crowd was shocked by this sudden outburst, but this should have come as no surprise from the grouchy hero. Spider-Mans in other dimensions were always known for being friendly, witty, funny, and nice to all they saved, Miguel didn’t exactly follow this blueprint. Miguel didn’t exactly mean to sound rude, just being a hero gets exhausting and patience was something he needed to work on.

Miguel hears the gasp and murmurs amongst themselves about how he’s a dick, a jerk, arrogant, blah, blah…

Rolling his eyes, hidden underneath his mask he couldn't help but think of how irrational these people could be, say one thing the public wasn’t fond of and they are at your throat. It’s all of a sudden no longer how he just saved a busload of people, or saved the city by defeating a villain; No, now it’s about how rude he was.

“Jerk!”

“Boo!”

“I hate you Spider-man!” -great…this just makes everything so much better with this thankless job.

Swing off before the police come to further irritate him. As he swings back to Alchemax he’s wrapped up in his thoughts. This hero thing was not easy…everything he did wasn’t right, not what people wanted…he was always messing up in some way…nothing was ever good enough, he had to stretch himself thinner and thinner, keeping everything together. The pressure is immense…

Getting back to Alchemax, he changes and tries to resume back to his work, the fight had successfully woken him up but now he’s starving. Eating like sleep has also become a thing he has had to cut for the sake of time, but something quick should be fine before he gets back to work.

Stopping by the cafeteria Miguel immediately spots you sat by Sophia, Julius, and Cassidy, not good company for you to keep. Well honestly anyone, they might catch their stupid. Making sure to be as unnoticed as possible last thing he needs is you trying to wave him over to your table. Coffee with a bagel is all he needs to grab so he can make his escape back to the lab. Grabbing a coffee that thankfully wasn't made by you, his sensitive ears can’t help but catch what's being said at your table. No surprise it’s about him.

Listening in he is catching fragments of the conversation sipping his coffee trying his best to ignore the meaningless conversation, till a remark of him makes him pause at the threshold of the entryway.

“How can you work with that monster!”

Monster…huh…is that how people see him? Mutated, sure, grouchy, and tempestuous maybe, But a monster. A ping in his chest makes his hands tighten around the cup. Talons threatens to poke through but he resists. If they want to see him as a monster then so be it…he doesn't care…

Suddenly, a slam, followed by your familiar voice catches him by surprise,

“He’s not some monster. Sure, he is not exactly social, but if this is how people talk about him behind his back it makes sense why he keeps his distance”

“Not some monster…” Your words can’t be helped from echoing through his head. You sound so angry, you never sound angry. Looking over he sees your face furrowed in a glare. He didn’t think your face knew how to do that. Watching as you walk away in a haste away from the table he's leaving to his usual eating spot hidden away from others.

Taking his shades off in the empty break room he dims the lights down as he sinks into one of the chairs. Finally getting even a moment of a break, even taking time to peacefully relax he finds he is unable to. Even sitting leaning back he still feels teased, irritated, stressed. Trying to shut his mind for even a moment, a second of a break he finds it to be an impossible task. But as he sits, his usual stresses fade to be replaced by your words. Miguel could have cared less about what those idiots had to say about him. The surprising thing was that you were defending him…not that he needed it… but it was…kind of you…

Taking a bite out of the bland bagel he groans to himself, annoyed.

It's almost time for the meeting and you're pacing outside the doors with everything ready to go, except you haven’t seen Miguel anywhere. Running behind is a thing you are not used to from him, he’s usually so timely but you haven’t seen him at all since he left for what you thought was lunch. Did he get caught up doing something else?

Minutes tick by and you're growing more anxious by the second. Would he just not show up? It’s a possibility, but he would be putting both your asses on the line, though he didn’t have to worry much about that, they wouldn’t fire their best brain, but…you're a bit more expendable.

Before you can continue thinking about your ass being on the chopping block Miguel is rounding the corner adjusting his coat and walking in a casual strut. Looking at him as he approaches you notice his appearance looks a bit different. That shirt does seem a bit wrinkled and his tie is completely messed up from earlier. What has he been doing? Mid-day workout? Did he have an accident in the lab and have to go change? But the clothes are the same, just wrinkled.

Or was he doing something else… Thinking for a moment over what you could be doing that would cause messed up clothes an image of a sweaty grunting Miguel pops into your brain. Pushing down the thought with an internal slap to yourself you decide to greet him as friendly as possible.

“You're running behind Miguel” -okay you can’t help but tease him a bit. Friends rass each other all the time.

“Yeah, got…caught up in something…” he speaks hesitantly, suspicious…

Miguel gets ready to go inside but you quickly grab him by the shoulder to get his attention “Hold on there, you can’t go in there looking like that”

Turning to face you, he looks at you confused then looks down at himself, “What? I look fine.”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes and point to his chest where his tie is haphazardly knotted together in a rushed fashion.

“Your tie” Before he can protest your hands are already getting to work losing his tie gently, “Let me help you”

With the silk tie undone hanging down his chest, you're moving your hands to raise his collar. As you concentrate on the task your eyes are fixed on his neck you observe that as your fingers slightly brush over his warm skin his body teases slightly. Straightening his neck, you know he’s about to say something.

“Why are you nice to me? I know what others say about me, so how come? Are you trying to pity me?” His voice is stern and this isn’t what you were expecting out of him right now. Did he hear you earlier?

The slight laugh that escapes you couldn’t be helped. Moving your hands you cross the two ends to tie in a classic Windsor knot. “Leave it to you to think someone being nice to you is just a ruse to pity you. I just want to be nice to you.”

Remaining silent you continue to loop and twist the tie, your knuckles blushing over him, you swear you see his skin pickle up for a moment with a slight shiver. Finishing up, you tighten it to his neck and carefully fold his collar back down, keeping your eyes on your work at hand, you watch as his Adam's apple slightly bobs as you adjust it properly.

Sliding your hands to the silk tie you brush your fingers down the soft fabric straightening it while laying down flat against his chest. The feeling of his chest tightness under your fingertips and his breath seems to be slightly slow, you don’t know if he is hating this or being relaxed by it.

Meeting his eyes, they are unshaded for you to observe their burgundy hue. His face is still stern looking but you know this one has that slight softness in his eyes, meaning his listening, he is waiting for you to speak again.

“I want us to be friends, simple”

Miguel's lips slightly part as if he was about to speak, but before he could the conference room doors opened with them calling Miguel in. Turning to you there is a look on his face you're not completely used to, but that will have to wait for now. Giving a quick pat to his chest you smile up at him.

“You got this Miguel, good luck.”

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 10 months ago

Text

ATEEZ Relationship Stages | Kim Hongjoong

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (You

Synopsis: When you first meet, First date, First kiss, First 'I love you.', Getting engaged, Wedding, Children.

Warnings: None. I used Ha-Joon who is from a Hongjoong fic I wrote and will repost eventually. Let me know if you want more and I'll continue with the others.

Word Count: 2,011

Tag List: Open - link to form on masterlist post.

ATEEZ Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

WHEN YOU FIRST MET

You first met Hongjoong at a photography exhibition. His photography exhibition. You don’t know much about photography, but you enjoyed looking at it.

You’d been staring at one of the photos for at least five minutes when Hongjoong saw you. The person who was talking to him became background noise as he watched you tilt your head as if you were trying to look at the photo from another angle. He looked around, seeing you weren’t with anyone, or more hoping that you weren’t.

His attention is drawn away from you when he hears the person next to him say his name and look at him questioningly. He apologizes and goes back to the conversation they were just having but he can’t help stealing glances at you.

One of the times he glances towards you he’s noticed you’ve disappeared. He searches the room and finds you staring at a photo further away. He doesn’t know what came over him, but he finds himself politely excusing himself from the conversation he’s in and makes his way towards you.

He stands next to you, unsure of what to say.

“Whoever took these photos, has a really good eye,” You say, quickly glancing at him before looking back at the photo, leaving him a little stunned but he quickly composes himself.

“You think so?” he asks.

You nod your head. “This one is my favourite.”

Hongjoong notices it’s a photo that barely made the cut. He’d been unsure if he should put this one in exhibition or not but now, he’s glad he did.

“I can get you a copy,” he says without thinking.

Your head whips to the side to look at him, surprised. “Do you know the photographer?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” he smiles, bowing to you slightly.

You bow back to him, looking even more surprised and introduce yourself.

The rest of the night, everyone else was forgotten about as you sat on one of the benches inside the gallery as Hongjoong answered every question you asked him. When the gallery, closed, you exchanged numbers so he could get you a copy of the photograph you liked so much.

FIRST DATE

After a few weeks of talking through calls and texts, Hongjoong finally asked you on a date. He'd called you with every intention of asking you out but at first his nerves got the best of him and instead you talked about your days. It was when you were about to hand up that he blurted out asking you to dinner the following night, as a date. You accepted without any hesitation. You had almost asked him out to dinner yourself, unsure if you could wait any longer for him to ask you.

For your first date he took you out to dinner at a nice restaurant, then you went for a walk around the park that was close by. You learnt even more about each other and by the end of the night, you knew that you could never like Hongjoong as just a friend. There was something there between you and it felt very real and very right.

FIRST KISS

It wasn’t a surprise that your first kiss, was in the privacy of the studio Hongjoong creates his music in. You were on your fifth date, a month after your fist date.

Knowing Hongjoong isn’t big on showing and receiving any form of skinship, you were okay with being patient and waiting for him to feel more comfortable with you. You were happy holding his hand and having his arm around you, holding you against his side as a little subtle way of letting everyone know you are his.

You were on your fifth date, a month after your fist date. He’d been so caught up in working on songs for their next album, that he’d forgotten about the date. When you called him, he couldn’t have been more apologetic and suggested you come to the studio. You arrived 20 minutes later, with food and made sure he ate. An hour went by when he pulled you from the couch and on to his lap.

“I promise I’ll never forget another date again,” he sighs. You could still see the guilt in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong,” you tried to assure him. “I know how busy you’ve been lately. Honestly, seeing you working and doing what you love, has given me a further glimpse into who you are. You continue to impress and inspire me, Kim Hongjoong.”

He smiles, his cheeks reddening slightly but instead of saying anything, he cups the back of your neck and pulls you in for a sweet soft kiss that held more meaning than any words he could have said in that moment.

That was the moment you knew you were falling hard and fast for Kim Hongjoong.

FIRST ‘I LOVE YOU.’

You and Hongjoong have been together for seven months when the first ‘I love you’ was spoken aloud. For the last month the both of you had been having an internal struggle with it. You were waiting for him to say it first but when he wasn’t you were wondering if you should just say it. A plan was forming in your head but that all changed when you heard those three little words leave Hongjoong’s lips.

He’d met with you at the park between both your workplaces for lunch. He’d brought his camera in case inspiration caught his eye. And it certainly did. Seeing you in the sundress he’d bought you because he pictured you in it the moment he saw it, your hair down, bare faced and beautiful. You were sitting on the picnic blanket you brought, leaning back on your arms, face to the sky and eyes closed as you soaked in the warm sun.

Hearing the shutter of his camera, you opened your eyes and looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

He smiles, leans forward and places a light kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he says as he pulls back.

Your smile grows as you move to sit on his lap, cupping his face. “I love you too,” you reply before kissing him again.

ENGAGEMENT

Hongjoong had another exhibition at the same gallery that the two of you met in almost two years earlier. The night before opening night, Hongjoong brought you to the gallery, wanting to give you a private tour. This exhibition had been so secretive that you hadn’t seen a single photo yourself. You were usually the first person he would show.

He took you around, showing you all the photos until he got to the last one. It was a photo you recognised. It hung on the wall in the spare room that was being used as a makeshift studio for him in your shared apartment. It was the photo he took of you in the park, when he first told you he loves you. Surrounding that photo was smaller photos of the two of you together throughout your relationship. All of them photos his members had taken, some you’ve seen and some you’ve never seen before.

“This part the public doesn’t get to see. It’s not part of the exhibition,” he mentions, looking from the photo wall to you.

You look at him confused, “then why’s it-”

Your cut off as Hongjoong pulls a square box from his pocket and drops down to one knee. Your eyes widen with surprise as your hands cover your now gaping mouth. You can stop the tears from forming in your eyes.

“I’m so glad I asked you for your number almost two years later, because now, I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. You’re my soulmate and if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life loving and caring for you as your husband. Will you marry me?”

You nod your head as you struggle with the lump that’s formed in your throat. He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on your finger as he stands up, wrapping his arms around you before planting his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.

It wasn’t until you hear Wooyoung’s loud cheering, you realize you're not alone. Of course, the boys were there to help you celebrate your engagement. You wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

WEDDING

Your wedding day had been perfect despite all the hiccups you and Hongjoong went through to plan it. Working around his schedule had been slightly more difficult than both of you anticipated. You were both seriously considering eloping and planning the wedding when he went on break. But as soon as an elopement was mentioned, him and the guys ended up with a few days break in between schedules. The wedding was quickly scheduled on one of those days which just so happened to give them three weeks to get everything together. They managed to find a venue. Both their parents and siblings helped where they could. Even the other boys’ families and KQ Entertainment helped the best they could.

You’d already had your dress sorted. It had been your mother’s wedding dress that you had fond memories of dressing up in as a child. When you asked your mother if you could wear it for your and Hongjoong’s big day, she burst into tears, and got it out for you. It needed some altering, but your mum had a friend who had no issue doing it for you. Hongjoong’s reformed his suit from one of the many suits he had in his closet. He’d sewed some of the scraps from the wedding dress alteration into the suit and made you your something blue out of fabric he’d taken from his suit coat.

The music had been left up to Hongjoong since it was his expertise and had the connections. He’d hired an acquaintance to DJ the wedding but had also surprised you (with his members) with a live performance of some of your favourite ATEEZ songs.

The only thing that couldn’t be planned was the honeymoon, which had to wait until they were on a break. Instead, you found the closest tattoo place and got matching tattoos that included the date of your wedding.

Overall, your wedding day had been everything you dreamed of and so much more. The day after you’d gotten matching tattoos that included the date of your wedding.

CHILDREN:

You and Hongjoong originally agreed to wait a year and a half to two years before having children. You wanted to let yourself settle into married life and with your schedules, you were way too busy to consider having a child. So, it was a surprised when you fell pregnant 7 months after you were married. Even though little Ha-Joon was unexpected, and you and Hongjoong were terrified, you were also happy and excited. You both embraced parenthood and made sure your little girl had everything she could want and need. And it wasn’t just her parents she has wrapped around her little fingers. Her uncles, aunts, her grandparents, the managers, make-up artists, the production team, everyone is smitten with her, especially the members. You couldn’t take her to the company building without one of them stealing her the moment you walk into the building.

Now she’s three and everything is pretty much the same, except that she’s growing way too fast for your and Hongjoong’s liking. You’re also now pregnant with a boy, this one planned. Ha-Joon being three, you both talked about it and agreed it was a perfect time to have another baby. You had your sister to thank for that conversation. She just had her own baby 6 months ago and you’d come down bad with baby fever. Hongjoong had to admit he may have caught a little baby fever as he saw how loving and gentle Ha-Joon is with her baby cousin. He couldn’t say no to you when you came asking for another baby. He would give you as many babies as you wanted.

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lowkeychenle · 1 year ago

Text

Like We Just Met [ZCL] (M)

Description: Everything else about the day is completely normal when Chenle realizes he wants to marry you. It hits him like a tidal wave, and he's itching to tell you just how much he wants to love you forever.

Genre: Fluff (literally SO MUCH FLUFF we love Chenle in this house go away if you don't) // Smut

Content Warnings: Explicit unprotected sex (it's actually sweet this time am I feeling okay), talks about marriage etc etc. Nothing really dark or upsetting in here.

Word Count: 11,292 (y'all I have no idea how this happened...)

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat. the rest of the Dreamies)

ISTJ 7Dream Series Masterlist

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests/Tell me what you think of this plz <3

Tag List (open for ISTJ 7Dream Series): @kunvibing

Author's Note: Lowkey? This was so fun because it's from Chenle's POV...or it's supposed to be haha. This is probably my favorite fic I've ever written catch me crying in the corner...also this gif don't mind the real tears in my eyes

Nobody questioned Renjun when he said he’d invited his friend to dance practice. They brought friends in every now and then, so it wasn’t anything new. Chenle was having a bit of an off day. He kept screwing up the choreography (that he’d done seven hundred times probably in the past week alone) and even accidentally elbowed Jaemin.

Renjun’s friend had yet to show up. Chenle was beyond frustrated with the way things were going, so he let everyone know he was taking a break. He grabbed his water bottle and stomped out of the practice room.

He ended up a bit down the hallway, resting his back on the wall with his eyes closed. All he needed was a break. That had to be it.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice asked.

When he looked at you, he recoiled a bit. He’d never seen you before—he’d definitely remember—but something about you felt familiar. Like a warm aura surrounded you and infiltrated him in the best ways.

“You’re Chenle, right?” You tilted your head at him. “I’m Renjun’s friend, (Y/N). I was supposed to watch practice, but I got lost. This building is pretty big.”

“Yeah, I’m Chenle.” He blinks at you a couple more times. “Um, we’re always in the same practice room. I’ll take you over there.”

“Actually, is there a place to get some water? I forgot mine at home.” You scratched the top of your head and scrunched up your nose. “It was really hot outside.”

“It’s on the way.” He gestured down the hall with his head.

You followed him without hesitation. He was acutely aware of every step you took, of how there was only a few feet between the two of you. Even though he had no clue what to say to you, you didn’t mind walking along in silence. It was unlike him to be shy. Next to impossible for him to be starstruck.

“How long have you known Renjun for?” he asked. And why the hell had you not come around sooner?

“Oh.” You took a deep breath and pursed your lips in thought as Chenle stopped to grab you a water bottle from the kitchen. “Four years now? Five? His family knows mine, so when I came back here, his parents told him he had to help me find my way around.”

“Well, today’s pretty laid back,” Chenle explains. “We’ll probably practice for another hour or two and then go home. We’ve been at it all day.”

You hum in response, opening the cap and taking a sip. “Thank you for this. Sorry to keep you from practice.”

“Don’t be. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.” Chenle chuckles, gaze drinking you in when you’re distracted by your water. “And…they can be a little…much at first. But they’re all great people, so you’ll be fine.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m nervous.” You narrowed your eyes at him playfully.

He bit back a smile, pressing his lips into a thin line instead. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Renjun has given me plenty of warnings,” you tell him.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t taken you to the practice room yet. The two of you stood in the kitchen, but he knew the second you were with everyone else, the conversation was over. He didn’t want to stop talking to you, and that odd feeling of warmth settled into his chest.

“Like what?” Chenle raised his eyebrows.

“He said you’re cranky and mean.” You smiled at him, and he swore he was almost knocked off his feet. There was something about you that drew him in.

Chenle made a mental note to scold Renjun later, but he’s not necessarily wrong…he was cranky until he saw you.

“Well, in that case, what he said about everyone else is probably accurate, too.”

“You don’t look cranky,” you interjected. “You’re not mean either. Mean people don’t get strangers water bottles.”

“I’m mean to Renjun. And Jisung.”

“They’re your friends. You get a pass for your friends.” You slid one of your hands into the back pocket of your jeans, rocking on the balls of your feet as silence befell the room.

“They’re waiting for me,” Chenle says. “We should go.”

You nodded in agreement and followed him. He sulked a bit when the other members were introduced to you. They were all nice—because they always were—but when it came time to get back to practice, he found himself gravitating toward you several times.

Nearly every time he looked at you, you were already looking at him, too. Maybe it wasn’t just him that felt the weird tug. He hoped it wasn’t.

After they wrapped everything up, Chenle sat against the back wall, feeling so heavy as if he could fall asleep right there. He was exhausted.

Jaemin, Jeno, Donghyuck, and Mark were already on their way out the door, leaving Jisung to slump next to Chenle and Renjun to talk with you. Jisung noted how he was watching you, but he didn’t say anything right away. He drank his water and stayed quiet.

You said something to Renjun, who smiled at you and nodded. He headed for the door and waited for you outside. When Chenle realized you were coming over to him, he shot a worried glance over at Jisung.

“Would you look at that?” Jisung cleared his throat. “Time for me to go.”

Before Chenle could even grab him, Jisung was halfway to the door. Once you were in front of him, you sat down and crossed your legs.

“You did really well today.”

He chuckled. “I think that’s the worst I’ve done this comeback season.”

“Then you’re in pretty good shape.” You shrugged, picking at the seam of your jeans. “I wanted to thank you. For helping me earlier.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” he said. “You’re Renjun’s friend. Of course, I’d help you.”

“Right.” You brushed your hair over your shoulder and prepared to stand up. “I should go—”

“Will you be coming back?” The question shot out of his mouth, sending a blush to his cheeks in response.

“I’m not sure,” you told him. “That’s up to Renjun I guess. It was really cool to see how passionate you guys are.”

“Let me give you my number.” Chenle grabbed his phone from his pocket. “Um, just in case you get lost again. And need help finding the room.” He cringed at himself, hoping he wasn’t going to get rejected.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You gave him the tiniest smile, but it made his heart flutter anyway.

He handed it to you with the contact app open. You didn’t even hesitate to type in your name and number. After, you sent yourself a text, and Chenle heard it ring in your back pocket. You gave it back to him, grinned, and left him sitting there in shock.

He couldn’t choose between staring at you as you left and looking down at your contact open on his screen. His stomach twisted with nerves, but the second he saw the smiley face emoji you’d put next to your name, he already knew.

You were going to be someone to him.

Mark drops something in the kitchen, snapping Chenle out of it. He looks at you, and you smile back at him. With you pressed into his side and your legs over his lap, he can’t help but grin right back.

His hand rests on your thigh, thumb sliding gently back and forth as he presses a kiss to your temple. He’d never get used to this.

After returning from the kitchen, Mark allows the game to resume. His nose scrunches as he glances between you and Chenle. “That’s a weird ass question.”

“Not weird.” Chenle shakes his head. “Critical thinking, Mark, you should try it.”

“Oh, be nice.” You shove his shoulder.

For a while now, Chenle has felt his feelings growing more than he thought possible. He’s already in love with you (thankfully, since you’ve been together almost a year now), but something about you lately has him on a whole other level. Even then, he’s not sure what it is. He decides he’ll ride it out for a while and see where it takes him.

“Why would you ask your girlfriend what year she’d take a time machine back to? Shouldn’t she be like…happiest now?” Mark asks, sipping on whatever mixed drink he’d prepared in Chenle’s kitchen.

“You’d think.” Chenle snorts, leaning back against the couch and throwing his arm around you.

“He asks me questions like this all the time,” you tell Mark. When you steal a glance at your boyfriend, his breath catches in his chest.

What the hell is going on with him lately? He can’t concentrate around you (even more than usual) and every tiny thing you do has his heart hammering against his ribcage. Soon enough, he’s sure you’ll both hear the bones crack.

“Has anyone, by chance, ever told you two that you’re gross?” Mark chuckles to himself and leans back in the recliner. “Some of us are single and lonely, you know.”

“Some of us will never be that again,” Chenle shoots back.

“Oh, you two are the worst.” Your laugh echoes pleasantly in his ears, and he subconsciously leans closer to you.

“I am curious what your answer is, though,” Mark interjects. “Since Chenle’s so sure.”

Chenle takes a sip of his own drink, nearly cringing at the bitter taste dragging down his throat. He’s not much of a drinker—social at best. But he can still appreciate the buzz and the hazy happiness that comes with it. You take his hand that dangles over your shoulder, twirling the friendship ring wrapped around his middle finger. The action is so, so simple, yet it makes his stomach turn.

If he doesn’t figure out what the hell’s going on with him soon, he’s gonna have to separate himself from you.

“Well, you’re right.” You shrug, shuffling closer to Chenle. “This part of my life has definitely been the best. But if I could go back to any time, it would probably be when we met. You only get to meet Zhong Chenle once in your life, dude. I’d do it over and over again if I could. The second I saw him, I knew he would be important to me.”

Chenle thinks back to the moment he first saw you. The way he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you like an actual child or the way he took in every detail of you to store in his mind forever—just in case he never got to speak to you again. He pauses, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he analyzes your answer.

Mark groans. “That doesn’t count! That was last year.”

Grabbing the pillow next to him, Chenle throws it at his friend. “Leave her alone, it was a good answer.”

But when he contemplates that thought, he’s not sure he understands what you mean. His ears burn, the tips of them turning red as he recalls how embarrassingly nervous he was around you all the time. How awkward all of your firsts together were. Everything now is so much better than back then.

Not to mention he’s looked at you the same way since that first night. His feelings for you have grown, sure, but those butterflies he used to get still torment him just about every time he sees you smile.

“Why?” Chenle finally asks.

“You were so cute,” you hum, shifting closer to him. “Everything made you nervous. You almost keeled over in embarrassment when you asked to hold my hand.”

Mark laughs, and Chenle sends a glare his way. No part of that is even anywhere near funny.

“Okay, it's your turn.” Mark gestures at you.

Chenle resists the urge to reach over and touch your face. Usually, he’s so much better about being so clingy in front of his friends and, while he would prefer Mark not seeing this side of him, he couldn’t care less when his gaze is locked with yours.

“Cool.” You nod, taking a sip of your drink. “Both of you. Hypothetical situation. Let’s say you’re drunk. You walk into a room and everyone you’ve ever loved is in there. Like…loved. Who are you going to?”

“Dude.” Mark’s jaw drops. “That’s such a shitty question for me.”

“You’ll live,” Chenle replies. “Just romantic love?”

“All of it. Platonic, romantic, family.” You purse your lips in thought.

Chenle doesn’t have to think about it. Not really. He’d rather get struck by lightning and then hit by a bus right after before admitting that so easily in front of Mark. In this case, it’s always been you. From the second you spoke to him for the first time, he was irrevocably yours.

“You.” Chenle watches your eyebrows raise.

“Be serious,” you say. “Your parents are included in that.”

“I’m serious. You.” Chenle chuckles.

You give him a pointed look, but that’s when Mark cuts in.

“No, he’s for real. Like…that legitimately happened.” Mark leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs as he rests his head in his palms. “Do you guys not remember?”

“What are you talking about?” you ask him, frowning.

Chenle remembers. Barely, and it’s a bit foggy, but it comes back like a baseball bat upside the head as Mark starts telling the story.

Chenle’s birthday party last year. The night was barely halfway through and he was drunk enough to be stumbling over his feet. He’d heard you were coming, but he had yet to see you. Even when every other feeling was numbed by the tingling sensation the alcohol left behind, his craving to see you was all that remained.

Mark walked next to him, having a full conversation with himself since Chenle was so fog-brained. As much as he loved Mark, there was only one person he wanted to see. Everyone he knew and loved was here—his parents, the rest of his group, and Jisung had somehow forgotten to uninvite Chenle’s ex.

He only ever dated one person before you, but he wasn’t sure he ever loved her. Regardless, there she was. Even with her standing across the room from him, he kept waiting like a lost puppy.

When you walked in, he swore the whole world stopped around him. Everyone but you was moving in slow motion before they eventually faded into nothing, darkness that was emphasized by the light you were. His breath caught in his throat, and he stopped walking.

Chenle couldn’t form a coherent thought while he stared at you, drunken stupor making it so much easier to forget the embarrassment. Mark watched him curiously as Chenle made his way over to you. He refused to waste any more time when he knew you were the one he wanted to talk to.

You had always been more confident around him than he was around you. Your face lit up when you saw him, wrapping your arms around him. He secured you in his grasp, breathing in the scent of your hair and the perfume you wore.

“Happy birthday.” Your voice is muffled a bit by his T-shirt. “Sorry I’m late, took a bit longer to get ready than I thought it would.”

He knew he should’ve let you go. People were starting to notice the way he was clinging to you, and not even being drunk could excuse that behavior. He was about ready to tell everyone except you to leave. Nothing else mattered. If he could spend his birthday with you, it would be the best one yet.

It’d been two months since Renjun had introduced you to the rest of them. Which means, he’s only known of your existence for two months, and you already command so much of his brain matter that he can’t think of anyone but you. Great.

He finally (reluctantly) let you go and led you over to the rest of the group. Nobody said anything when he made Mark scoot over so you could sit next to him. Nobody questioned it. His parents would ask him about it later, but until then, there was no reason for him to worry. After all, his crush on you was the most obvious thing in the world, so it was only a matter of time before you found out about it.

By the end of the night, he hadn’t spent enough time with you. People were starting to shuffle out, but you stayed, chatting with Renjun until only four remained. Chenle’s parents had gone to bed long ago. You were almost caught up to him on drinks, your laughs longer and your movements slower.

Under any other circumstances, he wouldn’t have been as brave as to walk up to you and ask you to stay the night. He didn’t mean it in a suggestive way, either. He just didn’t want you to leave yet.

“Chenle,” Renjun scolds, swatting his shoulder. “You can’t ask something like that so casually.”

“You want me to stay here? With you?” Your voice was higher than normal. Chenle accredited it to the alcohol raging in your system.

“I like when you’re here.” Chenle nodded. “You make everything calm.”

Renjun scrunched up his face, slamming his forehead into his palm. “(Y/N), you should probably go home—”

“No, it’s okay.” You brushed him off. “I’m okay with staying.”

Oh, he was in love with you. There was no other explanation for the way his heart skipped a beat when those words came out of your mouth.

Chenle doesn’t remember the rest of that night, but he does recall waking up next to you in the morning and freaking out. Alcohol made him brave, but it didn’t save him from the red-hot embarrassment of the next day.

“I didn’t even realize…” you trailed off, a small smile forming on your face. “You picked me.”

“I’ll always pick you,” Chenle responds easily, like second nature.

Mark decides it’s time for him to leave, but Chenle’s mind is still reeling with memories. With all of the firsts you said you wished you could relive. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t figure out what the fuck this feeling is. As the two of you climb into bed, he’s so distracted, he can’t fall asleep, even with you curled into his chest.

“(Y/N),” Chenle groaned when he saw you in the practice room mirror. “You gotta stop showing up here if you don’t want me to fall in love with you.”

It was a joke. Sort of.

“Right, and let you forget to eat? I think not.” You fought back every time, unphased by the way he so casually admitted he’s starting to fall for you.

At least, that was his idea of admitting it.

You walked over with the bags in your hand, sitting down on the practice room floor next to him.

“I haven’t even been here that long,” Chenle defended himself. “I would’ve eaten after I left.”

You unloaded the contents, opening boxes. “I can go if that’s what you want.”

“Not what I said.” For some reason, he felt a sudden burst of courage. He’s known you for four months at this point, and something about today felt…right. “I was serious, you know.”

“About what?” You grabbed the drinks from the carrier.

“You.”

“What?” You recoiled, looking at him in confusion.

He contemplated telling you to forget it. That it didn’t matter, and thank you for the food instead. If you didn’t feel the same way for him, he’d be devastated. And then you’d leave him for good and take all the food with you. He was starving.

“If you keep doing nice things for me, I’m gonna fall for you.” As if he hasn’t already.

You paused, but Chenle didn’t miss the blush on your face. Clearing your throat, you looked away from him and took a deep breath. His fists clenched as he awaited your rejection, but the longer the silence stretched, the more he felt you might want him to.

“Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean it,” you finally said and brushed your hair behind your ears. Reaching forward for the food again, you gave Chenle a shocked look when he grabbed your wrist.

“You’re right. I’m not going to fall for you. I already did.”

Your jaw dropped, eyes widening as his words settled in the air around both of you. With his heart racing, he released your wrist and intertwined your fingers instead.

“I really, really like you.”

“You should really eat your food before it gets cold.” You pulled your hand from his and pushed the box closer to him.

He stared blankly at the wall, noting the sudden chill on his skin that you left behind. A sinking feeling encapsulated his chest, and he knew he ruined everything. You looked like you were ready to run.

“Forget I said anything,” he told you. “I’m sorry if that was weird.”

“Eat,” you commanded again. “I’m not talking about this with you until I know you’ve eaten. If you don’t, we’ll go off on a tangent and you’ll be starving all night.”

“Does that mean you—”

“Yes, Chenle.” You interrupted him. “Yes, I really, really like you too, which is why I want to make sure you eat.”

At that moment, Chenle realized that if he walked outside and randomly dropped dead, he’d be okay with it now that he’s gotten that confession out of you. There wasn’t a damn thing that could top that. Everything else in life would be subpar to today, so there was no point in trying.

You and Chenle ate in silence. He kept stealing glances at you, catching you doing the same to him. If all he had to do in order to get you to talk about your feelings with him was eat, he’d do it, albeit probably a bit too fast for his own good.

Chenle runs his fingers through his hair, his thumb tracing gentle shapes against the bare skin of your arm. These memories have no business popping up in the middle of the night. He has practice tomorrow. He’ll be so off his game, the other members will want to kill him.

Usually, he has no problem falling asleep, especially with you right beside him. Over the past year, you’ve probably spent more nights with him than you have at your own place. He teases you for it all the time, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Closing his eyes, he listens to the soft sounds of your breathing and allows himself to feel the way your body slots with his so easily. Everything about you is perfect. About the two of you together. He would toss and turn, but no way is he going to disturb you. Even if he can’t sleep, he’d never screw up your schedule on purpose.

“It’s so pretty.” You were in awe, staring at the sunset from Chenle’s backyard. He’d set up a picnic date for the two of you, and afterward, you were watching the sun fade below the treeline while lying on top of a red blanket.

His fingers were intertwined with yours, something that had become so normal for you. Two weeks since his confession, and it was the second date he planned. He wondered, obsessed over, even, what your thought process was on all of this. Were you happy? Did he make you happy?

He wanted to kiss you when he confessed to you. And while he came close to it on your first date, he decided against it. It had to be perfect. Nothing was good enough for you in his mind, especially when all he wanted was to make sure you knew just how he felt about you.

How was he supposed to tell you that?

He’d already said he fell for you, but that didn’t begin to cover it. Not really. You made him want to put in effort, made him crave your happiness like it was the very oxygen he breathed. At the same time, he didn’t want you to think he didn’t want to kiss you. Hell, he’d already dreamed of it, for fuck’s sake, so that definitely wasn’t the issue.

Lost in thought, he’s only snapped out of it by the way you rolled over, lying on your stomach so you can get a good look at his face. You rested your head on your right palm, your left finding his bicep.

“You’re so perfect,” he hummed, twirling your hair with his fingers. “Could look at you forever.”

“Some people might have an issue with that.” You laughed.

“We’re the only ones that matter,” he responded.

Your smile slowly faded, a look of longing replacing it as your gaze softened.

God, he wanted to kiss you. He needed to.

All thoughts of the perfect moment have fled from his brain. Any moment would be perfect as long as it’s you.

He sat up and you leaned forward, and before he knew it, his nose brushed yours. Your eyes fluttered shut in preparation. The heat of the sun sank into his skin. Your perfume wafted from you, intertwining with the air and suffocating him in the best ways. If he could pick one scent to smell for the rest of his life, it would be yours.

Was it normal to have these thoughts so early?

Why was he thinking of that right now? Literally the worst possible time.

“Can I?” he whispered, scared to ruin everything.

“Yes.”

As soon as the word left your mouth, he kissed you. Everything about you was soft, so he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find your lips the same way. His hands shook as he touched your waist.

He was already in big trouble. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to stop there. His heart thudded so loud, he was halfway sure you could hear it, too. It felt like sparks flew between you two, absolute electricity coursing through every single one of his veins, heating up his bloodstream and making the thought of pulling away from you the absolute worst case scenario.

You moved away first, gasping for breath. Chenle craved tugging you back to him. His body reacted to you in ways it had never reacted to anyone else. He didn’t want to take it too far, but he sure as hell didn’t want to stop, either.

He couldn’t describe the way you felt. The way you tasted. Everything about you was so heart-achingly perfect, he wanted to experience you all the time. He wanted to rewind time so he could kiss you again for the first time, and he’d do it over and over and over again.

Something about first kisses set him on fire. He was absolutely sure he’d kiss you more. In fact, he was seconds away from it. But the adrenaline coming from the very first brush of your lips on his wasn’t something he’d ever be able to recreate.

“Again.” You leaned in once more.

He met you in the middle eagerly, hand finding the back of your head before he turned you so you were lying on your back. Half of his weight pressed against you, but he did his best to keep himself lifted up so you weren’t uncomfortable.

Unforgettable heat swarmed him, the sun caressing his skin as your fingers gently traced down the back of his neck. Goosebumps formed, but he could hardly pay attention to them. The entire world was gone, and you were everything, the only person remaining in a sea of nothingness. He wanted you. Needed you.

This was technically your second kiss, but in his mind, it was still the first since they happened almost at the same time. He hadn’t stopped to take a breath in much too long, but he’d rather suffocate than separate from you.

He stopped when your breath hitched, completely lost in the sound. When he wasn’t focusing on your mouth anymore, he realized why—his hand had somehow found its way to your upper thigh. His face burned as he removed it.

“I didn’t…” he trailed off, scanning over your face for any hint of what you were feeling. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

You chuckled at him, pushing his shoulder. “You wish that excuse would work on me.”

The sky faded into a beautiful lilac color, the kind that only appeared when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. Clouds drifted effortlessly, stars beginning to shine.

“Should we go inside?” Chenle asked. “It’ll get cold without the sun.”

Whenever he looked at you, he knew you were different. He couldn’t place how, but nobody else had ever made him feel the way you do. Like his heart was going to burst out of his chest while simultaneously stopping and also skipping every other beat. He didn’t even know how he was alive anymore.

In the last two weeks since his confession, the boys had told him how much happier he was. How he was striving with more effort lately and trying his best at any given moment of the day. You were his motivation. You made him want to be the absolute best he could be, and even as new as the relationship was, he’d already known you for months—he was nervous about you deciding you wanted something else. Someone who wasn’t him.

The moment before replayed in his head, and he heard that breath hitch on repeat while he awaited your answer. He did his best to stop thinking about it, but nothing worked. All he wanted to do was kiss you again, over and over and over until the literal end of time.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Let’s go inside.”

His cheeks redden just thinking of that memory. The first time he ever kissed you, and he royally fucked up because his hand didn’t know how to stay put. At this point, it’s clear he’s not going to be able to fall asleep. He hates the idea of leaving you in bed alone, but he’s only going to disturb you if he doesn’t plan on sleeping.

Sliding away from you carefully, he quietly gets up and heads into the kitchen. He runs his fingers through his hair. His hands down his face. He must be sentimental today, because he can’t stop thinking about you for the life of him. Every memory from the last year pokes at his head, and he has no clue how to handle it.

Patting his cheeks, he heads over to the fridge to grab a water bottle. Photos of the two of you are framed up on the wall. There’s one picture in particular he always says is his favorite, but he refuses to tell you why.

The two of you were sitting on the floor, and you had the cutest glare on your face. He sees the adoration gleaming in your gaze even though you look about ready to strangle him. In your defense, you probably were. He lets out a tiny laugh, tracing over the frame.

There’s even one with Chenle between you and Jisung, and a group picture with you and the boys. Chenle loves his friends dearly, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms says a lot about both your relationship with them and his potential future with you. Everyone in his life loves you. You’re the one they call when Chenle’s upset or if he’s off his game, and no matter when or where this is happening, you show up to make him feel better.

He could be having the worst day of his entire existence, and a simple ‘I love you’ passing from your lips has him forgetting everything shitty about the world. Looking back at the pictures, he’s drawn back into memory.

He heard the birds outside his window before he saw the gleaming sun. His eyes fluttered open while he groaned quietly at the sudden change of brightness. Your body was like a fireball, your skin searing hot against his, but it did little to bother him. His groan turned into a sigh of content, and he wrapped his arms around you tighter. Fingertips trailing down your bare spine, he kissed your forehead.

Three months together, and every night spent with you made him fall deeper in love. He’d never known peace as he did at that moment. No interruptions, just the two of you basking in each other’s embrace.

He could’ve stayed like that forever—he wanted to, but glancing at the clock, he realized how close it was to noon. Jaemin would be there soon, and the last thing Chenle needed was him in his house when you were naked in his bed.

He reluctantly got up, dressing himself before grabbing some clothes for you. You have a drawer, multiple, actually, but he picked his own T-shirt for you to wear. When he made it over to you, you were stirring.

“You got up.” You pouted at him, staring at him through half-closed eyes. “And you have clothes on.”

Chenle laughed. “Sorry, love. Jaemin will be here soon.”

“It’s that late?” you asked.

Chenle nodded, setting the clothes down next to you. He kissed you softly, gently, a kiss so barely there it left you leaning forward to try to continue it. Cupping your cheek, he brushed his thumb along your skin.

You didn’t need help getting dressed, but he did it anyway. He loved the way you looked in his T-shirts, and even though it’s long enough to cover you, no way he’d risk it. Once you were finished, the two of you got ready for the day. You brushed your teeth together, he watched you brush your hair, and by the time you’re done, Jaemin was walking in the front door.

The three of you sat on the floor around Chenle’s coffee table, playing a game. He can’t remember what the game was anymore, only that you were terrible at it and that he loved winning.

Jaemin teased both of you the whole time, ruffling Chenle’s hair on multiple occasions. As much as he’d love to deny it, Chenle enjoyed that Jaemin liked the two of you together. It was almost like an affirmation, even if he didn’t need one.

Being the professional picture-snapper he was, Jaemin took the picture now hanging up on Chenle’s wall. You, with your arms crossed over your chest and a big pout on your face, and Chenle, smiling widely at you with such adoration in his eyes it should’ve been impossible.

“Lele?” Your soft voice breaks him away from his memory. He turns to you quickly, heart instantly halting in his chest when he sees his shirt on you.

“What are you doing up?” he asks.

“I was gonna ask you that.” You rub your eyes, feet shuffling on the floor as you walk over to him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replies and takes you in his arms with ease. “Didn’t want to bug you, sunshine.”

You don’t respond. All you do is bury your head in his chest and breathe him in. He runs his fingers through your hair, kissing the top of your head. With all the lights off, the only illumination is the full moon outside as it casts shadows on the ground. The faint blue makes you that much more ethereal to him.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Mm,” you hum in response. “This is nice.”

Chenle smiles. “Yeah, it is. Always is.”

After a bit of silence and rocking you gently, an idea sparks. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, finding the playlist he made specifically for when he thinks about you, and sets it on the counter. You stare at him in tired confusion, but when one of his arms wraps around your waist, you catch on.

“What are you doing?” Humor is laced in your voice, but the sweet look on your face tells him his actions are making you happy. That’s his goal, constantly. All he wants is to make you happy.

“Checking something off the bucket list,” he replies, slowly turning you to the soft beat.

“Something’s missing,” you say as he twirls you.

He steals a glance at the way his shirt rides up your legs, showing just a peek of your panties beneath it.

“What?” he asks, pulling you back to him.

“Sing to me.” You place your hand on his chest.

His heart betrays him at that moment. It rages, and he knows you can feel it. Chenle sings in front of thousands of people all the time, but something about you is different. Something about you right now is different.

“What’s going on up in there?” You run your fingers through his hair. “You’ve been all weird today.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits. “Everything. From the moment we met up until this…it keeps repeating over and over again.”

“Welcome to my world,” you replied, grasping his shoulders. You massage them gently as you sway along with the music.

The confession from you makes him smile. At least he’s not the only one doing constant circles in his head. He calms a bit, and when a new song plays, he sings to you. Your body immediately relaxes into his, as if every stress you’ve ever had has left you without hesitation.

Chenle loves to sing. He does it all the time, and he only wants to keep getting better. To have someone like you as his partner, someone who supports him endlessly and genuinely loves his voice…it’s unparalleled.

He’s not sure how long the two of you are like this, or how long he’s singing for, but song after song, all he knows is that you’re smiling. You’re looking at him with unmatched adoration in your eyes, pure love. Nobody else has ever looked at him in this way, and he doesn’t want them to.

He wants to stay here with you and watch you love him in ways he’s never been loved before.

He stops. His singing fades out, and he furrows his eyebrows as he finally, finally realizes what’s been happening to him. You tilt your head, able to ask him questions without saying anything. His chest feels like it’s going to burst.

You’re it.

You’re everything, and he’s going to marry you.

He’s going to spend the rest of his life striving to make sure you love him as much as you do right now, if not more.

It seems like you feel it, too. Your face softens and you reach up to trace along his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, chasing the warmth like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

“I know.” You grin so wide, Chenle almost thinks it’ll split your face in two.

“Good.” He brushes your hair behind your ear. “I hope I’m doing a good job in showing you that every day.”

You pause, hands trailing down from his cheeks to his shoulders. “I have never once doubted that you love me, Lele. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“I promise you I’ve never felt better,” he replies. “Just checking in with you.”

“You do so much more than you realize. No matter how busy you are, you text me to tell me you love me or that you’re thinking about me. You practice non-stop with the boys but you still make an effort with me when you could easily use that as an excuse. There is not one thing I could ask for that you don’t already do.” You press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll never doubt you.”

“Sometimes I worry,” he admits. “You make me…want to be better. In every way possible. In my career, in my life, with you. And if I’m not being better every day, then I don’t deserve you.”

“Chenle.” You give him a pointed look. “When I think back to the first day we met, I remember how…how you acted from the first time you spoke to me. At the time, I really thought I was crazy, but I knew you’d be someone to me. You didn’t even know me, but you were so kind. And now that we’re here like this, you haven’t changed. There’s no getting better. You’re already the best.”

“How do you do that?” He chuckles, kissing your forehead.

“Do what?”

“Know exactly what to say.”

“That’s my special talent,” you tell him.

“We should get back to bed,” Chenle says, sleep weighing on him. “Meeting the boys tomorrow.”

He grabs his phone from the counter, his heart full and warm as he leads you back to his bedroom. This time, as he’s lying with you pressed to his chest, he’s able to fall into his dreamland.

Despite his lack of sleep, Chenle is full of energy the next day. He wakes up and makes you coffee just the way you like before sitting on the edge of the bed by your sleeping form. When he sets the cup on the nightstand, you stir, turning over to face him.

“You’re gonna be late,” you mumble, even though you have no idea what time it is.

Chenle chuckles, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay? You can stay here if you want. Wanted to tell you I love you before I left.”

“Love you, too,” you say with a tired smile, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Drink your coffee before it gets cold. I’ll grab dinner for us on my way back.”

Walking away from you feels like someone’s trying to rip his heart out of his chest. You’re an extension of him at this point, and after his sudden realization last night, all he wants to do is spend the day curled up with you.

Luckily for him, his day passes by pretty quickly. He got a lot done today, and he was proud of that. You’d be proud of him, too. He’s itching to get home and tell you everything that happened. Staying true to his word, he picks up your favorite takeout.

He’s going to be honest with you about what was going on with him yesterday. It’s the right thing to do—and in a perfect world, you’ll feel the same way he does. He hasn’t felt this nervous since he admitted his feelings for you. Even though that side of him feels worlds away now, he remembers it like it was yesterday.

But the restaurant isn’t the only stop he makes.

He’s shaking by the time he gets back. Is a year really enough time? It is for him, but what if you think he’s insane?

When he arrives, he’s not expecting what you’ve done at all. The main lights are off, but a dim golden glow from the strips along the wall and the candles illuminate the room enough. He sets the bag down on the table, completely forgetting about the food as he searches for you.

“(Y/N)?”

“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be,” you tell him, walking out of his bedroom while still putting in an earring.

His throat dries. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words could ever justify the way you look right now. You put on a dress, one of his favorites, and he’s in jeans and a T-shirt.

You kiss his cheek. “I figured you deserve something nice to come home to.”

“You’re my something nice.” He wraps his arm around your waist. “Should I change?”

“We’re not going anywhere.” You shake your head. “Just relax and enjoy your gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Oh, I can get on board with that.” He allows you to lead him back to the table.

Once he’s taking the food out of the bag, he keeps stealing glances at you. You put in all this effort for him, and he knows how much work it must’ve been to hang up all these lights. The golden glow looks ethereal against your skin.

“Before we eat, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He clears his throat to stop it from collapsing in on itself, but it doesn’t work.

“What’s up?” You set your elbow on the table and rest your head on your palm. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s perfect, actually.” He takes a deep breath, reaching to grab your free hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You bite back a laugh.

“You can’t make fun of me for what I’m about to tell you.” He gives you the most serious look he can muster, and you nod.

“I wouldn’t do that,” you reassure him. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I…I want to love you forever.” He gulps. “And when I think of everything we’ve gone through and been through together, I seriously can’t imagine ever trying to have anyone else fill this spot you hold in my life.”

You perk up a bit, gaze staring into his. God, he loves how interested you are in what he has to say. How you’re listening to him so intently. His thumb rubs over your knuckles as he tries to think of the words he wants to use.

“I want to marry you. Call me crazy if you want, tell me you hate the idea, that’s fine, but I had to tell you. We obviously can’t get married now, or probably any time soon because of my contract, but I want you to know that it’s what I want. It’s what’s going to happen if you want it, too.”

You clear your throat and cover your mouth with your hand, eyes welling. Chenle’s heart aches seeing this reaction, knowing you feel as strongly as he does. He reaches into his pocket and puts a small box on the table in front of you.

“It’s not the real thing. Not yet. But I want you to know how serious I am, because if I was able to marry you, I would’ve done it yesterday.” He opens it, revealing a simple band in it. “Subtle enough where people won’t ask questions, but we’ll know.”

“Chenle, are you being serious right now?” You sniffle. “This is a very cruel prank.”

“The guys and I sat down together today to write a song. I think you’ll love it, so when we record it I’m sneaking you a copy. Anyway, we were there for twenty minutes, and words were just flowing out of me. I wrote about you. About how you make me feel, and I think anyone who knows about us will understand that when they listen to the song.”

He pauses to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“I want you. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life proving to you why I deserve that. Let me put this ring on you, and this can be the start.”

You quickly wipe your face as you nod. He takes your left hand, grabs the ring out of the box, and slips it on your middle finger.

“One day, this will be real.” Chenle catches another one of your tears. “I love you. There is not one thing in this world that could change that.”

His heart pounds in his chest as he watches your reaction. He wants to touch you and kiss you after pouring his thoughts out to you, but he needs to make sure you’re feeling the same way. The last thing he wants to do is overwhelm you.

His palms are sweaty and he can barely sit still. You groan, giving one last aggressive swipe below your eyes before you launch up from your chair and end up in his lap. You bury your head in his neck, squeezing him tighter than you should. He instinctively wraps his arms around your waist, softly chuckling at your outburst.

“You better not change your mind.” Cupping both of his cheeks, you try your best to look angry. “If you do, I’m marrying you anyway.”

His own vision blurs at the sight of you. You love him as much as he loves you, and you want to be with him forever.

You want to be with him forever.

The emotions rioting inside him surprise even him, and he blinks quickly to try and suppress the tears. It’s no use, because as soon as you notice, you start crying again. He groans and drops his head back on the chair, squeezing you closer to him.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Chenle says.

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His mouth finds yours, both of you falling into each other’s rhythm. Saltiness from your tears lingers on your lips. He weaves his fingers through your hair, but no matter what he does, you’re just not close enough.

Pulling away from you, he rests his forehead on yours. “You should eat, sunshine.”

“You expect me to be able to eat after all of that?” You furrow your eyebrows. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“You’ll be sad if it gets cold,” he reminds you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be sad again,” you whisper.

All thoughts escape him. Nothing else exists except for you, wrapped around him like a damn koala bear. He rests his hand on your thigh and lets your words sink deep into him.

Moments like these are hard to explain, he thinks. He’s only like this around you, so lost in his connection with you that he’s got nothing else on his mind. Anything and everything you say to him is tattooed in the darkest ink on his soul, until he’s covered in everything he wants to be for you.

“Promise me you’ll always look at me like that.” You break the silence, running your fingers through his hair and smiling.

“I promise.” He nods, barely realizing how he’s leaning forward.

Your eyes flutter shut as he inches closer. He kisses you softly, almost as if he fears he’ll break you. His fingers splay out across the small of your back and he traces shapes into the soft fabric of your dress. You’re overwhelming. His love for you is, too. So much so, he feels as if he’s going to burst out of his skin. He’s going to wake up and everything will have been a dream, because there’s no way he’d ever done anything in his life to deserve someone like you.

You hum into his mouth, rolling your hips once. His breathing stutters as his first instinct is to lift toward you. At first, he wants to stay like this, you clinging onto him like you’d be lost without him, but when you grind down a second time, he feels a twitch in his pants.

It’s been over a week since the last time he’s been inside you thanks to his schedules. And now you’re on top of him, wearing his favorite dress of yours, and kissing him like you’ll never be able to feel him again after tonight.

He’s tired, but he’s never too tired for you. Brushing your hair away, he leans down to kiss your neck, licking the expanse of your soft skin. Your pulse thunders beneath his tongue, and he has to fight the urge to bite down.

Touching you like this is different when he knows he’ll never lose you. You’re his forever.

His lips press against the sensitive spot below your ear, and the short moan escaping you just about sends him up the wall. When he pulls away to get a good look at you, your eyes are dark, lips already swollen from the way he kissed you.

He tries to catch his breath while he silently asks you if this is what you want. You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Standing, he lifts you up until your legs are secure around his waist, and he grabs your ass with one hand and the back of your head with the other.

Mouths attached, he doesn’t separate from you until he’s setting you down on his bed. He barely has time to appreciate the candles you lit in here, too, the soft scent of vanilla flooding his senses. You already try to push his T-shirt up, anything to feel his skin on yours. He obliges, pulling it over his head before returning to kissing you like his life depended on it. When your hands find the button on his jeans, he grabs your wrist.

“Patience, baby.” Chenle runs his fingers up and down your thigh. “We have the rest of our lives. Let me take my time with you tonight.”

Just like that, you’re putty in his hands. He smirks at the realization. Sneaking his touch up your leg, the hem of the dress moves to accommodate him. He stops when he feels the lace of your panties.

“Did you dress up for me twice, sunshine?” he hums.

“Always,” you say, shamelessly staring at his lips. “Do you love me, Chenle?”

His whole body vibrated from those words. They made him feel at a frequency he hadn’t quite reached yet, and all he wanted to do was rip that damn dress off.

“More than anything.”

He can’t really say it’s ‘like second nature’ anymore. There’s nothing second about it. This is you. Anything to do with you is first nature, no matter what it is. His world revolves around you, everything he does is based on what you want, and he wouldn’t change that in any way.

“Show me,” you whisper, so intoxicating he almost crumbles to his knees right in front of you.

How embarrassing that all it takes is two words to have him give in to you. He’s straining against his pants now, his cock aching to be free and buried inside you.

“Don’t worry. I will.” He kisses you again, soft and sweet like his hand isn’t so, so close to your dripping, eager core. Heat radiates from you, and all he wants is to be consumed by it.

He drags your panties down your legs, nails gently scratching your skin on the way down. Your chest rises and falls quickly as you try to regain your breath, but he loves the way you’re so desperate for him. The way you want him just as much as he wants you.

He doesn’t want to be patient anymore. Every cell in his body is urging him to connect with yours, but he wants to take care of you. That side of him always wins, otherwise both of you would probably be done already.

His finger dances along your entrance. He inhales sharply as your wetness coats his skin. You move your hips toward him, practically begging him for stimulation. He teasingly nudges your clit, pleasantly surprised by the way your body jolts.

Mouth brushing yours, he takes the second of distraction to slide two fingers inside you. As your lips part to release a moan, he mirrors the action, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly, slowly thrusts his hand.

Your walls squeeze so hard, he curses. He could fuck you a thousand times, and you’d still be as tight as you are right now. His heart goes straight into overdrive, but all the blood in his body is shooting down to his cock. He’s painfully hard, rocking back and forth gently.

He kisses you, lips working against yours in a perfect harmony. Your sounds are his favorite. He loves knowing it’s him making you feel this way, that he has the power to make your knees weak and your pussy throb.

He lets out a moan when he scissors his fingers, trying his best to prepare you. God, you’re so warm and wet and tight, he isn’t sure if he’ll be able to last long tonight. His pace quickens, sounds of your slickness filling the room.

You call out his name, back arching as you grasp desperately at his shoulders. He leans in and kisses your cheek, making sure to press his palm into your clit every time he’s knuckle deep.

“You’re perfect, baby,” he whispers with his lips against your ear, voice rough. “I love you so much. So fucking much.”

You tense, pussy clamping down hard on his fingers as your hips buck. He swears he can see the pleasure running up your spine in the way you arch and shake. Your nails dig into his shoulders, but he’s not in the right mind to care. Your mouth opens, sounds pouring out as you finish. He loves you all the time, but one of his favorite looks on you is when he watches you orgasm—your face so overcome with pleasure he caused…he would never get enough of it.

He keeps moving until he’s sure you’ve come down from your high. When he brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck your juices off, you watch longingly, the dark look in your gaze enough to have his cock twitching in his pants.

You slide off the bed, forcing him to take a couple steps back. He’s not sure what you’re going to do at first. Your struggle to reach your zipper, and as much as he wants to bend you over with the dress still on, he wants to be gentle with you tonight. He doesn’t get to make love to you often, and that’s all he’s going to do tonight.

Instead of watching you attempt to reach it, he turns you around and pulls you to him until your back is against his chest. His hand is splayed out across your stomach, holding you so you feel how hard he is.

“I’m going crazy,” you mutter, dropping your head back. “I need you so bad.”

He moves your hair out of his way, kissing the base of your neck quickly before he unzips you. Moving slowly on purpose, he lets his finger drag along your spine on the way down. You shiver, pushing yourself back into him.

“I’m gonna make love to you.” He finally lets himself bite down on your shoulder as he nudges the straps down. “For the rest of our lives. Nobody but me.”

“Nobody but you,” you respond, allowing the dress to pool at your feet.

He turns you around, hands immediately finding your ass and squeezing it. Within seconds, he has your bra unclasped and across the room. “So beautiful.”

When your hands find his jeans, he doesn’t stop you this time. You push them down his legs, desperate to have him inside you. Once his jeans are off, you palm him through his boxers, and he needs you so badly, that simple touch almost finishes him off. That would’ve been embarrassing.

He takes off the remaining fabric separating you two before leading you over to the bed. You lie in the middle, and he climbs on top of you. He kisses you passionately, tongue already dancing with yours, both of you more than ready. His cock is so hard, he’s only half convinced he won’t cum as soon as he’s in.

He nudges your clit with his leaking tip, moving down to your entrance to apply just enough pressure before pulling away. You whine, desperate for more.

“Chenle, please.”

His head dips down as he continues teasing you, wrapping his lips around your nipple. You whimper, running your fingers through his hair. Having you so desperate for him makes him want to give you everything you’re asking for, but something makes him wait.

“Please,” you cry out, lifting your hips up. “Need you.”

He’s ready to fall apart from you words alone. Pulling away from your chest, he reaches down to line himself up with you. He watches you closely as he pushes his throbbing cock into your quivering pussy. Your eyes roll back as you arch into him.

Your walls swallow him, velvet clamping down on him. He clenches his jaw as he bottoms out and fists the sheets next to your head.

“So perfect,” he whispers, kissing your jawline.

One of his favorite things about you is how unafraid you are to look at him. Pleasure weighs on your eyelids, and you try your best not to close them, but even like this, you never look away.

He’s fully inside you, his cock seated within your fluttering walls. The last thing he wants to do is overwhelm you, so he gently rocks his hips to help you adjust. He kisses you everywhere he can reach.

“You always take me so well,” he praises you, nipping the base of your neck.

He’ll never get over how perfectly he fits between your legs, like this space was made for him.

“Move,” you tell him, smacking his shoulder.

He lets out a soft chuckle, but lowers his mouth to yours as he starts a steady pace. You squeeze him so tight, it’s like your body doesn’t want to let him out of you. He pulls out until his tip is barely inside, and then pushes back in just as slowly. It wreaks havoc on your body, your wetness squelching every time he moves.

He wants you to feel all of him. Feel the entirety of his cock rubbing your walls with every thrust.

Somehow, it’s hotter this way. A thin sheen of sweat covers his skin as he takes his time with you. Sure, he gets sweaty when he fucks you, but nothing compares to the close intimacy of love making—his chest brushing against yours with every thrust, long, sweet moans filling the otherwise quiet bedroom.

“You sing so pretty,” Chenle mutters, tonguing the sensitive spot below your ear. “You like the way I feel?”

Before he can even process what you’re doing, you wrap your legs around his waist and roll until you’re on top of him. He’s flat on his back, eyes flitting along your body like he hasn’t had a real chance to see it yet.

Candle light illuminates your skin, and the sight makes his cock twitch. He runs his hands along your sides, squeezing your hips.

Chenle likes being in control. He likes guiding you in a way that has you both in shambles by the end, and he truly underestimated how beautiful you’d look on top of him. You lift up, teasing him as slow as he was moving with you, but between the sight and the feeling, he feels an all too-familiar tingling sensation at the base of his length.

It’s too soon for him, so he decides to tug you down, holding you there while his eyes close and his head thuds against the mattress. He doesn’t need to say a word to you.

“Chenle.” You stroke a hand down his chest. “It’s okay. You don’t need to hold back for me.”

“Just…need a second.” He gulps.

When he finally catches his breath, he sits up, chest pressing against yours.

“This was supposed to be about you,” he says, moving back slightly to fit his hand between the two of you. “Showing you my love and everything.”

He finds your clit with his thumb, staring at you intently as your wetness makes it easy for him to rub circles. His other hand still firmly grips your waist, which only allows you to squirm instead of bouncing on him like you crave to do.

“I need to move,” you whimper, grinding down. “Please.”

He nods, loosening his grip on you. You brace yourself on his shoulders, finally taking his cock the way you want it. His nails dig into your thigh while he continues his work on your bud, and it only spurs you on. You move faster, no doubt trying to chase your orgasm.

His moans get louder, matching yours. If his hands weren’t so occupied, he’d want to squeeze your ass or tweak your nipples. Anything to bring you higher. He changes the patterns his thumb rubs, and it’s like a jolt of electricity runs through your body.

You curse, dropping your head on his shoulder as you nod. “Don’t stop, Lele.”

With both of you hanging so close to the edge, he waits until you’re sitting back down on his cock to buck his hips up. He doesn’t want to finish first, but he’s so close, all the warning signs of his impending high are getting far too real.

“Gonna cum,” he tells you, releasing your thigh to grab your ass.

Your walls clamp down on him hard, a long, pleasured sound escaping you as you grind down on him. Back arching, your head falls back. Your orgasm hits both you and Chenle like a freight train, and within seconds, everything inside him explodes, and he’s spilling his cum deep inside you while telling you over and over again that he loves you.

You crumple into his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair, whispering praises to you between head kisses.

“I’m gonna lay you down, sunshine,” he says.

You nod, and he turns you so he can put your back on the mattress. He carefully pulls out of you, putting his boxers back on before going into the bathroom to grab you a towel. This is one of his favorite ways to see you. Your eyes are closed, hands on your cheeks. You look like he’s fucked all the energy out of you, and he loves that he has the capability to do that.

He cleans you up, then grabs a clean pair of panties for you and one of his T-shirts.

“I have an idea,” he says.

“What is it?” You wrap your arms around him.

“You pick whatever movie you want, and I’ll go warm up your dinner?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

You fake a gasp. “Are you saying you’re going to feed me in bed?”

“After all of that, I’d agree to just about anything you want.” He chuckles when you shove his shoulder. Grabbing your hand, he twirls the band on your finger. “Wait here for me?”

When he walks out of the room, he stops at the doorway to watch you excitedly lunge for the remote. It doesn’t take long for him to warm up the food, turn off the lights, and blow out the candles in the kitchen.

The rest of the night is spent with the two of you sitting against the headboard, laughing along to your favorite movie while eating your favorite takeout. So many thoughts have come and gone from Chenle’s brain in the past couple days alone, but he’s more than happy he gets to sit here with you every night for the rest of his life.

He’s lost in your laugh and the way you smile at him and how you make his heart race with the simplest things. None of the other members knew about the ring he bought you, but he’ll tell them soon.

After the food is gone, Chenle cleans it up. There’s still half a movie left, so when he gets back, he pulls the comforter back so you can cuddle up to him for the remainder. Even though the candles have long since been put out, vanilla still clouds the air.

“Love you,” Chenle whispers, kissing your temple.

“Love you, too.” You sigh in content, resting your head on his chest.

He knows that means you’re only seconds from sleep, and he rubs your arm soothingly. The movie continues to play, but neither of you are paying attention anymore—you’re asleep, and Chenle’s thinking about what kind of wedding dress you’ll wear.

#nct dream #nct imagines #chenle #nct dream smut #nct #nct scenarios #chenle imagine #chenle x reader #chenle smut #chenle fluff #nct dream fluff #nct x reader #nct dream imagines

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charmandabear · 10 months ago

Text

Office Hours - Chapter Three

Summary:

Astarion surprises you by inviting you to his place... for a real date? The evening doesn't go as expected when you uncover the darkness in his past.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 5.4k Tags/Warnings: mentions of Astarion's past, vampire bites, blood drinking, blow job, p in v sex, fluff with a very small side of angst, Shadowheart being a bit of a manic pixie dream best friend

Since y'all are insistent on encouraging my worst tendencies, here, have the longest single thing I've ever written. I think about Professor Astarion at all waking (and sleeping at this point) hours. I have other things planned, I will eventually write something else, I promise. But also... this one is now becoming a full-fledged multi-chapter fic. I'm half-considering rewriting the first few chapters so it's in third-person? I don't know though, let me know what you think.

H1ghVoltage and Zaria were both invaluable betas for this one, I appreciate you both so much. And Zaria for always providing the most perfect screenshots at the drop of a hat. This literally would not exist without you.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“Excuse me? The one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she tucks her feet underneath her, holding up her wine glass so it doesn’t spill. The two of you met while moving into adjacent apartments a few years prior; it turned out you had both just been hired at the university, her at the Divinity School and you at the College of Arts and Sciences. Since then you’ve become fast friends, and you’re finally filling her in on all of the details of the whirlwind that has been the past few days. You hide your chagrin behind a sip of wine.

“Okay, listen, yes, but hear me out. He looks like this.” You hold out your phone and show her the English department faculty page.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. “Okay, you didn’t tell me that.”

“I think I was in denial,” you whine as you drop your head onto the couch cushion. “I focused on how much of an asshole he is to distract me from how hot he is.”

“And now? Will you see him again?” She tosses your phone at your feet and you lift your gaze.

“I don’t know? He made a joke about having sex in my office but I don’t think he actually meant it.” You cast a sidelong glance at Shadowheart, trying to gauge her expression.

“Scandalous,” she smiles into the rim of her glass before taking a long sip. You pick up your phone, looking at his portrait. It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

You drop your phone again and angrily sip at your wine, letting the dry red flood over your tongue and coat the inside of your mouth. You notice Shadowheart eyeing you suspiciously.

“Do you want to?” she asks, and you put your glass onto the coffee table and curl your knees into your chest further.

“I… I don’t know? Like obviously the sex is good. Really good,” you add under your breath, and Shadowheart looks at you salaciously as your cheeks flush. “But whenever he says more than five words I want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Is that really how you feel, or have you just convinced yourself to feel that way?” she carefully asks. You glare at her, but you can't bring yourself to disagree. You drop your less-than-menacing expression and cover your face in your hands. You let out an exasperated sigh before suddenly gasping and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Nine hells, did I tell you what else happened? At least one student knows. I saw her coming out of his office and she made some comment about ‘We all see how you look at him.’” You flop onto your side, burying your face in the couch cushion once again.

“Well, I suppose that answers your question, at least,” Shadowheart says reassuringly, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean if you like him enough that your students are noticing, then you have to pursue him. The worst that’ll happen is you’ll break up and you can go back to hating him.” She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described a literal nightmare.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” you gape at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” she grins at you, and her teeth are tinged purple from the wine. You kick your foot out at her.

“Man, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” you tease and she groans.

“Listen, you just told me that you got railed twice in three days, it’s not that good out here for most of us.” Now it’s her turn to cover her face and you laugh. You pick up your wine and stretch your legs out to nudge Shadowheart’s calf.

“Who knows, maybe there’s some hot chick in the English department that he can hook you up with.” She pushes your leg back and rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

You have no idea what to expect when you inevitably run into Astarion the next day. You're tempted to just work from home since you don’t have any classes, but you have another damn season selection committee meeting that you can't miss, and you'd rather be around for students to drop in if they need to.

You're on your way to the bathroom at the end of the day when you finally see him. You almost don't, at first, since you're looking down at your phone and you stop short of barrelling into him. You lock eyes and smile politely, then step to your left just as he steps to his right. You two share an awkward laugh just as it happens again in the opposite direction. After another few seconds of uncomfortable shuffling, he takes you by your shoulders and moves you to the side. You give him a thankful grin and quickly move past, trying to ignore the burning in your cheeks and the way your arms tingle where he touched you.

You get to the bathroom and close the door behind you, leaning against it to brace yourself. Your stomach is roiling, though whether it was from the embarrassment, the insatiable lust, or something else entirely, you can't quite tell. You turn on the faucet and splash your face with cool water. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to will yourself into stoicism. It's a losing battle as the image of him having you bent over the sink pops into your mind. You shake your head, trying to think of something else, but that only makes it worse.

He’s pressed you up against the bathroom door and he's got your wrists pinned together above your head.

No, stop, you scold yourself. But the second you banish that image another one comes flooding in, your leg draped over his shoulder as he’s lightly sucking your clit with his fingers curled inside you.

You're dizzy with the mental image and you try to wrest it from your mind. You focus on the visual stimuli around you, the white tile, the fluorescent lights, the small blue stain beneath the soap dispenser. Eventually you find yourself back in your body and you massage your temples, trying to focus.

Your head is still reeling slightly as you make your way back to your office. You unlock the door, completely unaware of his presence behind you until you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. You yelp and in an instant he’s towering over you with your back up against the wall.

“Almighty gods, Astarion,” you swear breathlessly, your heart pounding more from the scare than the proximity for once. The proximity doesn’t help, however, when he tilts your chin with his knuckle and smiles devilishly.

“Come to my place, let me cook you dinner,” he purrs, and your breath quickens. But when his words finally break through the seductive tone, something in your brain stops.

“Wait, cook? Can you- do you even- how-” You still haven’t fully recovered and your mouth struggles to form words. His smile widens and you know he’s enjoying watching you splutter.

“What, do you think in all of my 350 years I've never bedded a mortal? Besides,” he trails his hand down your neck and strokes it gently with his thumb, sending a shiver down your spine, “I have other ways of getting my fill.”

You instinctively tilt your head for him, almost like you’re inviting him to bite right here and now. You manage to recoup your senses just enough to quip, “I’m sure you have plenty of experience luring cute mortals back to your place.”

You think you see his jaw tighten for a fraction of a second, but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“I’ll take it as a yes, then?” He pulls away and adjusts his glasses, his fingers sliding into his hair. You nod, not trusting the words to come out of your mouth. He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and tucks it into the neckline of your shirt, a move that would have been unbearably corny coming from anyone else.

“See you then… lover.” He winks and glides out of the room as silently as he came in. You take a breath to steady yourself, a voice in the back of your head grumbling because of how much he has you wrapped around his finger. But admittedly, he seemed equally flustered when you almost plowed into him a few minutes ago.

Maybe not the best choice of words.

You pull the piece of paper out to see an address, date, and time. Tomorrow at 7.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

Now you just need to occupy yourself for the next 26 hours and not completely lose your nerve.

***

Occupying yourself isn’t terribly difficult with Shadowheart around. She keeps you busy all day with various errands, shopping, anything to keep you from spiraling.

Nevertheless, when it’s finally time to get dressed, you find yourself overthinking every tiny element. You stand frozen in front of your open underwear drawer trying to decide between the black lace or the pink satin.

“Shadowheeeaaaarrrrrtttt,” you call out to her in the other room. She pops her head in and gives you a pitying smile as she sees your anxiety-ridden face.

“Alright, sit, let me help,” she clinks her glass down on your dresser and nudges you until you’re sitting on your bed, fidgeting with the belt of your robe.

“Black lace, it’s sexier,” she says sagely, tossing the panties at you and you slide them on under your robe. She pulls the plaid skirt out of the shopping bag and flings it onto the bed.

“Put that on because we both agreed it’s adorable. It might be warm enough to go without tights?” she muses, then glances at you mischievously. “And since he has a track record of destroying those, maybe go with these instead.” She throws a pair of thigh highs at you and they hit you in the face. You wrinkle your nose.

“Careful,” you warn, but she ignores you. She floats over to your closet and sifts through the hangers. She pulls out a top, shifts her gaze between you and the garment a few times, then drops it on the floor. After another moment of searching, she pulls out a blousy cardigan, throwing it on the bed next to you.

“Don’t put that on yet, I’ll be right back.” She disappears before you can say anything. You’re left sitting on your bed in just your bra and skirt, and you rub your feet together with a restless energy.

Shadowheart returns just a few minutes later holding a lacy top that reads more as lingerie than an actual shirt. She returns your skeptical frown with a giant grin.

“Shade, I'm not wearing that,” you gripe, and she throws it in your face.

“Put it on before you judge,” she chides in response, and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, but it probably won't fit,” you say as you take off your bra and don the sheer v-neck cami. Other than straining around your chest slightly, the fit is fine. You put on the oversized cardigan over it and look at the full effect in your floor length mirror.

“See, told you,” she says smugly as you admire your reflection. And it's true, the underwear-as-outerwear really does bring the look from glorified schoolgirl cosplay into something a bit more refined. You give her a disgruntled sidelong glance but otherwise say nothing.

“Alright, get going. Go put your shoes on and chase that Ph D.” She pushes you out of your bedroom and towards the front door of your apartment. “Don't worry about me, I'll be here drinking your wine and masturbating all by myself while you get fucked through the end of the tenday.”

You slip on your black suede ankle boots and pleadingly look at Shadowheart one more time. You're still not convinced that this whole thing isn’t just a trip into the lion’s den.

“Go! I look forward to hearing all the gory details,” she says and plants a smooch on your cheek. She then smacks your ass as you head out the door, your yelp earning a satisfied smirk.

Sure enough, when you find yourself outside his apartment door, you can feel your cold feet catching up with you. You're about to take out your phone and text Shadowheart that you're going to leave when his door opens.

“Hello, beautiful,” he croons, and the syrup in his voice makes your mouth go dry. The sleeves of his white button down are rolled up and the first few buttons are undone, leaving his collarbone exposed. The black vest tapers in his waist and flows seamlessly into his well-tailored trousers. But the first thing you notice is his glasses.

“Your glasses are different,” you blurt, internally cursing your bluntness. His eyebrows pop up above the thicker plastic frames.

“Is that a problem?” he asks without a hint of malice in his voice. You blush and quickly shake your head.

“No I- I like them. They look good,” you stutter, looking away from the heat of his gaze. He smiles and takes your hand almost like he's leading you in a courtly dance, pulling you inside.

You look around his apartment, noticing the similarities to the hominess of his office. Big overfull bookshelves, warm-lit lamps dotted around the space, papers and other junk littered across every surface. It still surprises you that he doesn’t keep a tidy space, but at the same time you find it oddly charming.

You spot a hairless cat sitting on some mail on a table in the corner, delicately licking its paw.

“Aww, who’s this?” You approach the cat, holding out your hand for it to sniff. It hisses in response and you take a step back.

“That's His Majesty, and you're best to respect his wishes,” Astarion calls from the kitchen.

“You named your cat His Majesty?” you ask, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your throat.

“No, he named himself His Majesty,” he replies, returning from the kitchen with a spoonful of risotto. “Taste,” he commands and you obediently open your mouth. The steaming food coats your tongue with a tangy, savory taste. You nod at him, barely trusting yourself to speak. It tastes incredible.

You turn back to His Majesty, and you notice an empty potion of animal speaking tipped on its side near him.

“Well I'll just admire such a handsome creature from a distance, then,” you say and His Majesty preens slightly. You can hear a hum of approval from Astarion as he retreats back into the kitchen.

This man is full of contradictions. Pristine, clean cut outward appearance with a cluttered, disorganized space. Cool and disaffected, but he loves his cat enough to use potions to communicate with him. He doesn't need to eat, but somehow he’s an incredible cook? You frown to yourself; it feels like something doesn't add up.

You start scanning one of the bookshelves, wondering what else you can learn about him. If there was an organizational system, it wasn't clear. 48 Laws of Power, History of Modern Sexuality, On the Genealogy of Morality, Gender Trouble… Ayn Rand sitting next to Octavia Butler?

What the fuck does he like?

“How is my collection of books holding up in your estimation?” Astarion’s sudden presence behind you makes you jump. He presses a wine glass into your hand and ghosts his lips across the crook of your neck, sending a swath of goosebumps down your arms.

“Did I tell you that you look absolutely delicious?” he murmurs into your skin, and you can already feel yourself getting lightheaded.

“You're one to talk,” you say on a dizzied exhale, and the breath from his laugh tickles your shoulder. He puts his hands on your waist, running a finger along the inside of the waistband of your skirt. He gives it a gentle tug and you unconsciously move in the direction he’s pulling.

“Come eat,” he says, guiding you to a table with one place setting. You sit, feeling awkward as he sits across from you, a wine glass in his hand.

“Are you just going to watch me eat?” you laugh nervously. He smiles into the glass, glancing at you above the rectangular frames sliding down his nose.

“Well if you're insistent, I can have my dinner as well.” He's not subtle about leering at your neck, sparking a flicker of heat in your belly. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the risotto, which somehow tastes even better than what he fed you before.

“So what do you experience when you have… food?” you ask, trying to shift his attention off you eating. He looks up as he thinks, and you find your gaze tracing his jawline.

“It’s… sour. Like it’s spoiled. But when something is cooked well, and with high quality ingredients, it’s more bearable.”

You look down at your food, the taste dancing across your palette. It's certainly better than something you could make for yourself. But you know so little about cooking techniques besides the basics that you don’t know what the difference would even be.

“And you're drinking wine. What does that taste like?” You try not to stare at the dark red liquid collecting on his lips, but it’s hard not to when his tongue darts out to lick it up.

“Alcohol has a higher threshold for quality, so it's generally more palatable. It usually means a higher budget for these things, but it's not as though I'm spending much on groceries.” He narrows his eyes at you, but you can't read his expression.

“Well go on,” he continues, and you tilt your head in confusion. “Ask the question that you really want to ask.” Your heart starts beating a little faster and he smirks. Gods, you really hate that he can read you like that. It would be nice to keep at least one emotion private.

“What does blood taste like?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it's clear that he hears you. His smile widens just enough to show off his fangs.

“It depends on the person,” he replies just as casually as if you had asked him about his taste in music. “Some are sweeter, like a nice rich port, while others have a bit of a burn, like whiskey. However, you?” He places his glass on the table and stands, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. He crosses behind your chair and sweeps your hair to the side, lasciviously inhaling your scent behind your ear, eliciting a shiver.

“Yours is smooth with a hint of spice, like a fine aged brandy. But the finish has an addictive quality, like absinthe.” He nips lightly at the base of your neck without breaking skin.

“Such pretty words,” you exhale on a breathy moan, reaching a hand up behind you and running your fingers through his hair, pulling him toward you ever so slightly.

“Is that what you want?” he breathes into your ear, and you arch your back in your seat, panting. You can barely get out the “yes” before he sweeps you out of the chair and wraps your legs around his waist. He carries you into the kitchen, placing you on the counter and pressing your knees apart with his torso. You whine and the cool tile pressing into your ass reminds you of his touch. He slides one hand behind your head and the other around your waist, and sinks his teeth into your neck.

The initial pain surprises you every time, and your yelp is followed by his satisfied groan. You grip the back of his neck as he drinks, and you can feel the muscles working with each swallow. The feeling of your blood coursing through both of your bodies gets you high, knowing it's your blood that flushes his lips, cheeks, and ears. It's your blood flowing to his cock. The reminder of it makes you clench instinctively.

He pulls away just as you're teetering on the edge of passing out. He’s always panting after he feeds, his glasses slightly askew and a ravenous look in his eye that makes your mouth water. You pull him into a heated kiss, the metallic tang on his lips becoming a sensory reminder of the post-feeding bliss.

You pull him closer with your feet, aching just to feel him pressed against you. Your hands scramble against his back, tugging at his collared shirt. He’s wearing far too many layers and he hasn’t even blessed you with the sight of his gorgeous sculpted chest yet.

You slide a hand into the back of his collar, desperate for his skin, when your fingers brush over thick raised scar tissue. He pulls back faster than you do and your hands immediately go to cover your mouth.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t–” you begin but the pained look in his eye makes you stop short.

“No it's… it's fine. I've had those for a very long time. I… ah…” he stutters, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably, and you've never seen him so flummoxed.

“What are they from?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You're about to retract, tell him he doesn't need to answer, when he speaks quietly.

“They're from… the man who turned me. He kept me as a slave for 200 years. It’s something written in infernal, but I never found out what it said. And his death ensured I never would.” He speaks while looking down at the floor, his distant gaze indicating that he's somewhere else entirely.

“Astarion…” you breathe, and you cup his face in your hands. He smirks and snakes his arms around your waist; the mask is back on.

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he says with a composed smile, “it was a very long time ago. I’m more concerned with tonight.” He moves to kiss your neck again but you put your hand against his chest to stop him.

“No- well, I mean yes to tonight, but… let me take care of you,” you say softly, and his careful expression slips again.

“I- well if that’s what you want.” He crinkles his brow, unsure of what to make of your proposal.

“Is it what you want?” You stroke his cheek, and it suddenly feels like this is an entirely different man standing in front of you. Hesitant, vulnerable, his usual swaggering confidence replaced with an uncertain tenderness that makes your heart pound in a way that feels wholly unfamiliar with him.

“I’m not sure,” he says, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.

“We don’t have to,” you offer quickly, “we can just fuck up against a wall or something.” The joke breaks the tension and he lets out a little giggle.

“What do you have in mind?” He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and you ease off the counter and gently nudge him backwards toward his bedroom. He follows your lead, his doubtful look shifting into something of excitement and mischief. You guide him until the back of his knees hit the bed, and you push him to sit.

You straddle his lap and run your fingers through his silvery curls. You kiss along his jawline and down his neck, placing a particularly tender kiss on his bite scar. He exhales heavily, sliding his hands up your thighs and resting them on your lower back.

You begin carefully unbuttoning his vest, followed by his shirt, untucking the hem from his pants. You slide it down his shoulders and onto the bed behind him, letting your warm hands run over the cool planes of his skin. His eyes follow your movements carefully and you take your time, tracing over every divet, every freckle and mole. You delight in his gasp when your fingers dance over his navel and down to his belt buckle.

You slip off his lap and drop between his legs, your hands continuing their journey along his hips. You plant increasingly hungry kisses above his waistband as you remove his belt and unzip his pants. He leans back on his hands as his breathing quickens, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You’re struck with the irony that the last time you were between Astarion’s legs like this it was to get revenge, to make him feel flustered and speechless the way he always does to you. Now you have him, flustered and speechless, and all you want is to worship him, make him feel warm and safe.

You slide his pants down under his ass, pulling them all the way off so he’s sitting on his bed fully nude. You run your lips along his inner thigh as you palm his growing erection.

“Ah- wait,” he stammers and you immediately look up and pull back.

“Yes?” you ask, frozen by the fear that you’ve gone too far.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, nudging your cardigan off your shoulder. “All of you.”

It’s hard to believe that someone sitting naked in front of you can make you feel so exposed. You shiver as you drop the cardigan off your back, the sudden exposure to cool air making your nipples poke through the lacy top that Shadowheart gave you. You stand and he watches intently as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. His expression gives little away, but his cock doesn’t. By the time you’ve removed the black panties, thigh highs, and cami, it stands at full attention. His knees squeeze around your legs and his arms pull you in close to him, pressing his nose against your belly. You card your fingers through his hair and down to his chin, tilting his head upwards.

“Better?” you breathe, and he nods, his eyes round and wide. You bend down to kiss him, slow and languid, before dropping to your knees again. When you pull away his mouth stays open, suspended in the shape of your kiss.

You settle between his knees and lightly kiss the head of his dick. You flick your gaze upward, monitoring his expression as you lazily run your fingers along his shaft. His glasses balance on the tip of his nose as he looks down at you, transfixed by your ministrations. You open your lips slightly, not quite taking him into your mouth yet as you softly cup his balls in your hand. You can hear his breath growing ragged, and he rewards you with an almost inaudible moan when your tongue finally wets his cock.

You wrap your lips around his tip, gently working the underside with your tongue. You run your hands up his thighs, squeezing his hips as they buck into you. You take more of him in, the warmth of your mouth contrasting with the cool, sensitive skin. He groans and tangles his fingers in your hair, a gesture that feels closer to petting than pulling.

You pull your mouth off his cock, wrapping your hand around the now slick shaft. You run your thumb along the slit, and his responding shutter makes you smile.

“Ah- enjoying yourself?” he murmurs, unable to keep his voice steady. You look up at him and drag your tongue along his entire length.

“I am, are you?” you hum, taking him back into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. His leg quivers beside you, his toes curling inward.

“Mmph,” he grunts in assent, his hand twisting into your hair a little more. You slip your hands under his thighs and slide your mouth further down, letting him fill you up. His hips jerk, wanting to thrust into you, and you relax your jaw to let him. His little pants and disjointed moans send a jolt of heat down to your core, and you can feel yourself becoming wet with desire for him.

You reach down and slip your middle finger between your slick folds, your groan vibrating into him. He hisses and pulls you off his cock and into a fierce kiss. The two of you tumble backwards onto the bed, your hair encircling you like a curtain. You press your bodies together, the smoldering heat spreading into a raging wildfire. He lines himself up with your entrance as you continue your desperate assault on his lips. He slides in with ease and your cry into his mouth accompanies him bottoming out.

You push yourself up, bracing yourself on his chest as you grind into him. He plants his hands on your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head falls back in ecstasy, your hair cascading down the length of your back. You increase the pace of your rolling hips, each breath growing more voiced as you approach your peak.

“Oh gods, Astarion,” you babble, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He realizes you’re getting close, he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him tight. He latches onto your nipple, flicking his tongue and sucking to send your pleasure to staggering heights. You arch your back into him as your arms hook over his shoulders, brushing your hands against those awful scars. Your hands splay across his back as if to say no one will ever hurt you like that again.

You pull his face to yours so that you can taste his lips as you crash over the edge. The kiss is broken up by your cries and you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his grunts in time with his pulsing seed. You stay still and connected as the waves of pleasure ebb and flow and finally settle. The only noise left in the room is both of your heavy panting, and the telltale sound of just your heart pounding.

His hands slide down your back as you carefully pull yourself off him and you shiver as his now-soft cock falls out of you. You kneel next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, and he reaches over to stroke your jaw.

“Thank you,” he hums softly, and you press another sweet kiss to his neck. His scar.

After a moment you let out a contented sigh, then you say, “Well, I should probably gather my things and go, then.” You begin to stand to dress, but his hand closes around your wrist. You turn to him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“Or you could… stay. If you want.” He looks up at you through smudged and sweaty glasses and a smile tugs at your lips.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you watch him shift uncomfortably with a question that he’s not used to answering.

“I want…” he begins, hesitant. “I want to watch last year’s Globe production of Much Ado About Nothing with you. You said you like that one, right?” Your ears grow hot as you realize the extent to which he actually paid attention to you, even before you were sleeping together.

“I do, yeah. One of his best,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you repeat his words back to him. That interaction feels like it was eons ago, when in fact it was less than a tenday.

He smirks, some of his confident charm seeping back into his demeanor. He scoots back on the bed until he’s resting against the headboard, and then he reaches out to you, inviting you to curl in next to him. You oblige, and he turns on the TV across from the bed, pulling up the pro-shot. You sink in next to him, appreciating how his chest cools your flushed cheek.

A single word gnaws at the back of your mind and you banish it quickly.

No, that’s the oxytocin talking.

It’s just been a long time since you’ve slept with someone more than once.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and the gnawing grows more insistent.

…

Fuck.

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ssaaaronmontgomery · 1 year ago

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feral hotch friday!!

ok ok so the song shameless by Camila Cabello the part where it says “there’s just inches in between us i want you to give in”

Imagine Hotch and reader having sm tension like everywhere and there’s like those looks and the slight touches and then one day in hotches office he’s about to walk out she’s walking in and there’s barley space between them and then he’s like fuck it and they kiss 🌚🌚

Tension

Warning: Brief hurt/comfort, pining, making out in Aaron's office 🤭, fluff, slightly suggestive at the end, I think that's all!

Word count: 1.7k

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

A/n: This feels feral in some soft of sfw way???? And I love it tbh 🤭. This one WAS proofread for a change! This one is sfw<3. Gave this more plot than I meant to but that's okay 🤭. Let me know what you think 🫶.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @cr1minalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d

Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

Months had gone by with this tension between the two of you. Something was there and it only grew with time. It was always lingering looks and touches that weren't entirely innocent. They lasted a little longer than either of you would deem appropriate.

You were attracted to Hotch as soon as you met him. He was a handsome man and not only was he good looking but he was smart and that just made him even better. The problem was that he is forbidden. He is a forbidden fruit to you just as you are to him and you both know it. It's why it never went any further than those long looks and little touches in the last six months, though they did become more frequent.

The first time it happened you had been working with the BAU for about a month. It was just his hand bumping yours when he reached for a file you had your hand resting on. It was a case everyone had been working hard on and yet no one could figure out who the unsub was. The team all sitting at a table going through stacks of files and when Hotch reached for the file accidentally touching your hand in the process, he didn't move it right away. You both looked at where your hands were touching and then at each other but after a moment he moved his away, file forgotten. You were both exhausted and neither of you really thought too much of it at the time. Even if you both felt warm and fluttery inside, the other didn't know it.

The second time something of this nature happened was when you were wearing something a little different from your regular work attire. It had been a few months since you'd joined the team.

You, JJ, Penelope, and Emily had all been out for a girl's night when another case came up. You didn't have time to change before coming in so you were stuck wearing a skirt that was a little on the shorter side and a top that showed a little more until you had the chance to get something more appropriate out of your go-bag. All Hotch had ever seen you in was your work clothes so to say he was a bit surprised by your more revealing outfit would be an understatement. He couldn't keep his eyes off of you and he knew you were aware but again neither of you mentioned anything.

Of course you both had other, smaller moments between but these were the ones that were most memorable for the two of you.

The third time was when you sat next to each other on the jet. This time it was after a case had ended poorly. Everyone felt very low. You had been on the team for five months now and the job finally started to crack you a little.

You were sitting in the back alone. It was a more personal case for you. It hit you a little harder than most of the team and Hotch could see that. He didn't know why it did, he wasn't even sure if you knew why it hurt you more. Maybe it was just really dark and it had finally taken a toll on you. Whatever it was, he wanted to be there for you. He wanted to offer you comfort even if you two weren't very close.

In truth, Hotch tried to avoid you sometimes. He didn't want to let his feelings and emotions win. Not when it could drastically change your professional relationship or put one or both of you in a difficult position regarding your jobs.

But seeing you alone and hurting was something he wouldn't let you go through. Maybe he couldn't stop the hurt you felt but he could keep you from going through it alone. So he pushed his feelings aside and sat next to you.

In all five months of being on the team not once had the two of you ever sat beside each other on the plane. Not a single time. Other places where he wouldn't be next to you quite as long? Yes. But never on the jet where it would be much longer and closer. So when he did, it shocked you. You looked up at him and he could see the tears in your eyes. He could see how your shoulders slumped and how defeated you looked. He had never seen you look this way and it broke his heart to see it now.

As soon as he put his hand on your shoulder you melted into his side and he held you close. It was a little awkward but it was still comforting. It was awkward because you two hardly ever spoke unless it was work related and the only touches either of you had ever shared were hands bumping or his resting on your lower back when he was moving around you or ushering you somewhere.

So feeling a bit odd the first time he completely embraced you was understandable. Especially when he hardly ever embraced anyone on his team. He likes you and he has you so close. He's holding you the way he's wanted to since the moment he met you, not with the circumstances he wished for but holding you and comforting you nonetheless. He would kiss you if he thought it could help but this is far from the right time or place for that. You don't need his lips right now. You just need his arms around you and that's what he'll give you.

From there the touches only continued to grow. To linger more and more. Happening more often. As would the looks. Everything between you two was tense but also...a sort of love story. Someone you want but can't have. Someone you need but is forbidden to you. It's not fair. There is clearly something there. It's clear to most but surprisingly no one has commented on it.

Hotch made it a point to leave the office a little earlier more often because he knew it meant running into you on the way to his car. Normally he would be there so late that everyone else was gone before he left. He tried to time his departure from his office just right so he would get to walk with you as you left. When you walked to your separate cars he would watch you for a moment before finally leaving.

You wouldn't say it was a routine for him to walk you to your car because it wasn't every single day. More like once or twice a week when there wasn't a case. And technically he didn't walk you to your car but rather walked beside you until you stopped at yours and he kept walking until he reached his. You always waved goodbye to him once you got to your car though. It always made him smile.

Or the number of times he brought you your favourite coffee. He would make sure to hand it to you instead of setting it down next to you. This way his fingers were bound to brush against yours as he transferred the cup to your hands from his. The way you always smiled at him and looked into his eyes as you thanked him. It brightened you up and in turn it did the same to him. He would always return your warm smile with one of his own. Of course watching you enjoy your first sip before telling you to have a good day and leaving to busy himself in his office.

He always did it during cases because it helped you relax when you were stressed. Knowing he was there and thinking of you. It may have eased the tension from the case but it only added to the weird little thing you two had going.

Today you had to drop something off with Hotch before heading out for the day. When you got to his office door you knocked before walking right in and to your surprise, Aaron was trying to walk out. You nearly collided with each other. Aaron gently gripped your arms to steady you after you had stumbled slightly.

Your faces so close together. Closer than they ever had been. Even when he held you on the jet your face wasn't this close to his. You could feel his breath fanning across your face and he could feel yours.

"Hotch! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"

You start to explain and apologise to him but before you can finish getting your words out you feel his warm chapped lips pressing against yours. For the first few seconds it is timid but once you realise what is happening and you are able to find your footing again, you kiss him back. It quickly fills with passion. You can feel the need and desperation as you both move your lips together. When he swipes his tongue across your lip and you allow him in you can feel the desire grow more and more.

The kiss only builds. Everything you and Aaron have been pushing down for months now finally coming to the surface. Your hands tangle in each other's hair as you both try to deepen it. One of his hands reaches around to your lower back and presses you against him more firmly before breaking the kiss. You both needed the break to breathe. All either of you can hear is the panting coming from each other.

He leans in and kisses you briefly before parting again and pressing his forehead to yours. Both of you are still trying to catch your breath. When he speaks you can feel the warmth of his quicker breaths against your lips and it makes you tingle.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that, y/n?" Another chaste kiss to your lips.

"No. But if it's as long as I've wanted you to then it's since we first met." He chuckles a little and kisses your cheek and then forehead. "That sounds about right."

"I wish you had done it sooner." You smile at him and he grins.

"Well, you have me now. Maybe we should get out of the office and see what else we've been missing out on?" He raises his eyebrows and smirks slightly. He still has you pressed against him. "Let's not waste another second."

#anon🩶#feral hotch friday #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner fluff

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justwinginglife · 2 months ago

Text

This Time, It's Different

Dedicated to the only person who will read this, my bestie @minasfwoopyponytail, yall I know I be doin Soshiro all the time, but I got on the Ranpo track cuz we were talking about Ranpo being in our top favs for BSD so I gotta show him some love today (I am so sorry that I bought Chuuya, Dazai, and Akutugawa merch and forgot about you Ranpo my love, this is my apology fic for you).

You were never good at lying.

It was inconvenient in almost all aspects of your life, but you never thought your ineptitude would be the reason someone finally fell in love with you.

After many failed attempts at bending the truth, after attempting to tell your aunt you liked the socks she got for your birthday and instead unknowingly wrinkling your nose at them and breaking her heart, after attempting to tell your boss that you were busy and couldn’t come to work on a Saturday and when she asked follow up questions about your supposed plans you found yourself flushed and floundering, after attempting to tell your ex that you enjoyed meeting his family but then immediately declining any further interaction with them, after multiple awkward interactions and even more disastrous encounters, you decided to give up on lying. It wasn’t for you.

So you resigned yourself to the fact that you would have to tell nothing but the whole, honest truth for the rest of your life. Your lackluster lies may cause catastrophe otherwise.

So when you joined up with the Armed Detective Agency, when you rejected Dazai’s advances by saying, “No offense Dazai, but I’m sure you say that to all the ladies, and while I’m flattered, I’m not into womanizers,” when you offered methods of stress relief to Kunikida because he “always looked like the world was ending,” when you asked when Furukawa would be retiring because you were concerned about him “overworking himself in his old age,” when half the detective agency was against you from your first day, Ranpo Edogawa found himself half in love with you already.

He’d never met a person who didn’t -or just couldn’t- lie, even among his fellow coworkers, and he was at least intrigued by you if nothing else. He found himself eager to see just how far you were willing to go to continue telling the truth.

Going forward, you often found him tagging along on missions with you, peeking over your shoulder while you worked, listening to everything intently, even despite your other coworkers telling you that Ranpo almost never went out of his way to be this personally invested in anything, just because he wanted to hear you talk, to see if you really told everyone everything you thought all the time. And to ask you questions. Lots of questions.

Most of them were controversial because he wanted to see if you’d stick to your opinions even if you were in the minority, some of them were philosophical because he wanted to know the way your mind worked, and a few of them were just downright absurd because he was Ranpo.

“Okay. So. You want to know if I would divert the trolley to save the lives of five by killing one?”

“Yes, and when you’re done with that, do you think that dress makes that girl’s butt look fat?”

“Mr. Edogawa, sir, I really don’t see how this is relevant to the case.”

“Oh it’s relevant, alright. Answer the question, I’m your superior and I wanna know.”

“Um. Alright. Well clearly it makes more logical sense to sacrifice the life of the one for the good of the many, just mathematically speaking, and yes, that dress is very unappealing on her, I don’t know why she went with white.”

“Agreed, the white is hideous, you pass my tests. For now.”

And so this bizarre relationship of yours continued.

Ranpo would wait for you to finish up cases, would wait for you to finish in the bathroom, would wait for you to finish up dinner, just so he could pick your brain, just so he could amuse himself with your answers. But the more time he spent with you, the more his reason changed for spending the time. He was always attentive, had always had a keen eye, but when you were around, it seemed every last bit of his attention had devoted itself to you. He knew how long it took for you to finish going to the bathroom, so -much to your embarrassment- he always knew what you were doing in the bathroom depending on the length of time. He knew how long it took for you to eat and which foods took you longer amounts of time to eat them. He knew when it was your time of the month, he knew what you craved during said time, he knew the way you’d react when he brought you said craving. He knew almost everything about you and it still wasn’t enough.

One day, he diverted from his usual barrage of insane questions and he started asking about you: what was your favorite food, where were you born, did you have any pets growing up, what did you like to do outside of work? By now, you had gathered from all his previous questions that he was just having fun interrogating you, but you enjoyed talking with him, so you answered all his questions regardless, personal or otherwise. You were unsure how telling him your favorite color was supposed to entertain him the way his usual ridiculous questions did, but you told him it was green anyway. He brought you a bundle of kiwis the next day because he couldn’t figure out what else was green to give you. You were unaware of the fruit’s connection to his question about your favorite color but to him, he’d pretty much just asked you out.

When you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, because you were unaware he had feelings for you, and unaware he had just presented them to you through said kiwis, he pouted for the remainder of the day.

You couldn’t figure out why the man who had spent every waking second of your career with the ADA by your side had suddenly started avoiding you. You couldn’t figure it out, and it was killing you. Little did he know, you had also started memorizing details about him, and the way his laugh sounded, the way his lips curved into a smile, the way his fingers pushed up his glasses, the way he did anything and everything, the way he said anything and everything had you craving your next interaction before the previous one had even ended. And you couldn’t take the silence he had now forced you into. So you went on a hunt for him.

You found him sulking on the rooftop.

You plopped down beside him without saying a word and when you could tell he might be preparing to run again, preparing to plunge your relationship into further silence, you handed him a Ramune. He froze. And then he snatched the drink out of your hand like it was just another Tuesday for the two of you.

“You remembered my favorite flavor, huh? Not too shabby for a second rate detective.” He chugged down the drink.

You laughed and nudged his shoulder with yours. “If I’m such a second rate detective, how did I know you’d be on the roof?”

He shrugged. “Got lucky, I guess.”

You bit your lip and for the first time in years, considered lying. But you couldn’t do it. “Actually, I didn’t just ‘get lucky.’ I knew you’d be on the roof. You always come to the roof when you’re upset. I notice more than you think. So tell me- why are you upset?”

He sighed. “You’re not into me. No one’s ever into me.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

He sighed again, this time more exasperated. “I gave you a gift, but you didn’t accept my feelings.”

You blinked again. “The… kiwis?? Ranpo. You always give me gifts. You gave me strawberries during my last period even though Yosano told you to get me chocolate because you know I like fruits better than chocolate. You gave me limited edition tickets to a play that was already sold out because you’d preordered it when you heard me vaguely mention that I liked it. You are always giving me things, and they’re perfect, and I love it, and I appreciate it, but how was I supposed to know this time was something different?”

He tapped a finger on his chin. “Yeah okay fine. I see that now.”

You inched up closer to him. “So… this time is different though?”

He suddenly blushed. “Yeah… this time it’s different. This time I wanted… well I wanted…”

“Me?”

He’s suddenly quiet and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. You’ve rendered him speechless and it’s impossible not to find it adorable.

You kiss him.

If he was speechless before, now he’s speechless and breathless.

“I just… you just…so we’re?”

You nod, smiling at him. “Yeah. We are.”

“We’re… together?” He squeaks out.

“I’d like us to be.”

He nods vigorously. “I-I’d like us to be too!” He blurts out.

You kiss him again and this time he savors the feeling of your lips melding with his. This time he kisses you back with fervor, with passion he never knew he could feel. This time, he’s all yours.

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

Author's Note: I am too lazy to write a longer fic that delves into their relationship after this, but I did want to write a lil drabble about it, so I will be posting it here.

#ranpo edogawa #bsd #bsd ranpo #ranpo x reader #anime fanfic #oneshot #fluff

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vodika-vibes · 11 months ago

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Heyyyy!

Are you doing preference lists? Or idk what’s the name for those lol

So I was thinking about what nicknames would the clones give to the reader?

I love your fics and I hope u have a wonderful 2024!

Nicknames

Pairings: ARC Trooper Fives x Reader, Commander Fox x Reader, Alpha-17 x Reader, Crosshair x Reader, Clone Commando Sev x Reader

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So I think you're asking for headcanons (at least I hope that's what you're asking for or else I'm answering this all wrong, lol). Since you didn't give a list of which clones you wanted, I'm going to just pick a few. Sev's feels a little awkward, honestly, but I'm still kinda happy with it.

ARC Trooper Fives x Reader - Mesh'la

The first time the unfamiliar word slipped from Fives lips when he was speaking to you, you didn't think anything of it. Fives uses basic and mando'a interchangeably at times, and while frustrating, Fives doesn't have a problem translating for you when you ask.

This time, however, this time when you asked what the unfamiliar word meant (the word falling clumsily from your tongue as you tried to mimic the way he said it) he dropped his datapad and wouldn't look you in the eye.

"Fives?" You ask, "Is it...is it bad? The thing you called me?"

"No!" He blurts his eyes suddenly wide, "No. It's...it's a good thing. It...uh..." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "It means beautiful."

You stare up at him, startled, and then you smile fondly, "You think I'm beautiful?" You ask.

He laughs and favors you with a smile, "How could I not?" He reaches out and lightly brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, "My mesh'la."

Commander Fox x Reader - Angel

Commander Fox is such a hard worker, always in his office, even on days when he's supposed to be resting. Even when his brothers beg him to take a day off.

He works so hard, in fact, that the first time he calls you Angel you're pretty sure it's because he forgot your actual name. You don't mind. Well, you're a little hurt, you've been working with his for months now and him forgetting your name is like a punch to the gut, but you've always been a bit of a pushover when it comes to Fox.

And then he keeps calling you Angel.

Day after day. Multiple times in a singular conversation.

And you finally have to say something.

He smiles at you, soft and warm and so very fond, "I know what your name is." Fox says as he leans over you and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, "I call you Angel, because that's what you are. My Angel. My whole reason for showing up everyday. My whole reason for fighting in this war. Does it bother you?"

And you find, suddenly, that you don't mind the nickname at all.

Alpha-17 x Reader - Little Love

Working alongside Alpha-17 has always been easy. Sure, it leads to long days and even longer nights, where you bicker and bump heads about everything, but you respect the hell out of Alpha-17, and you know (hope) that he respects you too.

Which is why the sudden nickname startles you so badly.

"I...beg your pardon?" You ask, your eyes wide as you look up at the much larger man.

Alpha rests his chin on the palm of his hands, and watches you with an exhausted smile, "I asked," He repeats, his voice a low rumble, "if you would hand me the datapad on your left," a lazy smirk crosses his face, "Little Love."

"Since when do you call me-?"

He shoots you a thoughtful look, "Since today, I suppose. Is that okay?"

You duck your head, and release a quiet laugh, "Yeah, I think it's a great nickname. Though it's not really true..."

He leans across the table, his gaze serious as he looks you in the eye, "Then lets make it true. You and me."

And, really, how can you say no to that.

Crosshair x Reader - Sweetheart, Kitten

Crosshair is an asshole. He's always been an asshole, he'll likely always be an asshole. At least he's honest about his assholery, you suppose.

Still, you could do without him calling you sweetheart like it's an insult. It's supposed to be a petname! Not an insult!

You know better than to pick arguments with Crosshair. You do! Months of traveling with him have proven that arguing with his is an exercise in futility. But you just can't help it. He's finally pushed you to the edge.

So here you arm, your arms folded over your chest, having a raging shouting match with Crosshair.

...well, you're shouting at him, he's just goading you and making you angrier. And still, still, he's calling you sweetheart! Like...like some villain from a gangster movie.

Fed up with his bullshit, you go to push past him, wanting to remove yourself from the situation before you say, or do, something foolish, but Crosshair moves, and pins you against the wall before you even realize what's happening.

You bite your tongue to stop the flood of curses you want to spit at him, and he smirks at you, "Aww, Kitten. Where'd your claws go?"

And all of the fight drains from your body as your face burns. You were wrong, Kitten is a much worse nickname than Sweetheart.

Clone Commando Sev x Reader - Sarad

For such a hard and rough around the edge man, Sev is surprisingly tender with you. Always the first person to offer you a compliment (even when you look/feel gross and just want to shower and curl up on the couch) and always so very gentle with you, as though terrified that he might hurt you if he's not careful.

And so his nickname for you isn't the least bit surprising.

Sarad. Flower.

At the time you laughed, "Because I'm small and frail?" You teased him, even as you leaned against his solid body and accepted his gentle affection.

"Because you're beautiful. And perfect, just like a flower." Sev corrected, as he brushed his thumb against your cheek, as gently as one would brush their fingers against a flower petal.

And just like that, you fell deeper into love with your stern and hard, and somehow oh so sweet man.

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper fives x reader #commander fox x reader #alpha-17 x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #clone commando sev x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #answered asks

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university.

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though.

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,” Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip.

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh…that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily.

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.”

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it.

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks.

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.”

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!”

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply.

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.”

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile.

“What makes you say that?” you ask.

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?”

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about.

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High.

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. Let me know what you think! 😉

And if you liked this...

Read the Sequel!

Check out "Miss Professor" to continue reading. ❤️

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