#or maybe I'm just soft lately lmao

[cosmicstarlatte]

havent seen you around in a few days & i’ve been missing your presence on the dash love!! I hope you’re doing okay<3

me!? what!? em you're making me FEEL things ajskdkfkfajsjd sobssss, thank you!!! I've been taking things a day at a time, I hope you've been doing good too!! ^^ ♡

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[mssorceressupreme]

Take Care of You | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you wake up realising you’ve stained your boyfriend’s bed with period blood, and you feel terrible. later, while playing a friendly quidditch game, you get deadly cramps again and fred takes care of you for the rest of the day.

Warnings/content: reader gets her period, mentions of blood, pimples (lmao), insecure!reader, period cramps, fluff, fred weasley is THE standard :,), molly and arthur being the sweetest gems

———

The Burrow was quiet in the early morning, the golden glow of the sun barely peeking through the curtains of Fred's bedroom. The soft rise and fall of his breathing filled the room, his arms wrapped securely around you as you lay nestled against him. His warmth, his scent—fresh, like cinnamon and a hint of something mischievously sweet—made you want to stay here forever.

However, during this particular morning, something felt...off.

You shifted slightly, your brows knitting as you became aware of a slight discomfort in your lower abdomen. Your face scrunched up in confusion, and as you moved your hand to touch your face, you felt a few bumps along your skin—pimples, no doubt. Great. Just what you needed.

Then, you felt it. The damp warmth between your legs. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. Panic shot through you as you carefully lifted the covers, heart pounding as you caught sight of the undeniable red stain on Fred’s bedsheets.

Oh no.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in sheer mortification. Not only had you woken up to pimples, but you had gotten your period in your boyfriend’s bed.

Your boyfriend’s bed. Sure, if it was your own bed, you didn't mind, as it would be your problem to deal with. This, however, was an entirely different case. Godric, you wanted to hide, to run away, to retreat into your shell.

The urge to disappear entirely took over as your face burned with embarrassment. What were you supposed to do? Wake him up and tell him you’d basically bled all over his sheets? You felt a lump in your throat and your vision became teary. Especially with pimples all over your face now, what would Fred think? Would he get grossed out, horrified, disgusted?

Maybe if you were really quiet, you could sneak out and fix it before he even noticed—

Time seemed to slip from your hands when all the shifting you did stirred Fred from his sleep. Shit, it was too late to move.

He groaned softly before his arms instinctively tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him with a lazy smile.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He pressed a sleepy kiss to your cheek before pausing, sensing the tension in your body. His brows furrowed, and he blinked, still groggy. “You alright, darling? You seem a little tense.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Fred, I—” Your voice was small, laced with hesitation. You inhaled deeply before revealing your dilemma, “I got my period.”

Fred blinked, confused for a second, before his lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “Alright, love, no need to sound so distressed about it.”

You groaned again, this time with frustration. “No, you don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I stained your bed.”

With a deep breath, you lifted up the duvet and hesitantly pointed at the small red patch on the sheets. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you dared to glance at his face, bracing yourself for—well, you didn’t know what exactly. Disgust? Annoyance? Irritation? But instead, all you found was Fred sitting up, stretching before looking at the stain with mild curiosity, then back at you with a soft chuckle.

“Is that all?” he said, completely unfazed. “Thought you were gonna tell me you’d hexed my eyebrows off in my sleep or something.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Fred, I just bled on your bed,” you repeated, incredulous. “How are you this calm?”

"I just got my period...and I'm breaking out all over my face, I feel like a mess right now, I—" You continued rambling, all your worries spilling out at once.

He rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you into a warm hug, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, love,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s normal, yeah? Not like you did it on purpose.” He pulled back slightly, his hands gently cupping your face. “My poor baby, let me take care of you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but you still couldn’t shake off the embarrassment. “But your sheets—”

“Easily cleaned,” he interrupted, waving a hand like it was nothing. “Mum’s got stain removers, no big deal. What is a big deal, though, is that you’re clearly not feeling great.” His hands dropped to your waist, tugging you close again. “And my girl needs to be taken care of.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Fred was already hopping out of bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said, tossing on a shirt. “You go to the bathroom, get cleaned up. I’ll sort everything else out.”

Still in a daze from his reaction, you hesitated before nodding. You slipped into the bathroom, heart still pounding as you peeled off your clothes, carefully cleaning yourself up. A few moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Here, I’ve got some pads for you,” Fred called from the other side.

You cracked open the door, peeking out to see him holding a small stack of pads in his hands, a sheepish yet triumphant grin on his face.

“Ginny might have thrown something at me when I woke her up to ask, but worth it,” he teased, handing them to you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thank you, handsome.”

“For a pretty girl like you, anytime.” He kissed your forehead gently before stepping back. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Once you were done, you returned to Fred’s room to find the bed already spotless, the stain completely gone. He grinned when he saw you. “Told you I’d sort it.”

You launched yourself at him, hugging him tightly. “Ugh Fred, you’re too good at this.”

“I know,” he said smugly, earning a light smack on the arm. He chuckled before pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get some breakfast in you, yeah?” There was something comforting about his kisses, every time he planted one on you, it felt as though everything was going to be alright.

Downstairs, the Burrow was already lively with chatter. Molly beamed as she hugged you good morning before returning to cooking, and Arthur greeted you warmly.

"Ah come join us, you lovebirds." Arthur teased, Fred's ears turning a light shade of red in response.

"What took you guys so long today? Busy eh?" Ron teased, wiggling his brows before taking a bite of his toast.

"Shove off, what's the point in rushing downstairs? Not like we've got somewhere to be." Fred retorted, a bit more harshly than he had intended.

Ginny shot you two a knowing look, giving you a sympathetic smile, "You won't understand the pressures of being a woman Ron, takes a lot to look this good every day." She joked, though laced with a comforting undertone, indirectly defending you. You tilted your head and smiled warmly at her, a way of showing gratitude.

"Come Y/N dear, you must be starving." Molly placed two eggs on your plate next to your toast, "Percy, pass her the butter will you."

"This looks delicious, thank you Molly!" You beamed, her food was always made with love; a mother's love, and that's what made it extra tasty.

Though you smiled, and occasionally shared quips with the others, only Fred was able to see right through you. He kept sneaking glances, his hand resting on your thigh under the table, stroking it gently.

You turned to give him a reassuring smile, but he still worried for you, wanting to ensure you felt better.

___

Later that afternoon, you and the Weasleys were playing a toned-down version of Quidditch outside the Burrow.

The sky was clear as day, the air crisp with a cool breeze occasionally blowing your hair, and laughter filled the open field as Ron, Fred, and Ginny zoomed around on their brooms, chucking the Quaffle back and forth.

Meanwhile, you, Percy, and George remained on the ground, running, dodging, and attempting to intercept the ball whenever it came your way.

At first, you kept up, laughing as George nudged you playfully and you pretended to dramatically fall or trip, making him burst into laughter.

"Woah, when did you get so strong?" Sarcasm lingered in your tone.

"Puh-lease, this is like twenty-percent of my strength. You're lucky I'm going on easy on ya." George ruffled your hair messily, it was safe to say the two of you definitely had a sibling-like relationship.

Though as the game went on, you started to slow down. The cramps you’d been trying to ignore all day crept in with full force, sharp and unbearable.

It felt like your insides were twisting, a deep ache radiating through your stomach and back, growing stronger by the minute. You bit your lip, pressing a hand to your abdomen, willing the pain away. But it was no use.

After a few more steps, you stopped completely, crouching down with a sharp inhale.

Fred, who had been mid-air, immediately noticed. He veered off from the game and swooped down toward you, concern flickering across his face. "Love? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now as he handed his broom off to George, who had also stopped running and looked at you with concern.

“You alright, Y/N?” George asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with genuine worry.

You tried to wave them off, not wanting to make a fuss, but Fred wasn’t having it. He crouched beside you, his large hands gently resting on your arms as he searched your face.

"Cramps," you admitted in a whisper, wincing slightly.

Fred was up in an instant. "Alright, that’s it. You're going inside." He stood, helping you up carefully, his arm wrapping around your waist protectively. George gave you an encouraging nod before returning to the game, and as you and Fred walked toward the Burrow, you leaned into him, grateful for his warmth and steady presence.

As soon as you stepped inside, Molly turned from the stove, immediately noticing your pale face and Fred’s worried expression. "What’s wrong, dear?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.

“Cramps,” Fred answered before you could, his voice carrying that soft, caring edge that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Oh, sweetheart," Molly cooed. "You sit down and rest. I’ll whip up some soup and a cramp relief potion right away.”

"Thank you, Molly," you said softly, feeling a rush of gratitude for the warmth and kindness of the Weasley family.

You always secretly hoped you'd marry into the family one day, but you didn't want to admit that aloud, or pressure Fred into such things yet.

Fred led you upstairs to his room, insisting you lay down. "Rest up, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of the room.

A little while later, the door creaked open again, and Fred returned, carrying a small basket filled with chocolates, a heating pad, some of your favourite snacks, and—to your surprise—a teddy bear.

You blinked at it, smiling despite your discomfort. “A teddy?”

Fred set the basket down, and held the bear up, making its little arm wave at you. "To cuddle with."

You giggled, looking at him with awe. “Come here. I’d rather cuddle with you, baby."

He grinned before climbing into bed next to you, immediately wrapping you in his buff arms. His embrace, his scent—everything about him was comforting, you could only melt right into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly to face you. But after a moment, you grew shy, burying your face in his chest.

“Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, insecurity creeping in. “I don’t feel pretty right now.”

Fred’s brows furrowed, and he cupped your cheek, tilting your face back up to him. "Don’t you ever say that," he murmured, his gaze filled with so much love it made your heartache.

"You’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. These little things, flaws you might call them—they don’t matter. If anything, they make you even more beautiful. To me, you always look good, angel."

Tears welled in your eyes at his words, and you let out a shaky breath. “I love you, Freddie.”

His expression softened even more, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you too.”

With that, he pulled you closer, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, drifting off into a peaceful nap in his arms.

___

An hour later, Molly walked in, a tray in her hands carrying a bowl of warm soup and a small vial of cramp relief potion. But as soon as she saw the two of you curled up together, fast asleep, a tender smile spread across her face. She stood there for a moment, simply watching, before turning to call Arthur over.

Arthur peeked inside, his eyes crinkling with affection as he took in the sight. “Reminds me of us back in the day,” he murmured with a fond chuckle.

Molly playfully swatted his arm before she placed the tray on the bedside table, snapping a quick photo of you and Fred with a knowing grin. Then, hand in hand, she and Arthur quietly slipped out of the room, leaving you both to your peaceful afternoon nap.

____

A/N: currently on my period and thought a fluffy fic would be healing rn <3 lowkey feeling a smut one soon? not sure though hehehe (help I'm so indecisive 😭😩)

[digitaldaydreamm]

https://www.tumblr.com/umathurwin/777141804870074368/rafe-who-keeps-a-buzz-cut-because-he-has-sensitive?source=share

This is so bsf rafe, just imagine him going to readers house (unannounced ofc) and he looks awful, like burnout and frowning like a puppy (probably because of ward or some shit) and reader tries comforting him by running her hands through his hair and she lays his head down on her chest (this whole situation was just an excuse to be face to face with her tits LMAO)

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

warnings: cursing, rafe laying on reader's chest lol

a/n: this is sooo soft rafe :') i'm also finally getting into your reqs, remember they're always open for those of you who have anything special you'd like to ask for/comment on (for any of my existing pairings or new ones you wanna suggest)!!

masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sound of your front door unlocking has your stomach flipping before you even register it.

Only one person uses a key like that—slow, angry, like the metal itself pissed him off. Then it swings open, heavy footsteps stomping across the floor like your living room did something wrong.

You peek out from the kitchen.

He looks rough.

Hoodie thrown on haphazardly, eyes red and jaw clenched so hard you think he might grind his teeth down. There’s a tension in his shoulders that screams don’t talk to me—but he came here, so you know he wants you to ignore that.

“Rafe?”

“Don’t ask,” he mutters, already collapsing onto the couch like it’s the only thing holding him together.

You shut the fridge quietly and walk over to him. “You look like shit.”

“Feel worse.”

You stop next to the couch, crossing your arms. “What do you need?”

He looks up at you, dead serious. “You.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s bone-deep exhaustion, and he’s just saying what he means—like always.

You sigh and climb up next to him, folding your legs under you as you start running your fingers over his buzzcut. He exhales immediately, head tipping forward like his entire nervous system just got unplugged.

“God. That—” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to,” you say, brushing slow strokes along the top of his head. “You’re like a dog that needs head rubs to stay sane.”

“Woof,” he mutters sarcastically, and you laugh.

Then, without warning, he drops his head forward and lays it right on your chest.

You blink, tensing a little. “Rafe—”

“Relax,” he grumbles, voice muffled in your shirt. “M’not trying to cop a feel. You’re just soft.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t stop moving through his hair. His body melts into yours, and the tension he came in with starts to dissolve bit by bit—still there, but dulled by your touch.

“What happened?” you ask after a beat.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Too late.”

He shifts a little, his arm hooking lazily around your waist like muscle memory, like this is where he’s meant to be when shit gets bad.

"I'll tell you about it later, 'kay?" His fingers bunch a tiny part of your shirt, gripping—not hard, just enough to keep you there.

“You’re the only one who lets me fall apart,” he says quietly.

Your heart squeezes.

“You don’t have to fall apart,” you whisper. “Not when you’re here.”

He hums, eyes still closed, and presses a little closer. “…You’re also the only person I don’t wanna hit when I’m like this.”

“Wow,” you snort. “Total green flag.”

He snickers tiredly, nose brushing your collarbone. “You love me.”

“Do not."

“You do,” he says, voice already lower, already slipping toward sleep. “You let me lay on your tits. That’s, like… ultimate love.”

You shake your head, smiling down at him as your fingers keep moving through his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky I have a key,” he mutters.

And with that, he’s out—completely relaxed for the first time in God knows how long, buried against your chest like your heartbeat’s the only thing keeping him steady.

You just keep stroking his hair, already knowing: maybe he won’t talk about what happened tonight. But he’ll show up tomorrow with coffee like nothing happened, like he didn’t practically collapse in your arms.

And that’s okay.

Because Rafe only lets himself break when he knows you’ll be there to put him back together.

[loganficsonly]

hello!!! hope you're have a great day so far!! I was wondering if could you write something with Logan and an easily flustered! reader?? like they get bashful when he does anything sweet and super embarrassed when he's being flirty or touchy with them?? maybe they're a little insecure that he might still have feelings for Jean or think that he could do way better??

thank you for writing in! this is super cute but i think i ended up writing something so fucking debauched, i'm so sorry. this is just straight up porn lmao

i hope you don't mind me taking jean out of the equation too!

first time writing patch!logan >:)

beneath the mask

patch!logan x f!reader, 3.4k WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI please this is nothing but filthy smut!!!, flirting?, patch is a warning, reader has hair and is able-bodied, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), piv, riding, unprotected sex (please be responsible), pet names, not proofread or edited AUTHOR'S NOTE: writing sexy shit is hard eh. anyway, reader is a singer who looks like she can eat a man up and picks her teeth with his bones but is actually super easily flustered. i think i lost the plot towards the end but at least reader and logan get to bang!

Cherry lips croon from behind the silver microphone. Each syllable forms like the slow drip of nectar, lush and perfect and full of promises for those in the audience who have a thirst to quench.

And indeed one could say you’re a tall glass of water, standing on the stage with your hair framing your face like a painting, delicate nails stroking the mic. But with that deep red dress that shines every time you move under the light, it would be more accurate to call you a tall glass of Madripoor’s finest wine. 

Coveted. Delicious. Expensive.  

The spotlights are blinding, reducing the faces staring up at you into shadowed outlines.

That’s good. Between that darkness and the buzz of a warm drink you had just before the start of your set, nervousness has no place here.

You feel a curl of a smile on your lips. Melancholy melodies from the piano resound beneath your voice. The plucks of a double bass from the back of the stage, in time with soft shuffles of a drum set. The music is slow and languid, and you feel yourself sinking into it as you sing.

There was a boy

A very strange enchanted boy

They said he wandered very far

Very far

Over land and sea…

A figure in white cuts through the bar. There’s no need for words—a drink is placed in front of him swiftly, the caramel-colored liquid refracting in the light, ice clinking against the chilled glass. He sits, facing towards the stage. 

One eye trained on you.

Business held him up more than he’d like. He settles down after a burning sip of whiskey, sufficiently satisfied with how he dealt with the problems that caused him to be late for this.

He’d call it a win-win situation. They paid the price. His suit remains crisp, unsullied. You are still singing. Your last song, evidently—Nature Boy is always your closer—but at least he got to hear you and that beautiful voice. 

A little shy and sad of eye

But very wise was he

From behind the rim of his glass, he drinks in your figure.

Stunning. The dress betrays your curves, hugging them like second skin. He sees the sinful slit on the side of your thigh, only visible when you move enough. Your hair is down tonight, he notices—a different impression compared to that of your usual updo. Relaxed. Free. No doubt inviting visions of what you would look like with your head on a pillow, hair splayed as you sigh a sultrier tune… 

You look like you were destined to doom good men. 

Lucky for him, he isn’t a good man.

And then one day

One magic day he passed my way

And we spoke of many things

Fools and kings

This he said to me 

Something pulls your eye to the bar, the only illuminated spot in the crowd.

He’s here. 

There’s a subtle shiver—your skin reacting to the sight of him. White suit, black bowtie. Always the same colors, always here, watching. The many stares you earn from others don’t stand a chance to the smolder of his single eye. Unlike the rest, you can’t tell what’s on his mind. Maybe that’s why his presence at poker tables is considered a curse.

You thought he wouldn’t show, seeing as he missed almost the entirety of your set. But now that he’s fifty feet away, strong hand wrapped around a glass, you find butterflies in your stomach.

Your eyes meet. 

The greatest thing

You’ll ever learn

Is just to love

And be loved in return

A thunderous applause and fifteen minutes later, he finds you on the other end of the bar, surrounded by admirers. They stand a little too close for his liking, but it’s almost part of your job to smile and laugh at them. 

He watches as your fingers move up to fix a gentleman’s tie, half-lidded eyes focused on your task. The man tenses in a way that looks all too familiar. You move smoothly to hug an older woman, lips puckered for an air kiss on her cheek. There’s a hand on your jaw, thumb stroking affectionately, and you lean in, basking in the attention. 

A hand on your arm. Fingers brushing against yours as they hand you your drink. And eyes, god, eyes that roam over you, barely veiling the wicked thoughts behind them.

You merely give them a small smile. The kind that tells them you know, and that you like it.

If he weren’t any better, he’d be seething, but really he’s the same as they are. Hungry for a drop of you. 

But he isn’t angry, or jealous. Can’t be. Not when you catch his eye and cordially murmur your thanks and ‘excuse me’s before parting the crowd, moving towards his seat at the end of the bar. 

Of course, knowing who he is, they don’t pursue you.

He stands as you arrive in front of him, eye locked on yours while he brings your knuckles up to his lips. He notices your painted nails, elegant and manicured to resemble little claws that remind him of cats. He smiles.

The brush on your skin feels innocent, but the shudder you try to suppress is anything but.

“You look beautiful as always.”

Maybe it’s your proclivity for music that makes you so sensitive to his voice. It’s deep and rumbly, awakening a longing for you to place your hand on his chest to feel it. 

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you reply back softly. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you to walk with him, likely to one of the private lounges he has access to. Your stride is in time with his as you walk side by side into the velvet-covered hallway.

You can see a slight quirk on his lips, ornamental sconces bathing dim light on his handsome face as he murmurs words only for you to hear.  

“How could I ever miss your show, honey?” 

It’s always like this with Patch.

A big bouquet of red roses, as if you just made your debut when you’ve in fact done this a hundred times over. They’re placed in a nice vase before he pampers you with the kind of dinner you used to have once every year for a birthday celebration. The conversation that ensues with him is quiet but easy, despite each word hanging heavily with the hidden prospect for more.

Before he leaves, he’d ask you to drink with him. A small amount of something heavy and chilled. Keeping him company. So far you’ve never denied his request—not because you’re intimidated, but because you’re interested.

Tonight is no different, except the two of you are standing, and he’s so close.

He’s as striking as a portrait, white suit cutting a clear silhouette against the dark mahogany walls of the room. Low lights and a thick door grant a sense of isolation while you’re, in fact, still in a public place. He has a hand on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin, and you know the heat that gathers under his touch is not because of the alcohol.

“You know I’m a patient man, don’t you, honey?” he rasps, hungry eyes taking in your face. God, you’re even more perfect up close. 

He feels you nod, the gesture a little timid. Something in his chest blooms at the look in your eyes—when it was steady before, cool under the hot spotlights, he can feel a slight change swirling in it. It’s been there, brewing since he closes the door to this room. Blooming when he pays all of his attention to you while you eat.

Nervous. Just from being with him.  

He takes a step forward, slowly cornering you into the wall. Your eyes widen slightly as you look up at him. He sees you swallow, breath hitched, a hand on his chest ready to push him away.

When you don’t, his blood sings.

“Patch—”

“It’s just us, sweet thing,” he purrs, correcting you. You exhale a little shakily.  

“...Logan.”

He hums, pleased at the sound of your voice calling his name. What he’d do to make you sing it louder, like you’re begging for him—he’s had plenty of dreams where you haunt him with just your voice, cooing, coaxing him to unravel you, to take you—

“Not sure I can be so patient anymore,” he says, his body brushing against yours. A hand rests on your waist, pulling you close. The other that’s on your cheek slides down to your jaw before nestling at the back of your neck, craning your head so you’re looking directly up at him.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, staring at his chin instead. If you looked into his eyes right now, you’d wither.

Lips press against your ear. The touch is undemanding, but firm, warm breath eliciting a gasp from you. Your hand on his chest catches him tensing at the sound.

“Means I want you. Now,” he answers, voice low. His hand on your waist slides down to your hip, tugging you until your breath stops—he’s hard. Your chest heaves. 

Pulling away, he looks at you. You wonder what you look like. You feel feverish.

“Will you let me have you?”

A warm, calloused hand slips onto your naked thigh through the slit of your dress, and your knees are so close to buckling. Heels knock into the wall behind you, but there’s nowhere to run.

…do you even want to?

Madripoor is filth dressed up as a gemstone. The city’s deceitfulness is something Logan is accustomed to. He has seen and studied all the ways people lie.

Except for yours. The moment he takes you to the penthouse of the hotel, kissing you senseless against the locked door before carrying you to the bedroom, he feels it. The unraveling of your own brand of trickery.

Senses it through the way you slot your lips against his, how your hands glide softly down his back. He’s been with enough women to know exactly how different you are just by having you like this, under him on his bed while his mouth devours yours. 

When he pulls away, he doesn’t see the woman on stage. There’s no surety in your half-lidded eyes, already glazed with desire, and certainly not in the way they avoid his own gaze, looking away over his shoulder. 

Hazel eye rakes down your body. Your dress rides up, slit revealing your leg in its entirety. The cowl neck of your outfit reveals a hint of your breasts as you heave with each labored breath.

You are a seductress, just not the kind people think you are.

While you put on your mask, you feed their imaginations with easy smiles and affectionate touches. The picture-perfect illusion of a siren, dangerously alluring.

That same person is crumbling underneath him only after a few deep kisses. Averting your gaze, eyelids fluttering. Blushing. 

It drives him wild.

His mouth waters as he hovers above you, still dressed. An animal wearing human clothes. His deception. He uses his hand, directing your gaze at him, smirking at the lost look on your face.

“So fucking pretty for me.”

A palm presses against your breast, lips latching onto your neck as he gets you out of the dress. As gorgeous as you look with it on, he needs to see you bare. He is slow with it, letting the straps fall first, marking the skin of your shoulders, preening as he feels your hands on his back guiding him close. 

Then Logan tugs the silky fabric down, revealing your breasts. You move your arms to cover it. He doesn’t let you, grabbing them and pinning your wrists with one hand to keep you still.

“Don’t stare,” you whisper, twisting your body away from him, but that only makes you look more delicious, tits bouncing. 

“Oh, honey,” he hums. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you try to shrink.

Makes him want to ruin you even more.

“I’d do whatever you ask me to, but that’s just impossible.”

He leans down, tongue lapping up a hardened peak before he uses his free hand to grab your flesh and sucks. You cry out, writhing beneath him, looking like you’re close to tears. Pleasure floods his veins, making him impatient. Where he was restrained before, he’s all relentless lust now—teeth, tongue, and lips working together to coax more of those gorgeous sounds out of you. He moves to your other breast. God, your moans…

“Logan,” you cry out, and he just about loses it.

“Fuck, you sing amazing, but that sounds even better,” he laughs, letting go of your hands so he can provoke you with both of his. The sight of your tits under his palms, slick with the attention he’s given you, nipples hard… Logan wonders whether this is a special type of heaven.

“Give me more, baby.”

You find yourself doing as you’re told, all kinds of lewd noises escaping your lips. He makes you, playing your body like some kind of instrument he’s long mastered, despite having you for the first time. When the dress comes off you entirely, you squeeze your thighs together, vaguely aware of the sopping mess that’s coalesced in your center. 

Logan’s hand parts you, growling.

“No hiding.” He yanks the side of your underwear down, slipping it down your legs before tossing it. Where it lands, he couldn’t care less. 

He smells you before he sees you, and his cock twitches. His good eye focuses on the glisten at the apex of your thighs, visible even in the dim light of the bedroom.

“She’s so wet already, honey,” he smiles, zeroing in at your pussy as two fingers come up to play with your folds. You arch your back, groaning. “Just from playing with your tits?”

“A-ah…” 

Your thighs clamp together, but his other hand interferes just as quickly, gripping your knee to keep you spread. Fuck, he’s still fully dressed—

“So it’s all just an act? The sensual songstress,” he breathes heavily, slipping his middle finger in, watching you writhe at the sensation. He almost laughs, not out of humor, but from the way your walls clench onto his digit like you don’t want him to ever leave. “Soaked for me—” 

“No, it’s not—”

“When was the last time you had a man, then, honey?” he grits, his middle finger all the way inside of you. His cock strains underneath the tent in his pants, eager to have you.

“I d-don’t remember,” you reply, your voice thin and airy.

Ideas flood his head then and there. All the ways he can make you feel good, how loud he can make you scream for him, how he’ll change you, make you want more, make you greedy—

“You’ll remember me after we’re done,” he rumbles, sliding down until your legs bracket his shoulders, head between them. 

When his tongue slides up your cunt, you part your lips in a silent scream, before whines slip past your throat. He’s almost conceited in the way he eats you out, so sure, and he’s not wrong to be. Lips tease and kiss until you’re certain your lungs are short on air, all while his finger stretches your insides, reaching a part so deep you’re sure it hasn’t been touched in a long time.

Then one finger becomes two and they pump, slick sounds of your leaking cunt echoing in the room. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging needily. He moans against you, vibrations racking your body with goosebumps.

As he closes his mouth around your clit, fingers ruining you, you sob his name, cum soaking his digits.

That’s only the first one.

Logan sinks his fingers into your pussy, two fingers scissoring you. He hovers over you, mouth against your ear saying all kinds of obscenities while he stretches you in preparation for the real thing. 

“Pussy so tight, baby, relax for me,” he growls, feeling you drench his fingers. The slapping sounds of his hand against you grow louder. You moan as he curls inside of you, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “Wanna make sure my dick fits inside her, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you cry weakly. He grins.

“It’s just my fingers, honey. My cock’s going to fucking ruin you, I know it. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, you won’t even look at any other guy. That right?”

Your response is an unintelligible mewl. A familiar wave crests, the knot at the bottom of your gut tightening.

“Come on, pretty girl, cum for me.”

How on earth he does it, you’re not sure. Your body obeys his command as if he has some kind of control over it, spine arching high as your hips sway, greedy for his digits, and when his thumb flicks that bundle of nerves you collapse. There’s a long drawn-out moan of his name as you spasm and shake, music to his ears.

He doesn’t waste time entering you, jacket shed, pants hanging low on his thighs—far too desperate at this point. Soon, you’re leaking all over his cock. His hand gently directs your gaze to where your bodies join, holding your chin as he feeds you his inches.

“Fuck, honey, look at that. Taking me so well.”

He moves.

A common sense of decency, the songs you sang in the set earlier, the taste of the drink he poured you—all of these things are forgotten, your mind a clean slate with each thrust of his length inside you. The way he moves is designed to make you fall apart quickly, relieving the ache in your core while making you want more, and you feel that sensation build within you again. Hands grip his biceps as you pant, eyelids fluttering up at him, drinking his expression while he spews filth at you. 

“Feels so good, baby, you’re so fucking hot.” His hips snap, a squelching sound between your legs. “Hear that? So wet for me. Want more?”

You mewl a ‘yes, Logan, please’ and he grins in delight, a renewed vigor in his already ruthless pace.

“God, fuck, you’re so tight. Gonna cum on my cock?” 

Nodding, you bury your face in his neck, letting out little gasps every time he sinks into you. You feel so full, like he’s all the way in your stomach—

“Tell me. Use your words, baby.”

“I-I’m so close, Logan,” you cry. 

“That’s right, let go, sweet thing, let me take care of you.”

The third time your orgasm hits, you’re hit by the reality of everything, your senses honing in to register only him. The way his length drags your walls—fuck, he hasn’t stopped—, his breath on your temple, the rumble of his voice as he praises you—“good girl, doing so good,”—the world stops. 

It’s just you, him, and how good it feels.

As the last waves of release begin to simmer down your limbs, electrifying your legs and fingertips, you pant, catching your breath. A gentle hand cups the fat of your cheek. You open your eyes.

Logan looks down at you, studying your utterly ruined countenance. Lips parted, cheeks burning, hair messily splayed on his pillow—the same way he imagined it would when he saw you sing just an hour ago.

That expensive lipstick hasn’t budged, though. He already knows one way he wants to ruin it.

The world spins and you let out a surprised noise as Logan flips the two of you, him on the bed and you sitting on his abs. You whine, feeling the slick smearing his shirt. He all but rips the fabric down the center, yanking it off his skin like it offended him, revealing his bare and hairy chest to you.

Hands are on your hips now, positioning you on top of his length. Your eyes widen. He’s still hard.

Once again, his cock sinks into your heat, and you melt on top of him, hands bracing on his chest, head tilted back.

“Oh my god—”

“Didn’t think I was done with you, huh, honey?” he groans, bottoming out, hand pressing on your stomach. Then his eye snaps up at you, pleased at the hazy look on your face. 

“Come on, ride. Gonna fuck the shyness outta you.”

[imperishablereverie]

is it too early to ask for kook!art x bitchykook!reader who has art practically worshipping the ground she walks on..

never too early, this idea is so yummy! i wasn't sure if i should write a fic so here's a little something (idk what these are lmao.. headcanons sort of?) i'd love to make a full fic off of this if anyone wants it. i hope you like it anon!!

art donaldson has a yacht named after you.

well, not your actual name—too obvious—but the nickname you once sneered at him in the eleventh grade. golden boy. he had it etched in gold leaf on the back of his sixty foot chris craft that he only ever use when you agree to come onboard—which is rarely. "your obsession is embarrassing," you tell him as you slide your sunglasses down your nose, eyes scanning the decks like you're deciding whether it meets your standards or not. art, leaned against the railing in swim trunks and a boyish grin, shrugs. "you're worth it." you roll your eyes so hard he swears he hears them rattle. "pathetic." but you don't leave. you never do.

𓇼

everyone says you're a bitch. his workers. his friends. hell, even his mom—who whispered it to him once after a country club dinner when you gave her a perfectly timed compliment that somehow sounded like a threat. "she's cruel." his mom said. "she's perfect." art replied, and meant it.

𓇼

"you're like a dog." you told him once, sipping from a coupe at some ridiculous kook party while he stood beside you like your bodyguard/boyfriend/silent servant. he didn't argue. he wants to be your dog. your lapdog. your guard dog. whatever gets him the closest. "you fetch, you follow, you'd probably sit if i told you." he smiled, eyes half lidded like he was drunk on you. maybe he was. "say the word." you scoff. "you're lucky you're hot." he leaned in, voice low, a pitch away from excitement "you think i'm hot?" "don't get excited." too late.

𓇼

you text him when you're bored. or drunk. or both.

this party sucks need uuu come pick me up bring vodka pls

he's out of bed before you even finish typing. once, he left a family dinner with his dad mid toast to pick you up from a beach house a town over. you didn't even say thank you—just climbed into his passenger seat, skin dewy, eyes glossy, wearing his hoodie like you forgot it was his. he almost crashed the car watching you put lipgloss on in the mirror.

𓇼

you don't give affection as much as you allow it. you'll let him hold your hand when you're drunk. let him press a kiss behind your ear when no one is looking. let him sleep in your bed after a party, fully clothed, curled around you like you're the sun itself. you even let him kiss you once on your birthday. you tasted like champagne, cherry lipgloss, and disinterest. afterward, you patted his cheek like a dog. he would've followed you into hell. you never say 'i love you'—but you never tell him to leave either.

𓇼

one night, you show up at his house, barefoot, mascara smudged, mad about something you won't explain. he doesn't ask. just opens the door, gives you his sweatshirt, and takes you upstairs. he leads you into his room with your hands laced together, a silent way of telling you he's there for you. "you're so fucking easy." you mutter when you crawl under his duvet like you own it. "i'm yours." he says quietly, following suit. you pause and look at him—really look at him. you reach out and gently comb your fingers through his curls. "yeah. you are." he leans into your touch and when you kiss him it's soft, tentative, different. it's real.

𓇼

in the morning he's up before you, caressing your face like he's cherishing the rare peace. when you finally open your eyes, he pulls back and you sit up. he goes in for a kiss but you turn your head. "gross art, morning breath. i'm hungry, make us something to eat." and just like that, it's back to normal. he doesn't complain—just smiles and kisses your forehead, already getting out of bed.

taglist: @fwaist @pittsick @cowboyfaists @manipulatemedonaldson @nozhdyved

[vanillarosekiss]

stepdad!simon riley with his naive-but-cute stepdaughter 👼🏼

IMPORTANT: idk why but my analytics have been super bad as of late (maybe i'm not posting at the right times?) and my posts just aren't getting as much interaction as they usually do. it would be such a great help to lmk if there's anything that you particularly want to see on this blog/a previous post that you liked so i can be sure i'm writing stuff that people ACTUALLY like :)

warnings: taboo themes, porn with no plot tbh, unprotected sex, overstimulation etc, etc...

word count: 0.4k

mmmm just over here thinking about stepdad!simon riley who just fucks sooo good that neither of you can stop, no matter how wrong you think it is…

it all started when he came home from a long, gruelling day at work. it was just you home alone that evening, tucked up on the couch reading one of your books, totally engrossed as he came in and sat down a mere few metres away from you. his head leant back on the couch, a small sigh leaving his lips as his aching body rested properly for the first time in hours.

and you. you were just so sweet to him, so kind. making him dinner, ensuring that his clothes got washed, doing anything you could to make his life easier — basically a little housewife for him to look forward to when he got home.

prancing around doing menial chores in the kitchen, living room, your bedroom, in the tiniest little pyjamas known to man. not that he was looking, of course (yes he was).

looking so lovely for him, the cutest little pink panties on show for him when your mini skirt rode up as you “accidentally dropped something”. plush thighs that were practically begging him to grab them and pull them apart just so he could fuck you right there and then.

which he did do, one day, after a particularly stressful shift. he couldn’t restrain himself and then you showed up, sweet innocent thing. didn’t know what you were really getting into at all. so naive.

looking even more dumb and naive as he fucked you brainless on the same couch. you laid out all nice over the arm with your ass up, meeting every harsh thrust of his hips, his pelvis bruising your soft skin as he pounded his thick cock into your cunt. your incessant whines that just made him fuck you even harder, until the only noise you made were the uneven gasps that would fall from your mouth at every stroke of his length.

the warm, fuzzy feeling you’d get when he came inside you, feeling him speed up, seize up, and twitch slightly just before as you squeezed your walls around him. the way he would keep going even when you’d orgasmed, overstimulating you to the point of tears and then making you cum harder than you previously had just to prove a point (the point is that he is the only person who should be fucking you).

mmm.. yeah. so perfect.

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @bittersweetfig @mlthree @cupidswan @siphon07 @decaffeinateddelusionbread

[glamourscat]

VANITAS x !VAMPIRE READER HCS

i am one day late but hbd to my fav non vamp that looks and acts more like a vamp than the vamps in his own show

• absolutely HATED that you were another vampire hanging around noè at first. "oh merveilleux, another bloodsucker with a hero complex"

• gets increasingly irritated that you can see right through his act sometimes. you'll just give him this knowing look when he's being particularly dramatic and he DESPISES it (but also kind of doesn't?)

• if you have some kind of “power” like noè does, he will be secretly fascinated by how different you are from other vampires he's met. keeps trying to study you "for research" but really he's just making excuses to be around you

• absolutely loses it when you team up with noè to mother-hen him about his health. "i don't need TWO vampires telling me to sleep!"

• loves riling you up just to see your eyes flash red. will make increasingly outrageous statements just to get a reaction

• gets weirdly quiet when you talk about your childhood with noè. definitely not jealous. nope. not at all. (he's totally jealous)

• gets VERY flustered when you use your vampire strength to pick him up or protect him, but tries to play it off with his usual dramatics

• absolutely despises how you can tell when he's actually hurt vs when he's being dramatic. "stop looking at me like that, i'm FINE"

• has definitely stayed up all night reading your name in the blue moon records multiple times, but will never admit it

• gets oddly soft when you fall asleep near him during research sessions, but will immediately return to his usual self if anyone catches him looking

• Will subtly, or not so subtly, hint at you to drink his blood more than once. and when you do it? Well let’s just say if you two are a match, he won’t be quiet lmao

• noè finds your whole dynamic hilarious and keeps "accidentally" leaving you two alone together

BLURB UNDER THE CUT

The first time you met Vanitas, you'd nearly thrown him out a window.

"Noè," you'd said, holding the struggling human by his collar, "why is there a suspicious man with your book?"

"Put me down this instant, you bloodsucking menace!" The dark-haired man had thrashed in your grip, blue eyes flashing with indignation. "I am the great Vanitas, and that book is rightfully mine!"

You'd turned to Noè, unimpressed. "Can I throw him out the window?"

"Please don't throw my friend out the window, mon amie," Noè had laughed, looking far too amused. "He really is the owner of that book, the book of Vanitas."

You looked at Noè, eyebrow up. Looking between him and the short human. Book of vanitas. But that’s the blue moon vampire. This guy looks everything but a vampire.

Eventually, you set him down. Rather gently, all things considered.

"Your concern for my wellbeing is touching," Vanitas had said sarcastically , straightening his clothes with exaggerated care. "Tell me, do all vampire childhood friends of Noè's manhandle innocent humans, or am I just special?"

"Only the suspicious ones who smell like lies and… cheap cologne."

His eye had twitched. "Charming. Noè, you didn't tell me your friend was so... direct."

"(Y/N) has always been rather protective," Noè had smiled that knowing smile of his. "You two will get along splendidly."

You'd both turned to him with identical looks of horror.

"We absolutely will not—"

"I'd rather drink holy water—"

But Noè had just kept smiling, and somehow... somehow he'd been right. Though you'd both rather die than admit it.

Even now, months later, as you watched Vanitas patch you up, while complaining under his breath something along the lines of "ungrateful bloodsucker," you couldn't help but smile amused. He caught your stare and scowled.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," you said innocently. "Just admiring your terrible manners."

"I could let you bleed out next time, you know."

"No, you couldn't."

His scowl deepened because you were right. You were always right about him and he hated it. Or maybe not. But you didn’t had to know that.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[lun9tic]

- NEEDY

| pairing: ian x bestfriend!reader

| warnings: smutt, smoking weed

| summary : after smoking a blunt together your real feelings for each other come out

| A/N : my writing gets so awkward during writing smut im sorry, i tried to make this one more soft then my last one LMAO, and give me requestss!! i want to write for hamzah and maybe some harry potter characters. anyways enjoy and comment pls. ALSO WHY IS THE IAN TAG SO DRY??? COME ON GUYS

After a nice dinner with Ian and a group of friends, the two of you step into the elevator, full of food and ready to sleep. “God damn, that was amazing,” Ian says, rubbing his stomach as you press the button for the 10th floor.

“I know, I feel like I’m pregnant now. Look,” you joke, turning to the side in front of the elevator mirror and puffing out your stomach before sucking it back in. Ian bursts out laughing at you.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Still laughing, the two of you step out and make your way to the hotel room you’re sharing.

You and Ian have been friends since middle school, watching him grow as an artist like he's always wanted.

You and Ian have been inseparable since middle school, bonding over your love for music, and several late night conversations. You always saw the way his eyes lit up whenever he talked about becoming a big artist, it wasn’t just a dream to him, it was something he was sure to achieve.

Since then, you’ve watched him grow and spend countless hours perfecting his talent with music, starting with DJing. His progress has been nothing but inspiring to you, no matter what he just never gave up. You’ve been there through all the moments of doubt, the nights he stayed up late working on a beat, and the excitement when his hard work paid off. It’s been so nice to witness him chase his dreams.

Watching Ian grow so fast in the underground rapper industry was your favorite part. It was like one night he completely blew up and all his hard work finally paid off. since then you have been to every show, every interview, and every studio session, he wouldn’t want to have anyone else there but you.

“I'm gonna change out of this dress,” you say quietly as you both walk into the cold room. “alright.” ian says before getting into bed. you kneel at your luggage and pick out your pajamas for the night before going to the bathroom to change and freshen up.

After freshening up you leave the bathroom to see Ian outside, on the balcony rolling a blunt. you step outside and close the balcony door before sitting on the plastic chair beside him. The air was warm with an ocean breeze, the smell of the fresh air hitting your nose. The sky was clear, and a nice view of the moon and a couple stars.

You glance over at Ian, as he finishes rolling a blunt. With a small sigh, you unlock your phone and start scrolling, posting a few pictures from earlier in the day.

You're interrupted from scrolling when Ian reaches over, pulling your phone from your hand. “Get off your phone,” he says, setting it on the small glass table in front of you. He leans back on the bench, taking a slow puff from the blunt. “Talk to me. feel like we haven’t talked as much as we usually do.”

He passes the blunt to you, his blue eyes meeting yours. You take a hit from the blunt, exhaling before saying “We have talked. But okay, how are you?” you ask, smiling as you lean your head against the glass door behind you and resting your legs on top of his thighs.

He chuckles softly, his left hand resting on your legs, rubbing them softly with his thumb. “I’m good. How are you?” “I’m good, you know,” you shrug, a smile still on your lips.

Ian laughs again, and takes another hit. ian continues the conversation as the two of you continue passing the blunt back and forth, talking about the past for the next twenty minutes.

ians blue eyes, slightly bloodshot and glassy from the weed, stare at the side of your face as you talk. you pretend to not notice it but his stare is so intense its impossible to ignore.

Finally, you turn to him, your own eyes soft and red-tinted. “What?” you ask, a playful smile curving your lips.

His lips twitch into a matching smile as he shakes his head. “Nothing.” “You won't stop staring at me," you laugh softly, trying to hide from his stare by resting your head on his shoulder.

"You're so pretty," he murmurs, his voice quiet . The words catch you off guard, making you sit up to meet his eyes. "Yeah?" you ask, a small smile on your lips. "Yeah," he nods.

Silence falls between you, the air thick with emotions. You can't tell if he's just saying it to say it or if he really means it.

Before you can think too much, he leans in, closing the space between you and pressing his lips to yours. You let out a soft whimper of surprise against his lips, but quickly give into the kiss, your right hand resting on his thigh as you lean closer.

"I've wanted this for so long," he says against your lips as the kiss breaks, his hands on your waist. A shy smile blooms on your face as you whisper, "Me too." Before you kiss him again.

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you onto his lap to straddle him. The closeness leaves you breathless, and lost in him.

you both continue to make out, the pent up love for each other finally coming out. “Let's go inside” he says as his hands grip your ass. you nod and get off his lap, Ian takes your hand and leads you inside the room.

The balcony door shuts close as you both stumble your way to the bed, lips connected and hands all over each other. the back of your knees hit the end of the bed, making you both fall down on the bed.

Your hands run over Ian's broad shoulders, you reach for the end of his shirt, pulling it to signal him to take it off. His lips leave yours briefly, and he quickly pulls off his shirt before his lips are back on yours once again, the kiss more desperate than before.

“ian” you whimper as his lips leave yours to trail kisses down your chest. “I got you baby.” he murmurs before his fingers tug down your sweat pants. your hips lift, helping him take off your sweats.

he throws your sweats to the side and quickly takes your panties off. His eyes stare at your wet cunt, grabbing your legs and spreading you open. He glances up at you with parted lips before he attaches his lips with your wet cunt making you gasp and shut your eyes.

Ian moans at the taste of you, the vibration from his moan making you whimper. his eyes close as his lips suck your clit, and brings his hand up, sliding a finger into you. “i-ian” you moan at the feeling, you hand wrapped in his brown hair, leading him to where you need him.

Ian groans at the taste of you. the sounds from his mouth, the feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking your cunt and large fingers moving quickly in and out of you. moans leave your lips as Ian curls his fingers inside you.

“Ian” you moan, clenching around his fingers, feeling your high coming but it's interrupted by Ian pulling his fingers out and sitting up in between your legs. “the fuck?-“

he shuts you up by leaning down and connecting his lips with yours. “taste so fucking good” he mumbles. “Take off your pants” you slur with a smile.

Ian chuckles and takes his pants off before crawling over you again. his lips connect to yours once again as he feels up on you. “tell me i can” he says against your neck, breathless. lost in the feeling of him around you you don’t hear what he says. “what?”

“tell me i can fuck you baby,” he kisses you “please”. you bite your lip at his needy tone and nod “yes”. he smiles at your words and lifts your legs to rest them on his shoulders. the look in his eyes make you clench around nothing, you’ve never heard or seen him so desperate for something, it was so hot.

Ian lines himself at your entrance and rubs his dick up and down your wet folds. “you’re so gorgeous” he watches you as he slowly slides his dick in, wanting to see your reaction.

your lips part at the stretch from his dick and hold back a moan. “oh..” you moan, turning your head to your side to avoid his hard stare. Ian quickly reaches for your cheek and makes you look at him, “nuh uh keep your eyes on me” he groans, making you whimper.

Ian lets go of you face and places his hands on you hips, rocking you in a slow pace. “tell me how it feels” he moans with his head slightly thrown back. “feels so good ian” you moan, you put your hand over his right one gripping your hip.

at that, ian speeds up his thrusts, holding on tighter to you. “sh-shit” he moans. the hotel room fills with the sounds of your moans mixed together, and the clapping from his harsh thrusts.

you jolt up at every thrust, the look in his eyes was so intimate. you reach up for his face, making him lean down to your touch. “i- fuck-“ he whispers, hiding his face in your neck. you moan back and hold his face in your hands, pulling him in for a kiss.

you kiss his lips and rest your forehead against his. “you’re perfect” he groans making you smile. “y-you too” you respond breathlessly making him smile and kiss your lips again.

Ian pulls away from you and continues his pace, his left hand letting go of your hip and moving to your clit, rubbing it. “Ian!” you moan gripping his arm, you could feel yourself reaching your high again. “oh fuck- please” your legs slightly shake around his shoulders, as you feel his fingers rub your clit.

“come on baby” he moans, his thrusts starting to become sloppy. you stare up into his eyes, lost in the pleasure. the feeling was so intimate you both couldn’t do anything but moan and reach your highs.

ian groans “fuck- im cumming baby” you moan in response, too lost in pleasure. you clench around his dick, feeling your self let go and cum. “oh-” you moan as tour legs tremble, Ian moans as you clench around him, making him cum. “fuuuck baby” he moans with his lips parted as he pulls put of you.

you lay down on the bed, catching your breath as ian goes to the bathroom to grab a towel. he comes back to you and chuckles seeing you still laying down. you cover your face as you blush, “stop ian” he laughs and cleans you up, before helping you back into your pants.

your both now fully dressed and holding each other on the bed, Ian’s hands run over your hair as you both sit in silence. it wasn’t an awkward silence at all, its was a comfortable silence, no worry or doubt in the sex you both just had.

“let me be your boyfriend,” he whispers before kissing your forehead “ive always wanted us to happen, always.”

you open your eyes and look up at him with a smile before nodding, “me too.” he smiles and pulls you in for a passionate kiss before pulling away and falling asleep holding each other.

[tra1nchi]

HIII, IM SORRY FOR THE GLORY HOLE REQUEST, I WAS DRUNK THAT DAY TOO!!! I'm going to reques for it well. can i request a bttm male reader who is looking to be filled then goes to the glory hole he once saw and not only gets a cock from behind, but also from the front? btw English is not my first language, im sorry if you don't understand

Lmao it is a ok!! MINORS DNI!! Bttm male reader,,glory hole,,bj,,choking,,rough sex

You were incredibly horny lately,,but all of your usual hookups were either out of town or were not in the mood at all to fuck you!! You were growing desperate so when one of your friends recommended the local glory hole,,you took up on his offer!!

At first you were nervous,,not knowing whose cock would be stuffed inside of your hole,,but the more you thought about it,,the more you knew how much you'd enjoy the mystery of it >□<

staying still in the glory hole,,the cold air on your ass somewhat uncomfortable,,you dealt with it until you felt a rough hand on your skin,,tracing it slowly,,

"Look at you.." A deep voice purrs out,,his cock tip rubs up against your already lubed hole,,moving it around your thighs teasingly before his hands grip tightly onto your hips!! His was so deep already!!

As you felt the strangers cock moving in and out of you,,a soft hand moved to tilt your chin up,,a low smirk on the new man's face,,his thumb tracing the drool on your lips as you contuine to get pounded from behind!!

"This isn't.. how this works but, I'm sure you don't mind" His unzipped his fly,,bringing himself to your mouth,,and after a particularly harsh thrust you opened your mouth willingly for the second man's dick!! >○<

Being taken from behind and from the front was so good,,both men grabbing onto your body as your own cock was pitifully ignored,,maybe you should come to the glory hole more often,, just to experiment,,

Even as they cum inside of you,,using your mouth as a fleshtiy and your hole as something in which they can piston their dicks into!!

[sinning-23]

please please please do different arcane/opla character's kinks???? (preferably some Jayce but yk-)

OMG I was just returning to arcane roots. Mind you I haven't seen the recent season (Im waiting for my mom and sister since we all watched dit together) UHH take these smutty lil kinky lil headcanona!

P.s For as much smut as i write I have the hardest time remembering the differences between kinks and fetishes BUT I think I got it down lol. Bare with me yall.

P.P.S. I'll make a part two with some more of these guys lol I started to draw a blank on a few and get burnt out but I want to provide QUALITY writing to y'all

Enjoy-

Silco

Yknow every time I come on this god forsaken app I find myself thirsting over dead midleages if not older men....

Ahem

Smoking and Begging I feel like would be two kinks of his. And like he already is a smoker so just translating that over to the bedroom....oof.

I feel like he's the type to smoke after or before, but like in a way that relaxes him even further? YK what I'm saying? Perhaps he'll even offer you some with a firm grip on your face while he blows smoke into your mouth, just before he kisses you.

I also think the begging gets him hot under the collar. Just the idea of his partner asking so desperately for release knowing he's in control of whether they're allowed to or not really does it for him. He's ruthless but sweet in the most deliciously contradicting way. Saying things like, " Begging is so unbecoming of you my dear," or "You can beg better than that, I thought you wanted to cum?"

Sevika

Sevika my belovedddddd <3 come home baby the kids miss you lmao. Sevika seems like the type to be down for a lot but also has her limits? One thing that really gets her going though is overstim/multiple orgasms. Please let her pull as many as she can from you its literally her favorite thing watching her partner come undone. She likes to see how messy you get and how your thighs tremble and shake, damn near tensing up from the strain.

She starts slow. Maybe two...then three more.....how bout we shoot for 4 to 5? SIx you say?! Alright, let's just say fuck it and go for 7.

"C'mon, you can give me one more. Thatssss it, let go."

Vander

This is a harworking, loving, family man okay. He doesn't have time for a lot...However, he definitely has time to just have you squeeze down on him with those hot, wet walls, simply existing. Ahhh yes the art of cockwarming in cwich he is an expert in. Hes a sneaky fucker too, taking time to just position you in front of him so he can slip his cock into you, just enjoying your warmth. No movement, just there, your back to his chest, pretending like nothing is happening behind the counter.

He especially enjoys the late nights, your bodies melted into one as you just sinkkkkk down on him, just adjusting to his length, fighting the urge to move as does he. Just that's part of the fun. Expect lots of soft gentled caresses as yout walls memorize him

Vi

Babygirls got a thing for hot chicks in uniform. Be in business attire, military, or otherwise, she loves it.

I mean, honestly, I was not hot about clean white button-downs tucked into fancy dress pants adorned by emblems of silver or gold. A nice neat hairstyle, no flyaways, very much office siren.

And please god don't let you have a snappy domineering attitude, telling her what to do, sexily taunting. Babygirl will be weak in the knees.

Jinx

I don’t think she’d have any kinks if I’m being honest. I see Jinx as a very experimental and fun but soft and vanilla lover. She enjoys being treated softly and gentle, especially in a moment of vulnerability like being intimate with a partner.

Viktor

I hate to be the one to say it but stalkings/knee highs and glasses… Yall HEAR ME OUTTT HEAR ME OUT! I know that sounds really bad but if you see the vision. I feel like Viktor is a lover of pretty things, patterns and decoration. The feeling of lace or tights under his fingertips, the thrill of being the one who gets to remove your glasses before you go down on him.

All is truly a treat in his pretty yellow eyes. Especially when it's his beloved and devoted partner. He takes his time with you treating you delicately as he pulls the fabric off your kneesocks away to reveal pretty legs he gets to you all the way up to the main prize. He likes taking his time unwrapping his gifts. His favorite part is discarding it all from your body. Or at the very least, making you do it.

"Strip." He hums, leaning forward as you shed layers of clothes with a smile.

Ekko

At first I was thinking that mmm Ekko doesn't have any really kinks. Maybe he’s more vanilla but then I got thinking…

Nah nah this guy..

He likes being bitten.

Oddly enough he wasn’t sure why when you had first done it on impulse, the two of you in one of your more intimate moments. You hand grazed his shoulder, only applying slight pressure before stopping yourself from going too hard but the sound it pulled form him. Gorgeous.

“D-Do it again. Please?” He asks, lifting a bit above your too see your glossed fucked our eyes.

“Bite you?” You reiterate, trying to read him and it’s nothing but pure lust and adoration.

“Baby, please.” He huffs, lulling his neck to the side, giving you access.

Please mark him up he really likes it.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

hey love

I didn’t exactly know if ur requests are open, so if not then please just ignore this <33

I need comfort so bad, but I already read so much fics and find find new ones lmao.and don’t let me start with ur writing, everything u write especially angst is so good🥹❤️

so I have a requesttt:

Fem reader x Minho

where she has had depression before, but a he seemed to be getting better, like she talked more again, she ate better, she just seemed happier. But then all of a sudden it gets worse. Ofc min notices, but when he’s around she always tries to act happy and stuff. But one day he gets home sooner than expected and finds her sobbing and breaking down in the bathroom (lmao pls if ur confused, for some reason I always cry in the bathroom lol) and yea, I’m letting u decide how it goes then.

make it really angsty but with loooots of comfort too.

don’t stress with writing it, and if you don’t want to write it that’s totally okay❤️

take care of yourself, and have a great day/night. <3333

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Minho was meticulous. He noticed the tiniest details, the way your favorite mug shifted slightly to the back of the cabinet when you weren't feeling like tea, or how your laughter sounded softer, like it took more effort to push past your lips. And lately, he’d been noticing things he didn’t want to see- the way you seemed to retreat into yourself, the shadows under your eyes that your concealer couldn’t quite hide, the way your smiles didn’t quite reach those same eyes anymore.

But you always brushed him off whenever he asked.

“I’m fine, Min,” you’d say, your voice bright but fragile. “Just tired. Work’s been a lot.” And you’d give him that reassuring grin, the one you’d perfected, the one you thought could fool him.

He’d let it go, though he hated himself for it, because he didn’t want to push you too hard.

Although he feels that maybe he should have pushed you harder to seek help, before it got worse.

Today was supposed to be no different. Minho had a packed schedule with rehearsals and meetings, so you were confident you’d have the day to yourself. Alone, you didn’t have to wear the mask. Alone, you could let the weight crush you, let the tears flow freely.

It had been a long time since you felt weightless. Not the weightlessness that people romanticized, no. They simplest type of weightlessness. Like you could draw in a breath without fear of suffocation. Like you could close your eyes with the excitement of opening them the next day. The type of weightlessness where you could simply live.

It started small: an ache in your chest that grew and grew until it felt like a gaping hole. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a burden you must be with your depression; how your progress had crumbled, leaving you worse off than before. The spiral was quick and suffocating. Before you knew it, you were sitting on the bathroom floor, knees drawn to your chest, sobbing into your hands. The cold tile pressed against your legs, grounding you slightly, but not enough to stop the flood of thoughts.

You didn’t hear the door unlock. You didn’t hear Minho’s footsteps. The first thing you registered was his voice, soft and hesitant.

“Y/N-ah?”

You froze. Panic set in as you frantically wiped at your face, trying to compose yourself.

“Ah. Minho? What are you doing home so early?” you called out, voice strained. You continued to wipe your eyes, hoping that you could buy yourself enough time to look presentable. "Sorry I'm in the middle of-"

He didn’t wait to hear your response. Instead, the bathroom door creaked open. His expression when he saw you broke something inside of you.

His sharp eyes, usually filled with teasing or affection, were wide with worry. He crouched down in front of you without a word, his hands hovering near yours as if asking permission to touch you.

“Jagiya,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?”

Your chest tightened, and fresh tears welled in your eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you whispered. “You’re so busy, and I didn’t want to-”

“Stop,” he cut you off gently but firmly. He reached out, his hands cradling your tear-streaked face. “Stop thinking like that. You could never be a burden to me. Do you hear me? Never.”

The tenderness in his voice unraveled you completely. You broke down again, and this time, Minho was there to catch you. He pulled you into his arms, his grip steady and unwavering. You found yourself curling into his lap as he leaned against the toilet.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m here. You can cry.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, your sobs muffled against his shoulder. He rocked you gently, humming a soft tune, his hands stroking your back in soothing patterns. He didn’t rush you, didn’t tell you to calm down. He just let you feel.

When your cries finally subsided, leaving you exhausted and shaky, Minho pulled back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushed away the lingering tears on your cheeks.

“I thought I was getting better,” you confessed in a broken whisper. “I thought I was okay, but now it’s worse, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Minho’s gaze softened, and he cupped your face again. “It’s not about fixing it,” he said. “It’s about taking it one day at a time. Some days will be harder than others, but you don’t have to face them alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Because you're not broken Y/N. You just need a little guidance. Thats all.”

You nodded, though doubt still lingered in the corners of your mind. “But what if I-”

“No,” he interrupted. “No ‘what ifs.’ We’ll deal with whatever comes, together. Promise me you’ll let me in next time. I need you to let me help you.” He blinked at you, his mouth in a straight line. "Okay? Because I love you."

The sincerity in his voice broke through the wall you’d built around yourself. You nodded again, this time with a small spark of hope.

“I promise,” you whispered.

Minho smiled, a rare, soft smile that was just for you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. 

“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s get you out of here, okay? The bathroom floor isn’t exactly the coziest spot.”

You let out a watery laugh, and he helped you to your feet, keeping an arm around you for support. He guided you to the couch, where he wrapped you in a blanket and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup of tea and some of your favorite snacks.

“Eat,” he said, sitting beside you and pulling you close, to where you two were almost molded together. “And then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

For the first time in days, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter, even if it was just temporary. With Minho by your side, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could get through this.

As the night went on, Minho stayed close. He didn’t just hover; he engaged you, talking about anything and everything- his latest dance routines, funny stories from practice, even the drama among the cats at home. The warmth in his presence was infectious, and you found yourself smiling more than you expected.

When it was time for bed, Minho tucked you in and slid in beside you. He didn’t say much, just held you close, his arms protective and comforting as he cradled you from behind. Before sleep claimed you, he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. No matter how hard it gets, I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt safe. Truly safe. And as you drifted off, wrapped in his embrace, you dared to believe that things could get better.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

[synity]

HELLO so I've read your white noise jihoon fic and I'M IN LOVEEE (i love angst LMAO) could you write another heavy angst jihoon 🥹🥹 i just happen to love heavy angst and jihoon at the same time 🥹🥹

DISAPPEARING ACTS

(Lee Jihoon x Fem Reader)

*heavy angsr, emotional, slice of life, drama, slow-burn, tension, emotional unraveling*

I used to think I understood people well. I study them for a living, after all criminology demands it. Profiling minds, decoding motives, understanding why people do the things they do... But somehow, with Jihoon, everything I’ve ever known felt completely inadequate.

He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t hiding anything sinister. He was just... a boy who slowly began to slip away without realizing it.

We met on a rainy night cliché, I know at a small café near the university. I was buried in notes about victimology while nursing a cold Americano, and he walked in, drenched from head to toe, looking like something that had just escaped a dream and got lost in the wrong reality. I didn’t recognize him at first not as the famous Woozi, producer of hits, member of SEVENTEEN. I just knew he had kind eyes, and that he asked the barista for two sugars and no cream, just like I did.

He sat across from me, headphones on, tapping away at his laptop. For the next few hours, we exchanged glances and shy smiles. When he left, he said, “Good luck with whatever you’re studying,” and I replied, “You too, with whatever you’re making.”

Fate or maybe something more mundane, like routine brought us back to that same café the next week, and the week after that.

Soon, he was watching me underline textbook passages, and I was watching him tweak vocal tracks. I didn’t know it then, but I was falling. Slowly, then all at once. And when he asked me out awkwardly, like it was a song he hadn’t finished writing I said yes, because I already knew that nothing had ever felt so right.

We became each other's safe place. On days when autopsy reports made me sick to my stomach, he held me until I could breathe again. On nights when a deadline kept him in the studio, I brought him dinner and reminded him to sleep. He'd say things like, "You're the only person I want to see after 16 hours of mixing," and I'd pretend I wasn’t already in too deep.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with missed texts.

At first, they were just delayed responses hours late, simple things like "Sorry, was recording," or "Didn't see this." I understood. His job demanded focus, long nights, chaos. Mine did too. I once spent 48 hours analyzing a serial offender's pattern for a term paper, so who was I to judge?

But then came the missed calls. The forgotten dates.

My birthday. Our anniversary.

He always apologized. Always looked genuinely sorry. Hugged me like he meant it and whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And I believed him. Every time. Because Jihoon wasn’t careless just consumed. I told myself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

He wasn’t fading because he stopped loving me. He was just... overwhelmed. Right?

But how do you explain the ache of eating dinner alone again? Or the way your heart sinks when you walk past the old café and realize it’s been months since you shared a moment there?

How do you hold on to someone who’s still there but no longer with you?

One night, I stayed up until 3 AM studying forensic pathology. My phone was silent. Jihoon had promised he’d call after practice, but I knew better now. I’d stopped holding onto promises like lifelines.

Still, when I heard the soft knock on my door, I ran.

He looked tired. Pale. Overworked.

“I missed you,” he said.

“You always say that,” I replied, voice colder than I intended.

He stepped inside, taking in the open books and messy desk. “You’re still studying?”

“I live in this apartment more than you live in yours, so yes.”

The words hung in the air like a slap. I wanted to take them back. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “You know I am.”

But trying isn’t enough when it’s one-sided.

I wanted to scream at him. Shake him. Beg him to just see me again.

But I didn’t. Instead, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at my palms red from gripping my pen too tightly. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying until Jihoon walked over and wiped a tear with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to miss your birthday. The studio-”

“The studio always needs you,” I cut in softly. “Everyone always needs you, Jihoon. Except me, I guess.”

He froze.

“You think I don’t need you?” he asked, disbelief washing over his face.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I think you don’t notice when I need you.”

That silence that followed was heavier than anything I’d studied in all my classes. He looked at me like he was seeing me through a fog like maybe, somewhere along the way, he’d gotten lost.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I know you do,” I whispered. “But love isn’t supposed to feel like I’m always waiting for you to come back.”

He sat beside me. Close, but not close enough. His hand hovered near mine, like he didn’t know if he had the right to hold it anymore.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” he said. “I got so caught up in deadlines and concepts and schedules that I forgot I had something someone who doesn’t see me as work. Just as Jihoon.”

I blinked back fresh tears.

“I used to love how hard you worked,” I admitted. “It made me feel safe. Like I was dating someone who never gave up. But now... I just feel like I’m last on your list.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “You’ve never been.”

“But it feels like I am.”

He reached for my hand then, cautiously, like he thought I’d pull away. I didn’t.

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship while also being... me,” he said. “I’m scared I’ll never figure out the balance.”

I finally looked at him. Really looked.

“I’m not asking you to change, Jihoon. I’m just asking you to try. Really try. Because I’m scared, too. Scared that one day, I’ll stop waiting. That I’ll stop hoping you’ll choose me over another late night.”

He flinched.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll slow down. I’ll try harder. Please... don’t give up on me yet.”

And there it was the part that shattered me. Because despite everything, I still loved him more than anything else. But love, no matter how deep, couldn’t survive on apologies alone.

I didn’t answer right away. We sat there, hand in hand, hearts bruised but still beating in sync barely.

I knew the road ahead would be rough. I knew he wouldn’t magically become the perfect boyfriend overnight. But part of me still believed in him in us. Maybe that made me naïve. Or maybe it just made me human.

“I’m not giving up yet,” I whispered finally. “But Jihoon... don’t make me regret staying.”

He nodded slowly, eyes glassy. Then he pulled me into his chest, arms wrapping around me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my sorrow.

We stayed that way until the sun started to rise.

And even then, I didn’t know if we’d make it..

Things were different after that night.

Not better. Just... different.

Jihoon started trying in the small ways he left sticky notes on my desk that said, “Good luck on your midterm ♡,” or brought home my favorite takeout when I worked late on my thesis. He sent me voice notes when he couldn’t come home for dinner. He’d text me good morning and goodnight like clockwork, even if he couldn’t call.

But even with all that, there were still days I sat on the couch waiting for him to come home until the food got cold. Days when I’d pass out on the floor in front of my laptop, eyes blurry from analyzing crime scene data for hours, and he wouldn’t be there to help me into bed.

It wasn’t his fault. Not really.

He was trying. I could see it in how he reached for me more often, how he’d kiss my forehead before rushing out to the studio and whisper, “I’ll make it back early tonight, I promise.”

But early became 2 a.m.

Tonight became next week.

And promises?

They started to feel more like hopeful guesses.

One night, I was up grading mock forensic reports for my TA job. I’d brewed coffee three times already, and my neck felt like it was fused to my spine. I looked at the clock: 1:41 a.m.

Still no Jihoon.

I stared at my phone, my finger hovering over his contact.

But I didn’t call.

What was the point?

If I called, he’d answer, apologize, say he was on his way. Maybe he even meant it. But I was tired of hearing “I’m sorry.” I wanted to feel it.

Just as I closed my laptop and buried my face in my hands, the front door creaked open. Soft footsteps, the rustling of his coat, the quiet shuffle of someone trying not to wake the house.

Too late.

“Hey,” I said without looking up.

He froze. “You’re still awake.”

“I had work.”

He stepped into the kitchen awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I brought bread from that bakery you like…”

I didn’t respond.

He set the bag down slowly. “Did I forget something again?”

“No,” I said, standing. “You just forgot me again.”

“YN…”

“Don’t.” I finally looked at him, really looked. “You say you’re trying, and I believe you. But Jihoon, I’m exhausted. I’m drowning in assignments, exams, autopsy reports, case studies hell, I’ve barely slept. And the one person who’s supposed to be my calm in the storm is never here.”

“I’m here now,” he whispered.

“But for how long?” My voice cracked. “Until your phone rings? Until the next beat hits you and you forget I exist?”

“That’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair is I keep giving and giving, and you keep... not showing up. Not in the way I need you to.”

He looked like I’d punched him. “So what now?”

I took a long, shaky breath.

“I don’t know.”

And that was the truth. I didn’t know.

Because I still loved him. But I also loved me. And I was starting to realize I couldn’t keep bleeding for someone who didn’t even realize I was cut.

He crossed the room then, slowly, like I might vanish. He took my hands.

“I know I’m failing you,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to. I’m scared. Scared that I don’t know how to be everything you deserve. That I’m too far gone in my own world to love you properly.”

I swallowed, eyes brimming with tears.

“I don’t need perfect, Jihoon. I just need you to show up. Really. Not just physically emotionally. I need to know I’m still a part of your world.”

He nodded, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll prove it,” he whispered. “Not with words. I’ll prove it with actions. Please… give me time.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no either.

And for now, that was enough.

Three weeks later.

I hadn’t heard his voice in twenty-one days.

It wasn’t because we were angry. There were no screaming matches, no broken plates, no one storming out. That would’ve been easier, I think. Something to blame. Someone to point fingers at.

But we were just… tired.

He stayed at his studio the night I told him I needed space. Packed a duffel bag and left without protest. His eyes were glassy, jaw tight, but he didn’t try to stop me. Maybe that was the worst part how easily he let go.

I moved in with a friend near campus. Her place was smaller, a bit messier, the walls thin enough to hear her laugh when she FaceTimed her boyfriend. But it felt warmer, somehow. I could breathe again.

I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d lost until I was no longer orbiting his world.

For once, my mornings weren’t rushed. I woke up with sunlight in my hair instead of bags under my eyes. I drank coffee that wasn’t cold. I read chapters without rereading the same line ten times. I went on solo walks, bought myself flowers, smiled at strangers, and cried a little when no one was looking.

I missed him.

Of course I did.

His hoodie still hung in my closet. His laugh still echoed in my head when something dumb happened. I still reached for my phone when I saw something I knew he’d love before remembering there was no message to send.

But I also missed me.

The version of me that dreamed of working on criminal cases, of writing policy reform, of standing in a courtroom defending justice. That girl had started dimming her light for someone who barely noticed she was fading.

That couldn’t happen again.

I wasn’t sure if I still believed in fate. In timing. In people “meant to be.” Because if Jihoon was really my person, why did love feel so damn lonely?

Then… a text.

[Jihoon] I hope you're okay. You don’t have to reply. Just wanted to say I’m thinking about you. And I’m sorry again. For all of it.

I stared at the message for five minutes.

Then ten.

And I didn’t respond.

Because the thing about time is when you finally give yourself some, you start to realize what you deserve. I deserved more than just love. I deserved effort. Attention. Consistency. And I was starting to believe I didn’t have to beg for it.

Jihoon’s POV Three Weeks Into the Separation

I still park outside her campus sometimes.

Not to stalk. Not to be weird. I just… like knowing she’s okay. Seeing her walk out of the lecture hall with her messy notes and oversized tote bag. Watching her tuck her hair behind her ears when she’s focused on her phone. I’ve even caught her laughing with her friend once, and for a moment, I let myself believe she was still mine.

She looked lighter.

I should be happy about that. But it crushes me.

Because I made her heavy.

I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t realize love could feel like a burden until I became one. It started with missed dinners. Ignored calls. Me saying “just five more minutes” and turning that into hours. Her cooking dinner for two and eating alone. Her dressing up for a date I forgot. Her eyes watering and me too tired to ask why.

I didn’t mean to be absent. I was just… stuck in a cycle of needing to make something of myself. Every song I worked on, every melody that slipped through my fingers, felt more important than rest, than sleep, than her not because she didn’t matter, but because I thought she'd always be there.

She was the one constant in my chaos.

And I took that for granted.

I keep her hoodie folded in my room the yellow one she always wore when painting. It still smells like her. Faint lavender and acrylic. I haven’t washed it. Can’t bring myself to. Sometimes I sleep with it under my pillow like some lovesick teenager.

The studio’s been quiet without her humming while she waited for me to finish up. No soft giggles. No late-night snacks. No hand on my back reminding me to eat, to stretch, to exist outside of my obsession with perfection.

I check my phone more than I should.

She didn’t reply to my message. I didn’t expect her to. I said she didn’t have to. But fuck, it still stung.

I wonder if she’s forgetting the little things. How I used to run her bath when she got cramps. How I’d sneak into her classes just to watch her present. How I carried her paint set in my backpack once because she forgot it and cried from stress.

She never asked for much. Just me. Just my attention.

And I couldn’t even give her that.

Now someone else might.

That thought haunts me.

I don’t want to stop her from healing. She deserves peace. But I can’t stop loving her either.

So here I am. Outside the campus library, sitting in my car like a ghost, wondering if maybe just maybe she misses me too.

YN’s POV

It was just a regular café.

At least, that’s what I told myself as I walked in, the bell above the door chiming softly like it always did. I had my headphones in, hoodie up, messy sketchbook tucked under my arm. I just needed to get out of my own apartment, away from the memories that clung to the walls like dust.

I wasn’t expecting to see him.

Jihoon.

He was at the corner table. Same old black hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, fingers wrapped around a chipped mug like it was holding him together. He looked thinner. Tired. His under-eyes were dark, his usually neat hair curling out at the sides like he hadn’t run his hands through it in days.

I froze mid-step. He didn’t see me yet.

My first instinct was to turn around. To pretend I never saw him. Because I wasn’t ready. Not to talk. Not to remember. Not to feel everything again.

But then he looked up.

And our eyes met.

His lips parted slightly. No words. Just that same unreadable, searching expression I’d seen the day I walked out.

The tension hit like a wave. My chest tightened. The air felt too thin. The playlist in my ears faded into nothing as my fingers slowly pulled the earbuds out. He stood up. Slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to scare me away.

I wanted to run. But I didn’t move.

“Hey…” he said softly.

One word. One stupid word. And everything inside me cracked open like glass under pressure.

“Hi,” I whispered.

There was a beat. A silence so loud it made my ears ring.

“You look good,” he said, voice rough. “Healthy. Painting again?”

I nodded. “Trying to.”

We stood there in the middle of the café, like the rest of the world had faded away. Like we were suspended in a memory neither of us could erase.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice trembling. “God, YN, I’m so sorry. For not being there. For letting you go through it all alone.”

I bit my lip, hard. “I never wanted to be alone, Jihoon. I just… didn’t want to feel invisible.”

His eyes welled. And then so did mine.

“I was drowning in work,” he said, stepping closer. “But that’s no excuse. You were always the most important thing. I just forgot how to show it.”

“I used to wait by your door like a fool,” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “You were five feet away from me and still out of reach.”

“I know. I know.”

His hand reached up, trembling as he brushed a tear from my cheek. I leaned into it before I could stop myself, because damn it, I missed his touch like air.

“I still wear your hoodie,” he admitted with a broken laugh. “It still smells like you.”

That did it.

A sob ripped out of me and I collapsed forward not caring that we were in public, not caring who saw wrapping my arms around him tightly, desperately.

He caught me mid-fall, but he was shaking just as hard.

We ended up on our knees on the café floor, clinging to each other like the world would split in half if we let go.

“I missed you,” I choked out, burying my face in his chest. “I missed you so much it physically hurt.”

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered into my hair. “Not for a second.”

I didn’t know if we were ready to fix it. If this meant we’d be okay again. But in that moment, in that fragile embrace on the café floor, we were just two people who had hurt and missed each other too much to keep pretending we were fine.

And sometimes, that’s where healing begins.

[merlyybird]

charmy's pb&j adventure

["i'm gonna write a little slice of life as a warmup" i said before writing ~2400 words lmao. hope you enjoy!]

"I'm hungry," Charmy said.

Vector glanced over from where he sat hunched at the desk, in the middle of listening to a client on the phone and taking notes on his notepad---his pen halted when he heard Charmy speak up. He carefully angled the phone away from his mouth before whispering back. "Go get some food, then. I'm busy."

"Can I have a peanut butter and jelly?"

Vector's brow set itself in a line. "You can have cheese crackers. I'll make you a sandwich when I'm done with this call," his eyes flicked back to the phone. "All right?"

Charmy furrowed his brow and raised his voice without even knowing it---all he knew is that he felt kind of mad now. "Why can't I make me a sandwich?"

"Charmy---!" Vector hushed for a moment to see if the client had heard him on the other line, then he faced Charmy and made a zip it! motion in front of his mouth.

"Look," he hissed, "We can make one together when I'm done, but you can't use a knife when I'm not there."

"Why not??"

"What do you mean, 'why not'? You cut your finger last year! Had to get stitches and everything! You don't remember---" Vector started and quickly straightened up in his desk chair, facing forward again and bringing the phone close to his mouth. "Uh---Yeah, I'm still here, sir! Just speaking with my associate...Can you, uh, gimme that whole last part again?"

Charmy remained there, hovering, for a few moments. He kept staring at Vector, waiting for him to change his mind, but Vector just said an occasional "Uh-huh" to the client and started writing on his notepad again. After a moment, he shot Charmy an intense look that plainly said, don't you dare.

Charmy let his arms unfold, his expression a little droopy with sadness now. He puttered out of the front office and meandered toward the kitchen with his head slightly bowed.

He couldn't use a knife? Just a butter knife, not even a real one? That accident was a whole year ago, and he was still little and stupid then. He wasn't little anymore. He knew how to do it right. After all, he'd watched Vector and Espio make a sandwich, like, a gazillion times, and they didn't even need to cut anything.

Well, he was gonna show them. It didn't matter that Vector had said no, because he was gonna show him he had nothing to worry about.

Charmy made it to the kitchen, which was currently empty and floating in soft late-morning light. He put a finger to his chin, squinted, and took inventory of where everything was. The bread was in the bread box. The peanut butter was in the cabinet. The jelly was in the fridge. And the knife would be with all the other silverware. It still gave him a tiny twinge of anxiety to think about using one---the incident last year still stuck out in his mind---but it was easy enough to push down and ignore.

Something Charmy had always liked to hold over his coworkers' heads was that he could fly, so he could reach all the cabinets with total ease, even the one above the fridge. It didn't take much effort to gather all the ingredients and lay them out on the counter.

He decided to pull up one of the kitchen chairs to sit on while he worked, though. He remembered that, last year, he had cut himself while he was hovering and trying to slice an orange. Maybe staying still would be safer, and then the others would see that he was good at being careful.

Once he was seated at the counter, Charmy pulled open the silverware drawer. The Chaotix kept utensils in various sizes---big forks for Vector, medium forks for Espio, small forks with different-colored rubber grips for Charmy. It kind of made him think about the story with the three bears, where each member of the household had something meant just for them. He wasn't too keen on being the "baby bear," though.

The butter knives sat in the far right part of the drawer. There were no small, Charmy-sized ones. He stared at the knives for a few moments, suddenly frozen in place. Was he scared? Why? This was a stupid thing to be scared about.

He reached in and took one of the medium ones. It felt surprisingly like holding any other utensil: fairly light and a little flimsy. Charmy let out his breath. Maybe the thought of it just seemed scarier after he'd cut himself last year.

Charmy put down the knife and took his time setting everything up. He opened the bread bag, grabbed two slices, and put them on the counter (that's what you were supposed to do, right?)

He decided to start with the jelly, because that was his favorite, and he wanted to add as much as possible now that he had the power. He went to open the lid, but found it stuck. Charmy glared and tried again---it wouldn't budge. It just hurt his hand.

He grunted and twisted the lid with all his might. "Come on!" he said to himself, "Come on! Why'd ya have to close it so tight, Vector---!"

All of a sudden, the lid flew off. Charmy shrieked as the jelly jar slipped out of his hand at the same time. He dove out of his chair and managed to catch it just before it hit the floor, but some of the jelly still sloshed over the edge and splatted on the tile, and some of it got on his gloves, too. Now they were all stained with splotches of grape-purple.

Charmy stood up, put the jelly jar on the counter, and hurried for the tea towel hanging on the dishwasher. He tore it off, tried to clean his gloves---which got rid of the jelly, but still left the stains behind---and threw it on the mess on the floor. He stared at the tea towel for a second as it lay there, just barely covering up the splatter.

He couldn't let Vector and Espio see, but he'd have to clean it up later. He'd get in even worse trouble if they saw him using a knife on his own.

Charmy returned to his chair and tried to pretend like nothing happened. He eyed the butter knife for a second before picking it up and dipping it into the jelly jar. Sticking his tongue out for focus, he scooped out the tiniest little bit of jelly, then paused. That was actually really easy.

Charmy's eyes brightened, and, more confident now, he went in for a much bigger scoop that immediately turned out to be more than he'd bargained for---he ended up with a big blob in the middle of the slice of bread. He pursed his mouth and tried to spread it around, even it out a little, but the jelly just ended up flooding the whole slice in a thick, gooey sheet that dripped over the edges and onto the counter.

Well...at least the sandwich would taste really sweet. And at least he had finally used a knife without---

"Charmy?" He jumped and turned to see Espio standing in the doorway, looking confused at first, but as realization dawned on his face, his expression quickly turned to exasperation. "What are you doing?"

Charmy gasped and hid the knife behind his back. "Don't tell Vector!"

"You're not supposed to do this by yourself," Espio said, approaching. He crouched down to wipe up as much of the jelly spill as he could with the tea towel, still on the floor. "You're making a mess, Charmy. Look at this, there's jelly everywhere."

"Well---" Charmy glanced at the spillage on the counter. He felt a little embarrassed, but doubled down so that he wouldn't show it. "I was hungry!"  

"Why didn't you just ask Vector for help?" Espio balled up the dirty tea towel in his hands, put it on the counter, then stood up. His gaze lingered on Charmy for a second before he raised both of his eyebrows. "Is that a knife?" Charmy hid it further and shook his head. Espio held his hand out. "Give it."

"No!" Charmy pouted his lip and wormed back and forth as Espio tried to snatch it from him. When Espio straightened up and disappeared with Leaf Swirl, Charmy flapped his wings and stole into the air just before Espio could poof back into view behind him.

"Stop trying to take it!" Charmy called, "I got it! I'm being safe!"

Espio closed his eyes, sighed, and brought a hand to his face. "Charmy, put the knife down."

"No!"

"Vector won't be happy when he sees you with it."

"I don't care!"

Espio paused for a moment to look up at Charmy. Then, he dropped his arms and shook his head. "Fine. Come down from there and I'll help you."

"How come someone always has to 'help' me?" Charmy settled to sit on top of the fridge and folded his arms, still holding on tight to the butter knife. "I fight robots all the time! And you send me on missions and stuff! I'm---I'm just as good as you guys!" His voice started to choke up, against his will. "How come you still treat me like a baby?"

Espio's eyes widened in surprise, and the whole room went still. Charmy tried his hardest to hold in tears, because if he started crying, he really would look too little to do anything.

After a few moments, Espio lowered his head.

"You're not a baby, Charmy," he began, "We know that better than anyone, because we do trust you. You're just inexperienced when it comes to matters of working in the kitchen. It's the reason you thought cutting an orange with a butter knife would be safe."

"Well, I don't think that anymore," Charmy huffed.

"Yes, because you made a mistake and learned from it. It doesn't mean you're ready to prepare food alone." Espio gestured toward the jelly mess all over the counter. "See? Without someone to tell you that's enough, you went overboard."

Charmy followed his gaze. He sniffed and furrowed his brow again. "...I guess so."

"Precision comes with experience," Espio continued, "Which usually comes with age." He paused. "Although...I suppose you do have a point. You have accomplished many things that other children your age have not."

Charmy kicked his feet idly back and forth. "Yeah," he said, "'Cause I'm a detective, and I've fought Dr. Eggman, like, a bunch of times."

His expression turned contemplative as he mulled over Espio's words. He thought about the handful of people he knew who were his age, usually just acquaintances he ran into at the park. Their lives sure seemed a whole lot more boring and small than his did. But, recently, he'd come to realize that 'boring' meant 'normal' for most people.

"I guess other kids still get their moms to make them sandwiches." He frowned. "But...but I'm supposed to be better than them! 'Cause I do all that dangerous stuff!"

Espio nodded, sighed, and smiled softly up at Charmy. "I think your strange skillset is owed to this...strange household," he said, "Vector and I aren't exactly the mothers you see at the park. And you aren't exactly the kids you meet there, are you?"

No, he wasn't. Espio was right, and Charmy wasn't sure how to feel about that.

The two of them lingered in silence for a few moments.

"I have an idea," Espio piped up at last. "Since we have the time, I could teach you my sandwich-making technique. That way, in the future, you can do it on your own." He straightened his back. "Consider it...training." 

Charmy gasped and brightened up again. "Really? You're gonna give me sandwich training??"

"Sure," Espio gestured to the mess on the counter, "If you help me clean this up."

"Yippee! You got it!"

***

"Hey, I'm off the phone," Vector called as he headed for the kitchen. He knocked on the doorway with one knuckle. "Charmy? You in here?" 

He stopped when he saw Espio standing at the counter, walking Charmy through putting two halves of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich together. "Make sure you lift up the peanut butter half," he said, "If you lift the jelly half, the jelly will slide off---"

"I know what I'm doing, Espio," said Charmy from where he sat on one of the kitchen chairs. Despite this, he still slammed the halves of bread together a little too hard, and jelly squished out from the sides.

Espio sighed. "Well, at least you're finished now." He turned to see Vector walking in. "Ah, hello. Done talking to that client?"

"Vector!" Charmy grinned, picked up one of the three plates sitting on the counter, and buzzed over to where Vector was standing. "Here! I made you one, too!"

Vector looked down at a very sloppily made peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Oh," he said, taking it, "Hey, thanks. I've been thinkin' I could go for some food." He opened his jaw, threw the entire sandwich in, and ate it in one gulp. He took a second to let the extremely sweet taste settle in. "...Lotta jelly."

"Yeah, it's Charmy-Style," Charmy beamed at him, "And Espio helped me!"

"He still has some, well...room to grow," Espio made a face as he picked up his own sandwich and excess peanut butter-jelly sludge dripped out the bottom. "But the result is...functional, I guess."

"Well, well. Looks like stuff worked out." Vector watched as Charmy returned to the counter to grab his own sandwich, then flew over to sit on Vector's shoulder while he ate it. Vector smiled up at him. "Hey, sorry if I made ya feel bad earlier. You've grown up a lot since last year. I should probably trust ya to do something as easy as makin' a sandwich, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," Charmy said mid-bite. "I'm good at it now!"

"Well...good is a strong word," Espio corrected, "You're still just starting out."

Charmy wasn't paying much attention to him, though. He was too busy reveling in his brand-new independence.

An idea struck him right then and there. When he was done chewing, he smirked and leaned forward to face Vector. "So, Vector," he said, "If you really trust me to do stuff by myself, then...Can I drive your car?"

Vector snorted, reached up, and pushed Charmy's helmet so that the front part slipped over his eyes. Charmy laughed. "Don't push your luck, kid!"

[maritoke]

Stargazing

Have a fanfic for @cuppajj 's Beast Ancients AU. This fic is basically this meme, except somewhere in the middle Salted Caramel starts to trauma dump (he warned Silverbell twice), and Silverbell silently has a crisis (unrelated to trauma dump, lmao).

Just a warning: there is talking about major wounds being inflicted, but it isn't anything graphic (but just to be sure). Also this thing was written mostly at ungodly hours when I should be sleeping, so yeah, might have some mistakes--

---------

This could be definitely counted as treason, oh dear witches…

Letting the soldier of the Silence Legion just go was one thing. The archer decided to show him mercy. Congrats. One dead man less.

But Silverbell was actively talking to him. Enjoying his company even. Specifically now.

Being not so far away from borders. Maybe ten meters at most from the silver forest. 

He didn't abandon his post as a knight. That would be stupid and wouldn't sit right with Silverbell. He had finished his shift. He should be back at the Kingdom and sleeping. That would be the most logical thing to do.

But it was his free time now. And he could do whatever he wanted, he didn’t have to be back at Silver Kingdom. Not yet, at least. It wasn’t suspicious yet. He knew when to go back. He could just tell them he preferred to be in the forest as of late.

“If it's making you so stressed you can go back. I'm not holding you hostage.”

The soldier's words snapped him out of his thoughts. He twitched his wings out of reflex.

Salted Caramel didn't even look at him as he spoke. He kept his eyes on the night sky. A rare sight with the forest growing so thick. The leaves blocked out all of the sky. Keeping everyone hidden for safety.

It was strange in a way. That a soldier of an enemy's army would enjoy something so simple. But it could be because of how much he was taught to fear the Silent Army. For all the correct reasons. Salted Caramel had told him on several occasions how unfortunate it is that they happened to be on opposite sides (thank you, Salted…).

Silverbell just looked back at the stars. There were just so many of them. Shining bright, making the darkness around them lighter. There were plenty of colors too. Not just white dots on black sky. A mix of light blue with navy, a few droplets of pink here and there. Some stars were even golden. And then there was a moon. A full moon in all its glory. Not outshined by the stars but looking even more beautiful with them around. 

“... I'm good, I can stay a bit.”

Silverbell finally answered as he lied down on the soft grass. He was a bit mesmerized by the night sky. It was a pity. That such a beautiful piece of nature was constantly hidden from him.

At this Salted Caramel let out a small chuckle. It was a rare sound. Silverbell didn't hear him laugh yet, although fae wasn't sure if he would ever witness such a thing. They both knew that the soldier was around the forest by his own choice. To honor those who had died long, long ago in a battle.

The knight would be leaving soon. And it seemed that he stayed around longer just to keep Silverbell company. He didn't know how to feel about it exactly… on one hand it was quite nice, to have someone to talk to. To someone who too was serving a beast loyally while feeling a disconnect towards the values and concepts they once held dear. To someone who too feels a stranger in their own home.

On the other hand, he knew that he was going to be a possible cause of Salted Caramel's punishment. The knight himself was unsure whether he would face any consequences for… stalling and if he did, then of what caliber it would be. The Silent Army had apparently a history of being… quite unpredictable even towards their own soldiers. Everyone would either be passive and there would be no punishment, or they would make an example out of a ‘renegade’.

… Well. At least they both would be renegades in that case.

“Glad to hear you a bit more relaxed than back in the forest.” Salted Caramel said.

“In the forest I was afraid of the Queen. And other faeries could've found us.”

“And they can't now?” This time Salted turned his head to face Silverbell. His unnatural yellow eye almost glowing in the darkness. 

Silverbell didn't answer the question. Just glanced at the knight next to him and looked back at the night sky. The archer didn't know how to answer, for he himself wasn't sure.

Faeries wouldn't go search for him, that he was certain. But Queen Lily? She never elaborated how her powers worked exactly. Keeping it a secret. The less faeries knew the less they had to fear apparently. He had experienced it only once when she had used her powers to take control over faeries.

It had felt awful. He hadn't felt like he belonged in his own skin.

She had used it only once. To check the extent of her abilities. She had been apologizing for it for a few days. Feeling awful for doing something sudden, without knowing how it would end…

She probably would do it again, if there was a need. Silverbell was simply happy that just one knight from Silent Legion wasn't enough of a threat. That is if she could sense Salted Caramel. Would she know that a knight of her direct enemy is around? Or did she not sense him because he was already dead?

He'd rather not think about it. Too many questions. Little to no answers. Just his imagination running wild, creating countless scenarios, each more grim than the previous. 

He moved again as his body shivered because of too many unpleasant thoughts. Grass underneath him ruffled softly as he shifted around. From the corner of his eye he could see Salted Caramel glancing at him.

“You can go back if you–”

“No,” Silverbell cut him off. 

He knew the knight meant well. That he wanted to reassure him he could go back to Faerie Kingdom. That he was free to go. That if he feared for their safety, then he maybe shouldn't take more risks.

But he wanted to stay there just a bit longer. Just a few more minutes. It was hard to return to places that no longer felt like home. Yet you were attached to them nonetheless. Or at least to the memories of them.

“I… I still have time. Don't have to go back yet…” He said with a small smile. His voice had a false confidence. For he himself wasn't entirely sure anymore how much time he had left. But he didn’t know when or if he would see Salted Caramel again. 

He didn't want for another person in his life to become only a memory. Not so soon, not so early. He wanted for this moment to last just a tad longer. If Silverbell would return so late it would be suspicious, Midnight Lily would give him the benefit of a doubt. She liked him enough to let it slide as just a one time occurrence. 

A part of him felt guilty. That he was lying to her and abusing her trust. That everytime if she asked he would just tell her there was just a mere traveler passing by. Hiding a member of Silent Legion, the servant of a very beast who was an original holder of Queen's soul jam.

And Silverbell slowly came to an awful realization. This couldn't be just counted as a treason. As if someone was trying to look on the bad side of things. No.

This was a treason.

Not just a simple misunderstanding. Not a complicated situation. No. Silverbell had had one job. Shoot any outsiders who are an active threat. And the moment an actual enemy had shown up – he had let him go.

Alright, he had shot him once. But when it hadn't worked? He should have kept shooting. He should have gone back to the Kingdom and sounded the alarm. Not had stood there, paralyzed in horror, watching how an arrow to the neck hadn’t killed his target. And definitely not had kept talking to him afterwards, when the soldier had awkwardly offered to give the arrow back.

Silverbell should feel shame. That a memory of their first encounter was now funny to him in retrospect. That it was something that would make him smile. And he did feel shame, but for an entirely different reason. Because he knew that if he happened to see Salted Caramel again in future (hopefully outside of the battlefield), he would still not report him. He would continue this masquerade of guilt and shame. 

So much for being a loyal silver knight, huh?

Meanwhile Salted Caramel kept observing his friend in worry. His brows furrowed when he heard Silverbell's tone. The distant and sad look on the faerie's face wasn't helping his case either. 

He glanced back at the forest, then at the archer again. He considered arguing for a moment. That he clearly felt nervous, and they shouldn't risk it. There was no shame in it.

But instead he kept silent. Simply nodded again. Letting go of whatever words he just wanted to use. It was better to just not speak up sometimes. Keep it as it is – a bit bad, or start a useless fight – make it even worse. Choice was easy.

And so he laid back at the ground. Gazing again at the glowing sky. Although not as calm as before. His expression was more… bitter? No, too strong of a word. Lackadaisical? Detached? That sounded more correct. 

Silverbell looked up at the sky too. Still finding it as beautiful as before. He smiled at it.

“Why did you want to go stargazing?” The Fae finally asked. 

It took the swordsman a few longer moments to answer. He didn't look away from the stars at all.

“I don't think you want to hear a blurry war story.”

Normally he would argue that of course he wanted to hear. He always liked to hear the songs of battles of the past. To hear older knights speak of how they served the kingdom, and how they protected it.

But he knew better than to say such things around Salted Caramel. It wasn't as if the man didn't want to tell him anything, for he had told him various stories of many battles and wars. But he was around for too long, and many of his memories were getting either blurry or mixed up. And there were of course the memories Salted Caramel avoided for obvious reasons. Memories many knights avoided. Memories that were just too painful to recall. 

Silverbell opened and closed his mouth. Trying to formulate a sentence, but failing. He wanted to bite a bullet and just ask. But there was fear of wording it wrong, of offending his friend on accident.

Salted Caramel shot a quick glance at him.

“I wasn't looking at the stars when I died, if that's what you think.”

The archer couldn't help but relax a bit. His tense frame loosening at his words. It was stupid of him to assume such morbid things. 

“Though I was close to dying.”

… Nevermind. 

Silverbell took a deep breath in and out. To steady himself for a question. To actually speak up. Don't leave it quiet. 

“... can you say more? I like hearing your stories.”

He wasn’t fully sure why it was so hard to say. He had prompted Salted Caramel to speak many times before. 

Actually no, scratch that. He knew why it was harder to say it. Because he wasn't asking about a story from a battle. He was asking about one of the moments his friend was the most vulnerable. He simply didn't know why he considered not asking at all. Given how important star watching was for Salted Caramel. 

The knight didn't answer him for what felt like a few minutes. Silverbell almost came to the conclusion that he simply wouldn’t be given a reply. A bit disappointing, but understandable. Not everyone would want to speak of moments when they almost died. Such moments were often recurring nightmares for many. And yet Salted Caramel spoke up.

“I think it was… at the beginning of Grand Cross’ corruption? Or in the middle of it… I can't say… I just know they were different… but not that different.”

It often took Silverbell a few short seconds to figure out when Salted Caramel was speaking about the original beast cookies. As he often tended to use their former titles. Be it from respect or out of habit. Although, one could argue that Silent Salt could still be called ‘Grand Cross’. As it was not a title given because of their previous virtue, but because of how hierarchy in chivalry worked. And Silent Salt was of course at the very top of it.

“We were sent out to fight off the Giant Gravel Jelly Worms… They were a threat to one of the cities I think… and normally it would not be a problem, even if they were fully grown but uh… two or three are… let's say manageable.” He paused for a moment. “Six of them are a rather big issue.”

“How did those worms look?”

Silverbell could see a grimace on Salted Caramel's face. His body wincing for a moment.

“... maybe as big redwood trees? Maybe a tad smaller?”

Silverbell just stared at him blankly. Trying to convey without words how little it narrowed it down. These trees grew fast and tall. They could grow up to over one hundred meters with enough time. He doubted that Giant Gravel Jelly Worms could get that big. Although, maybe they could. Maybe they could and Silverbell was underestimating it. 

“Listen, they were just enormous, okay? Bigger than I had thought possible back then,” knight said in his own defense. A tiny note of frustration in his voice.

“Regardless…” he continued. “They had a body covered with strong scales, and a bunch of sharp spikes on each segment of their bodies. They could spin them. I think it normally helped them move around while digging in the ground? But at the surface it was as lethal as a newly sharpened sword. A sword made out of a very strong mix of metals.”

A pause again. A longer one. This one lasted maybe two minutes. Maybe a bit longer. Salted Caramel put a hand on his stomach. Soon however he tensed up again. Making a fist, trying to grasp something. As if he could dig into his own body and just rip his insides out.

Silverbell was about to tell him that he didn't have to continue. Because it clearly made him relive some absolutely nasty memories. The story wasn't worth it if it was putting him through such things. But before he could even say anything, Salted Caramel continued:

“With six of such monsters the battle lasted long until it was well into the night.” Silverbell could hear Salted Caramel rush a bit. Trying to get to the main point faster. “I got cut by one of the spikes. It dug deep. From my stomach almost up to my chest. A miracle it didn’t slice me in half.”

Silverbell couldn't help but hiss at description. He felt a knot in his stomach. He couldn’t imagine how much pain it must have been. Such a big injury. If one had looked down they would have seen their own organs… a very gruesome image, even more that it had happened. 

And yet Salted Caramel seemed to relax a tad bit. Faerie assumed that the worst part of the story was behind them now. The moment of when the wound had been inflicted. 

“After that I fell to the ground because I couldn't stand anymore, of course. I was bleeding out so much, I was terrified I would die.” The knight let out a dry chuckle. Finding the past a bit ironic given his current situation. “After… a rather big blood loss I didn't have energy to panic anymore. And then I realized that I was looking at the stars.”

Salted Caramel finally relaxed the fingers in his hand. Lying it again flat against his abdomen.

“And then I thought to myself… that it wasn’t the worst way to die. Despite the chaos happening around, despite it hurting so much… it would be a good death. To die in a battle with honor, able to look at the stars last time…”

There was new calmness to his voice now. A strange sense of melancholy mixed with hopefulness. It fitted him. It fitted him a lot.

“That's the main reason why stargazing is important to me.” Salted Caramel admitted. “It gives me solace. Especially now…”

“... why so?”

“... because I'm stuck here. We are stuck here. In probably the worst Era possible. But we did the best we could. We're trying our best still… and we still might just end up bloodied anyway… just one more corpse of another tired soldier…”

A pause. A deep breath in and out. To calm down. To gather thoughts. 

“But… There are things that are beautiful nonetheless. Things that were here before everything and will continue to be after… and we can enjoy them… even as we are dying there are things we can enjoy. Things that cannot be destroyed because it's just… impossible. I mean…”

Salted Caramel sat up. The metal plates of his armor quietly creaked due to sudden movement. He was now sitting on the grass with his legs crossed. 

“There are some things that just… can't be gone, right? I mean… Witches, I… give me a moment, I've lost my own point…”

Silverbell sat up too. Out of the corner of his eye he watched how Salted Caramel looked at the ground. Trying to get his thoughts back together. 

The archer hugged his legs and rested his head on his knees. He no longer observed the stars but his friend. 

He couldn’t see his face at the moment. He was partially covering it with his left hand. He used his right hand to play with his own long hair. Trying to regain focus and put his thoughts back together. Frustration he felt at himself was almost radiating. 

Silverbell only let out a soft sigh, his wings flexing a bit. It seemed that Salted Caramel hit his limit for tonight or even for this week.

The faerie loved talking with the knight. But Silent Legion had its name for a reason. Of course, the main reason was the fact it was one of if not the deadliest army recorded. Often winning battles before even a scream of their victims could arise. Ever the quiet death armored and armed, never leaving a sound. 

Another reason could be also because the very members themselves were apparently a quiet bunch. Salted Caramel included. He could easily remember how first their talks had been very one sided. Where it was mostly Silverbell talking at Salted Caramel than to him. Only the more time they'd spend the knight decided to start talking too. Still, he mostly spoke short sentences.

Therefore whenever Salted Caramel would tell a story, Silverbell would consider it a treat. Because even if it would take a while, it was nice to hear him talk. To hear him recall various battles or even just mundane situations that he remembered. Oftentimes speaking fondly of memories that could be sometimes very painful ones.

Because even now, when Salted Caramel had tensed up and grimaced various times while recalling the fight against the Giant Gravel Jelly Worms, he still finished it on a somewhat happy note. Despite the memory being mostly about a brutal battle and almost dying, it ended with him finding solace in that moment – regardless of what an outcome could have been. Peace even when the world around was dying, disappearing. 

“I think I know what you mean,” Silverbell said as he leaned onto Salted Caramel. 

The knight tensed up for just a moment. A short second of uncertainty before relaxing again. He shifted just a bit, to allow Silverbell for a more comfortable position. Despite being cold, Salted Caramel’s presence was a calming one.

And so they both continued to watch the stars. The eternal painting never to be erased or destroyed. Shining endlessly throughout all the years that had passed, and would continue to shine when the world was falling apart at the seams.

And regardless of the outcome. Regardless if there would be peace or wars, regardless if there would be thousands of cookies or if they all turned into nothingness or simple flour… stars would remain. For they were here before it all started, and would still be after everything ended.

It was strangely comforting. That even if everything was destroyed, there would be something that remained.

---------

So just to answer some things:

Why didn't Salted Caramel die if he was shot in the neck?

Salted Caramel is undead. He isn't revived. Think a spirit possessing its own corpse. He can be killed, but that would require either decapetion, or purification if you want to get rid off his soul (doesn't need to be Saint purification, Wind Archer would also do the job). That's also a reason why he is described as cold! He's cold because his body doesn't really need to maintain a body heat anymore! Ain't that convinient.

Why didn't they start fighting when Silverbell had first shot Salted Caramel?

If I shot someone in the neck, and they just stared at me confused, I would personally die right where I stood out of pure horror. Silverbell is braver and was just paralyzed by fear. Salted Caramel? He'd rather avoid fighting when he can, after all he was just going through the forest to go honor the fallen soldiers. So when he got shot he thought he must have tresspassed accidentaly, and felt awkward.

Are they meant to be platonic or romantic in this? (My own friend asked me this)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Honestly interpret them however you want, both interpretations are cool

[ordinary-barbie]

heyy, i hope you're doing well! may i request billy hargrove x fem!reader, where she's this sweet & kind girly who loves bows, pink, mini skirts etc. then one day steve tries to flirt with her, unaware that she's dating billy, and he gets all jealous and protective of his girl. ends in smut with talk like "who do you belong to", maybe? only if you're comfy with that ofc, feel free to ignore! <3

aw, you're so sweet! thanks for the request <3

shock the monkey.

word count: 1.9k

tags: modern au, college au, established relationship, language, poor billy is insecure, jealous!billy, possessive!billy, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (mention of reader on birth control), cowgirl, creampie, cockwarming, reader is briefly referred to as a slut but not in a negative way, a bit of nancy x steve at the end

summary: Billy reminds you who you belong to.

note: this was meant to be short but I got carried away lmao. also: title from a song by Peter Gabriel!

minors DNI - 18+ only!

Some things about life are just obvious. The sun rises in the day and sets at night. Every day of the week ends in "y." And the most obvious of all—you only had eyes for Billy Hargrove, and he only had eyes for you.

You and Billy had gotten together during your freshman year of college, though you'd known him since he moved to your town in high school, smelling like too much cologne and carrying a massive chip on his shoulder. It didn't take long for the girls at school to fall at Billy's feet, yet only one of them caught his eye—you, the sweet girl who sat next to him in English class and was entirely too nice to an asshole like him.

Billy didn't think a girl like you—all bows and miniskirts, soft smiles and sympathetic looks—would be into him at all, so he spent senior year bedding any girl who showed the slightest bit of interest. It was easier than actually being vulnerable with his feelings. And that was that, until you and Billy ended up at the same college, running into each other at a post-football game kickback at some frat house. The rest, as they say, was history.

Now you and Billy were joined at the hip, to the point where the whole school was chattering about you two. You were puzzled at the fascination with you and Billy's relationship—you thought that whole "It couple" thing was so high school. But Billy had fast become a well-liked guy on campus, in one of the top frats, so maybe this just came with the territory. It was like being a civilian dating a celebrity, though you knew Billy would scoff at that comparison.

Billy's frat was holding a costume party, despite Halloween being a month away, and you and he had progressed to the ultimate sign of coupledom—matching costumes. You and Billy were Barbie and Ken, your idea, of course. Billy was running late (he'd headed to the store for a new bottle of styling gel, and you knew how detailed his hair routine was), so you were passing the time by gabbing with some friends about the latest Greek life gossip.

You were about to refill your solo cup when the scent of Old Spice hit your nose. You looked up, finding yourself face-to-face with a guy sporting a mullet of dark brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. He was wearing a Top Gun jumpsuit and a pair of black shades perched on top of his head.

"Oh, hey there, Maverick," you teased. "Nice costume!"

The guy grinned at you. "Thanks! You make a pretty nice Barbie yourself. Big fan of the movie."

"Wasn't it so good?" you agreed, smiling. "Hey, what's your name? Don't think I've seen you around these parts before." You gave your name, offering up a small, friendly wave.

"I'm Steve," the guy said, running a hand through his hair. "Just transferred here this semester. I play club soccer, but my roommate dragged me to this party so I could, and I quote, 'mingle with people and shit.'"

You chuckled. "And are you enjoying the mingling so far?"

Steve looked at you fondly. "I certainly am now."

Meanwhile, Billy had returned, quickly throwing his costume on before teasing his hair with the styling gel. He bounded down the steps, ready to make out with his Barbie. Then he spotted you talking to some douche in a Top Gun costume who was clearly trying to make a move. Oh fuck no. He clenched his jaw, making his way over to you.

"Getting the party started without me, huh?" Billy asked casually, wrapping a protective arm around your waist as he stared daggers into Steve.

"Howdy there, cowboy. Glad you finally showed up," you said, smiling up at your boyfriend.

Steve cleared his throat, glancing nervously at Billy. "Uh, hey. I'm Steve. And is she your...girlfriend?"

Billy flashed Steve a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, she is. So back away, Steven."

"Actually, it's just Steve—"

Billy waved a hand dismissively. "Don't care. Find someone else to flirt with, all right?"

"I'm so sorry about him," you apologized to Steve. "I hope you can still enjoy the party!"

Steve shrugged, seeming unbothered. "Nah, it's cool. Honest mistake. Nice meeting you!" He smiled shyly at you before disappearing into the crowd.

"Upstairs. Now," Billy muttered into your ear. He looked up at your friends, finally acknowledging there were other people in the room. "Hope you don't mind if I steal her for a few, ladies."

Nancy, your roommate, smirked knowingly at you and Billy. "Don't have too much fun up there, all right?"

Billy grinned lazily. "Can't make any promises, Wheeler."

You said your goodbyes to your friends and let Billy lead you into his bedroom, feeling nervous yet excited. You knew he couldn't have been pleased that you were talking to another guy, and you had a feeling a "punishment" was coming your way.

"Babe. Who the fuck was that guy down there, huh?" Billy murmured. "I thought everyone at this school knows that you're mine."

"Steve just transferred here this semester," you explained. "He seemed really nice! I was just trying to be friendly."

"Yeah? Well he was just trying to fuck you," Billy bluntly responded. "I saw the way he was looking at you. And I love how friendly you are, baby, I really do. I just wish other guys would learn to fuck off."

"Billy, I'm allowed to talk to other guys, you know," you said, raising an eyebrow at him. "And if Steve had tried to put any moves on me, I would've shut it down so fast. You know that."

Billy sighed. He knew he was acting insanely jealous. But he couldn't help it. You were perfect, and Billy was afraid that he would lose you. Especially to someone like Steve, who seemed exactly like the type of guy a sweet girl like you should be with.

You looped your arms around Billy's neck, looking at him like he hung the moon in the sky. "Billy Hargrove, I only want you, okay? Don't you ever forget that," you insisted.

Billy's cheeks turned red. Even after a year, he was still getting used to the utter affection you showed. You picked him. You wanted him.

His heart swelled with affection, but a more primal part of him needed to stake his claim. "I love you, baby, but I gotta remind you who you belong to," Billy drawled, undressing you with his eyes.

You didn't have to be told twice. You quickly wriggled out of your costume, and Billy did the same, pinning you to the mattress as he kissed you deeply.

Billy put your legs on top of his shoulders as he ate you out, slurping you up greedily while you writhed with pleasure. "This pussy is mine," he mumbled, sucking at your clit. "You think Steven could eat you out like this?"

"N-No," you hiccuped, feeling a low heat swirling in your stomach.

"Nobody will ever know your body like I do, baby," Billy said, plunging two fingers into you and stroking your clit. His possessiveness was incredibly arousing, and you felt your orgasm rip out of you as fast as lightning.

Usually, Billy loved to tease you, loved to drag out the foreplay until you were begging for him. But he was too impatient tonight. Billy plunged into you, and you let out the prettiest moan as you dug your nails into his back. He secretly hoped Steve heard that.

Billy grunted as he pumped in and out of you, his hands roaming your body. No part went untouched—not your hips, your thighs, or those beautiful tits.

"You're mine," Billy stated, rubbing quick circles against your clit and eliciting another orgasm from you. "All right? 'm not gonna let anyone else think they even have a chance. They can't fuck you like I can."

"'m yours," you muttered breathlessly. "I love you. Only want your dick, Billy."

Billy smirked, shifted your positions so you could ride his dick. He picked up the cowboy hat you'd discarded on the floor and placed it on your head.

"Really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just indulge me, princess," Billy replied, his voice slow and smooth like honey.

Billy grabbed your hips as you began to ride him, groaning at the feeling of your warm pussy clenching around his length. He stared into your eyes, your pupils blown out with lust. You were sweet as pie, but when the two of you started sleeping together, you and Billy discovered how much of a horny slut you could be. Billy loved that there was this completely different side to you that only he got to see.

"Squeezing me so good, baby. I dunno how much longer I can last," Billy warned, relishing the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him. He couldn't be more grateful that you'd decided to go on the pill recently—he didn't think he could stop himself from coming inside your tight, wet pussy.

"Just come for me one more time first," Billy pleaded, brushing against your spongy walls with his tip. "Need to feel that warm cunt around me again."

You cried out Billy's name, creaming all over his cock. Billy followed close behind, filling you up with hot, sticky cum.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, Billy's cock nestled inside of you as it softened. "Sorry for getting so jealous," Billy mumbled into your shoulder.

You smiled. "You didn't punch anybody, so it's all good," you joked. "It was honestly kinda hot. Love seeing how much you care for me."

Billy chuckled, kissing your neck. "Just don't get too friendly with him, all right?"

"Billy, I have your cum inside of me and I'm letting you cockwarm. I don't think you have anything to worry about," you quipped.

He knew that, but a little validation never hurt. "I'm obsessed with you," Billy murmured, gripping you like a koala. "You're stuck with me."

You smiled, relaxing into your boyfriend's embrace. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

bonus:

You and Billy were giddy as you made it back to your apartment. He'd aced a midterm he was stressed about, and you had taken him out to eat to celebrate. Nancy had told you she was going out, and you were looking forward to having the apartment to yourself, wanting to do nothing but make out and cuddle with Billy.

You hung up your coat and headed to your room to change, stopping in your tracks when you saw something out of the corner of your eye.

Nancy's door was open, and she was currently straddling a guy. But not just any guy—Steve.

"Oh my God," Nancy muttered, she and Steve looking mortified at being caught.

You let out a giggle. "Sorry, lovebirds. Didn't mean to disturb you!"

"Hey there," Steve greeted you weakly.

"Don't get her pregnant, all right?" you teasingly warned Steve. You cackled as his face turned bright red.

Nancy looked like she wanted to disappear. You decided to stop teasing your friend and closed her door, instantly running to Billy to gossip.

"Billy. I just saw Nancy and Steve hooking up," you whispered conspiratorially. "It's about time, honestly."

Billy snorted. "Good for Harrington. I was getting sick of hearing about his little crush."

You grinned. "I still can't believe you and Steve are actually friends now. It's so cute."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I guess he's all right," he murmured, though you saw the corners of his mouth tick up.

You hummed knowingly, leaning your head on Billy's shoulder. You didn't have any more words at the moment—you were just filled with adoration for everyone in this little apartment of yours.