#the funny thing about drawing this fluff before i get to draw the real shit is

[sygneth]

Holmes College Adventures Masterpost Chapter 2: part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 AO3

you could make a career out of this

Pros of going to the country: - I can lie in the forest moss for hours - inner peace - inspiration for drawing them in the country Cons of going to the country: - having only my old broken tablet so drawing is painful (didn't stop me though)

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART X

—lay all your love on me

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). lots of smut, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

February 25, 2023

London, England

London felt different this time. The city hummed with its usual, muted energy—the overcast sky casting everything in a soft, diffuse light—but for you and Pedro, it was like being in your own world, hidden in plain sight. The press tour for The Mandalorian had begun, but this time things had shifted. You were together now, and the stolen glances, soft touches, and subtle smiles painted your days in colors no one else could see.

Five days of interviews and cameras, but you didn’t waste a minute when you were alone. London became your playground, with dinners tucked away in quiet corners and late-night walks along the Thames. Photos of the two of you surfaced online, of course—your laughter caught mid-frame as you leaned into him outside a restaurant, Pedro’s arm draped casually over your shoulders—but to the world, you were still just friends.

There was an unspoken ease, an intimacy that hadn’t been there before. It was in the way Pedro’s hand would brush against yours when no one was looking and how you’d catch him staring at you with that quiet, knowing smile that made your heart do somersaults.

One interviewer joked about Pedro’s tendency to play father figures on screen. "It’s funny," they said, "you keep playing these fatherly roles. What’s the draw?"

Pedro chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glancing at you before answering. He wasn’t just answering the question—he was letting everyone into his head, just for a moment. "I like the idea of it," he said, his voice mellow and thoughtful. "Being able to imagine that responsibility, that kind of love. It’s... comforting."

You nudged him playfully, lighting up the moment with a grin. "Comforting, huh?" you teased, leaning in. "You’re really gunning for that ‘World’s Coolest Dad’ mug, aren’t ya?"

He chuckled again, the sound low and amused. "Oh, absolutely," he replied, mock serious. "But, let’s be real—I’m already cool dad material. Look at me." He spread his arms like he was showing off some award-worthy masterpiece.

You shifted on your seat, eyebrow raised, and whispered, “Honey, they want you to be the daddy, not the dad.”

Pedro froze for a split second before bursting into laughter, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your stomach flip. "Touché," he said, still laughing. "I’m multi-talented, I can be both."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you the mug.”

The room erupted in laughter, and the easy banter between you two was back, but there was a difference now. Every joke, every shared smile held a layer of intimacy that no one else could decipher.

March 14, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

The night was electric, as it always was, a celebration of film and glamour.

Pedro looked gorgeous in his black Zegna suit, the sharp lines contrasting with the softness of his hair, longer than usual, curling slightly at his collar. His face lit up in that way you loved, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiled. You, too, had dressed for the occasion in a stunning black Oscar de la Renta gown, the fabric hugging your body like a second skin. But it wasn’t the dress or the cameras that made you feel beautiful—it was the way Pedro looked at you from across the room. He looks at you, not at anyone else. It feels very nice when he looks at you. It's grounding.

You arrived separately. The decision had been mutual—to keep your relationship private for just a little longer. Inside the Dolby Theatre, you texted each other relentlessly, your phone lighting up every few minutes.

Pedro: You look unreal.

You glanced across the room and spotted him, his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the room worth watching.

You: Have you seen yourself? Ridiculous.

You watched him bite back a smile. You knew what he was thinking, that playful look he got when he was trying to be serious but couldn't quite manage it around you.

Pedro: Wanna trade seats?

You glanced over at your seating arrangements, aware that the cameras were everywhere. It was almost torturous not to be able to sit next to him, to lean into his side and steal private moments.

You: Don’t tempt me.

He raised an eyebrow from across the room, his smile lazy but full of warmth. You could practically hear him saying, "Try me," without even needing the words.

At one point, your phone buzzed again.

Pedro: I think the guy next to me just tried to flirt with me.

You: Well, tell him he’s got competition.

Pedro: Should I let him down easy?

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head and glancing toward the stage.

You: Maybe let him sweat it out first.

The night wore on, and he presented an award with Lizzie Olsen, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him—his smile, the way he owned the stage with that effortless charm. Every now and then, you’d steal moments—walking to each other’s seats under the guise of casual conversation—but there was thrill in the secrecy. It was fun, this private world you shared, just for the two of you.

Later, during one of the commercial breaks, the both of you managed to slip away backstage, away from the sea of people. The hustle and bustle of the theater seemed to fade as you both found a semi-dark corner. The dim light cast shadows on the walls, but all you could see was him—the soft smile on his lips, the playful glint in his eyes.

Pedro wasted no time. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close until there was barely any space between you. His scent, familiar and warm, wrapped around you as he leaned down, stealing a kiss from your lips. It was quick but full of tenderness, his lips brushing against yours as if he couldn’t help himself.

You laughed softly, half-heartedly trying to push him away, knowing you had only a few minutes before you’d be called on stage to present the next award. “Pedro, stop,” you whispered, your hands gently resting on his chest. “We only have a few minutes, and I have to go soon. They’ll call me any second.”

But he wasn’t deterred. His lips found yours again, a bit more insistent this time, kissing you deeply before pulling back just enough to breathe. “A few minutes of you,” he said in a low, almost reverent voice, “would be enough to keep me going for years.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, the world outside your little bubble disappearing as his thumb grazed your cheek. You tilted your head up, your lips brushing his once more, a tender kiss that lingered just long enough to make you want more. His hand rested on the small of your back, the heat of his touch soothing you in the moment.

“You’re making this really hard, you know?” you teased softly, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as his forehead rested against yours. “Good,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your lips. “Let them call you. I’m not letting you go until the last second.”

You smiled, leaning into him, allowing yourself just a few more stolen seconds. His lips found your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, as if trying to memorize the feel of you before the moment passed. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of him, the safety of his arms around you.

Then, reluctantly, you heard the distant call of your name from the stage manager. Pedro sighed, his hand slowly sliding away from your waist. “My time's up.”

You looked up at him, a dangerous grin spreading across your face. “Don’t worry,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you'll get to have me for the rest of the night.”

March 31, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

By the time the PaleyFest rolled around, Pedro was already feeling the weight of keeping everything hidden. He wasn’t a man who liked to keep secrets—especially not something as big as you. You sat so close to him, so near yet so far, and it took everything in him not to reach out and show the world how much he loved you. Instead, he found himself compensating, channeling his feelings into every casual touch, every stolen glance that was meant for only you.

He showed up that night in a brown and beige cardigan, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, paired with green pants and black Chelsea boots. You had told him once how much you liked them. His scruff had grown fuller, darker, and he knew you liked it like that. It drove him crazy when your fingers brushed against it, soft touches that sent flames all the way to his chest.

The night had gone by swiftly enough. Interviews, panels, the usual public-facing routine. Yet, every moment felt charged with the knowledge that you were there, just inches away. You were sitting beside him during the Q&A session, your knees touching. His hand would occasionally ghost over yours, brushing against your fingers, almost accidentally—except it wasn’t. Nothing about this was an accident. You were deliberate in everything you did, in the way you turned toward him, your laughter soft and quiet as if sharing a secret only he could understand.

It was maddening. Pedro was a good actor, but this was real life, and it was becoming harder to play the part of just colleagues, just friends. Every time you touched him, even in the smallest ways, he was reminded of how badly he wanted to kiss you right then and there. He had to keep his cool, though—keep things professional. But it was becoming impossible. You made it impossible.

The way you spoke during the panel, your voice warm and confident, filled with that easy charm that came so naturally to you—he was falling apart inside. He couldn’t focus on anything else. Every word out of your mouth felt like a temptation. Every soft glance in his direction was a tug on the string that bound his heart to yours.

God, you’re too much to be denied, he thought, his mind drifting as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He wanted to kiss you. Right there, in front of everyone. To hell with the secrecy. The privacy you two had was a blessing and a curse. It made loving you easier in some ways—no eyes watching, no prying questions. But it also made it sad, frustrating. All these private moments that he clung to—your stolen touches, your quiet words of affection—were everything to him. But there was a part of him that wanted more.

He sometimes forgot that you were supposed to be keeping things quiet. It just felt so natural to be near you, to let his hand graze yours, or to press his knee against yours while answering a question. Nobody saw a thing—or if they did, nobody said anything. It was amazing how invisible these touches of heaven were to everyone else, how easily they slipped under the radar.

As the panel went on, Pedro found himself drifting. His mind wasn’t in the questions or the answers—it was in the curve of your lips, the sound of your laughter, the way your leg brushed against his every time you shifted in your seat. You made it so easy to fall in love with you. Too easy.

When you turned to him, your eyes meeting his for just a split second longer than necessary, his mouth went dry. That quiet connection was enough to make him feel like he was losing his grip. He shifted in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to focus on the discussion at hand but finding it increasingly difficult with his pants growing tighter by the second.

He needed to have you.

Later, when the two of you made it back to the hotel, Pedro could barely keep himself together. The second the door clicked shut behind you, something in him snapped. He’d been holding back all night.

As soon as the door closed, his hands were on you—rough, needy, pulling you close like he’d been starving for you. Like a dog let off his leash. His fingers pressed into your hips, firm and demanding, and his mouth was on yours before you had time to take a breath. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was raw, desperate. Slow, deep kisses like he’d been holding his breath the entire night, waiting for this moment when he could finally let it all out.

You barely made it to the couch before things escalated. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, his fingers slipping beneath your clothes, touching every inch of your skin like he needed it. Like he’d been deprived of you for days, even though it had only been hours since his hand had last grazed yours. His thumb brushed over your nipple through your shirt, and you gasped into his mouth, pushing your hips forward to meet his.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raspy, full of heat. It wasn’t a question. It was a realization that had his cock straining painfully against his pants, desperate to feel you.

His fingers slid between your legs, pressing against you through the fabric, and you moaned softly, your head falling back against the couch as he worked you open. Slick and warm, your body responded to him like it always did—eagerly, hungrily. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed a line up your throat, whispering things only you were meant to hear.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he groaned, grinding his hips into the cushions beneath you. His cock was rock hard, desperate for any kind of friction, but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Not until he had you moaning his name like no one else could. “I couldn’t stop thinking about getting you like this…desperate for me.”

His fingers moved inside you with a kind of expertise that left you breathless, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to have you arching your back, gripping his arms for stability. He hopes you feel his frustration—his need to release everything he couldn’t show in public, the need to pour every unsaid word into this moment. He kissed you harder, devouring you, his body pressing you deeper into the couch as he gave in to the desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You clung to him, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your fingers curling in his hair as he fucked you with his hand, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His mouth was close to your ear, his words a hot, breathy confession. “I can’t stand it sometimes… being near you and not being able to touch you the way I want.”

You moaned. The sound—so deliciously wanton—spurred him on, his movements becoming more urgent and intense.

Pedro groaned, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and his beard scratching your skin as he thrust his fingers deeper. “I’m always desperate to make you feel good,” he murmured, his breath hitching with the intensity of it. He was grinding his cock into the couch, trying to find some kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Please, more,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your body tightening with the anticipation of release. Pedro could feel it, could hear it in the way your breath hitched, the way your hips moved against his hand.

Just when you were about to fall apart, his mouth was on yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, swallowing your moans as you came undone beneath him. Your body trembled in his arms, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

You were still coming down when he finally lifted you into his lap, pressing you against him, his cock straining beneath you. He knew you could feel it. He knew you wanted it just as badly as he did.

But then came the frustration, the gnawing ache. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it as he kissed you softer this time, a contrast to the earlier desperation. “I think about kissing you so much,” he admitted, his voice low and husky as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Good thing you get to do it whenever you want now.”

Pedro’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Well, not whenever I want,” he muttered, his voice low, almost hoarse, before he found your mouth again. His lips trailed along your jaw, slowly, torturously, until they grazed the corner of your mouth.

You laughed softly, the tension in the room shifting with your teasing tone. “Blessed be this tired conversation,” you murmured, your words brushing against his lips. “We agreed we’d wait, baby. It’s better this way.”

His forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as his fingers trailed down the side of your face. His eyes, heavy with love and frustration, bore into yours. “But I don’t want to anymore,” he confessed, his voice raw with need. His fingertips trailed down the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone, committing each detail of your skin to memory like it might be the last time he’d get to touch you like this.

You grinned, teasing him with that wicked smile of yours that made him feel both alive and tormented. “You could fuck me on the seven o’clock news, and they’d just say I was desperate for attention,” you said, laughing at your own joke. But Pedro couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his hand cupped your face with a tenderness that made him ache. “We’ll face it together,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice a promise. "Whatever they throw at us."

He didn’t know how, didn’t know when, but he knew that he was ready to take on whatever came next—so long as it meant he didn’t have to keep hiding you. Hiding us.

Before the moment could spiral into something heavier, before his thoughts took him down that path, Pedro kissed you again. Slower this time, more deliberate. Like he was trying to communicate with his lips what he couldn’t with words.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Your breath was hot against his mouth as you spoke between kisses. “I know it’s frustrating, but we have this, Pedro. We have us.”

The words cut through the noise in his head, grounding him. He groaned softly, his hands slipping lower, his grip tightening as if you might disappear. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said again, the need in his voice raw, his body already pressing closer to yours. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking.

He saw something flash in your eyes—desire, affection, understanding. “Then don’t,” you said, voice firm with want. A playful smirk tugged at your lips. “Now shut up and fuck me, lover boy.”

He smiled, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His hands moved quickly, fingers pulling at your clothes in a frenzy, his breath coming faster as he discarded his own. The second your bare skin pressed against his, Pedro felt like he was drowning in the sensation of you. He’d wanted this—needed this—all day, maybe longer.

You sank down onto him slowly, and Pedro groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he felt you take him in. The heat of you, the slickness, made him curse under his breath. The stretch of you around him, the way you clenched at every inch, drove him wild.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough with arousal. He could barely keep his thoughts straight; the sensation of being inside you was enough to make him lose his mind. The way you gasped, the way your body tightened around him, made him dizzy with want.

His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he slurred a curse, his body moving in sync with yours. You didn’t start slow. Neither of you had the patience for it. Your hips rolled against his with a roughness that made his cock throb inside you, and Pedro couldn’t hold back the way he groaned into your neck, his hands digging into your waist, guiding you harder, faster.

Each thrust felt like a confession, like he was pouring all the things he hadn't been able to say for months into the movement of your bodies.

Your mouth found his ear, and through the gasps and the heat, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words broke something inside him. Pedro’s hips stuttered, his body jerking as he pulled you closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck. His lips hovered near your ear, and he whispered back, voice trembling, “I know, baby.”

You moved faster, grinding down on him, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the room, and Pedro thought he might lose it. The way you felt—the way you looked—was too much, too perfect. He was on the verge, teetering at the edge, and he didn’t want it to end.

Not yet.

But your body tightened around him, and he felt you shudder as you came, the sound of your breathless cry sending him over the edge. Pedro groaned, his hips jerking hard as he came inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as his release hit him like a wave, leaving him breathless and shaking.

You pressed a soft kiss to his freckled shoulder, your voice light. “So… still frustrated?”

Pedro chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Not right now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but give me ten minutes, and I’ll probably be ready to go again.”

Your laughter filled the room, and for the first time all night, everything felt right.

Everything felt perfect.

•••

Several weeks had passed, and with them, the world had changed in quiet, insidious ways. Paparazzi photos had surfaced, capturing stolen moments and raising questions. The speculation had simmered, threatening to boil over. But this morning, when you woke up to the persistent buzz of your phone, the weight of those weeks hadn’t fully sunk in.

Your hand lazily reaches for his side of the bed, only to find it empty.

Still half asleep, you reached out for your phone, the screen blinding in the dim light of your room. As your eyes adjusted, you saw the thousands of messages, and a particular notification popped up—an Instagram post from Pedro. You blinked, and then opened it.

There they were, pictures of you, ones you hadn’t even realized he’d taken.

The first image was from one of your walks in London. You were bundled up in a thick scarf and coat, the fog of your breath visible in the cool air. Your hair was slightly tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, and though you weren’t looking at the camera, you were looking at him, your smile soft, eyes alight with an easy, unguarded happiness. There was something about the way you looked at him in that picture—it was a look only he ever got to see.

Another photo showed you in a fit of laughter, your head thrown back, eyes scrunched shut, one hand covering your face as if trying to stifle the sound. It was blurry, like he’d caught you mid-movement, mid-moment. Completely unposed, completely you.

The next was a close-up, your hand stretched out toward him, your face only partially visible in the background, eyes shining, lips curved in a grin. You’d been reaching for his phone that day, playfully trying to snatch it from him, teasing him about taking too many pictures.

And then, a quieter one—an intimate photo of you curled up beside him on a couch, a book in hand, legs tucked beneath you. Your hair was untidy, and you weren’t paying attention to the world around you, just lost in your thoughts. The soft golden light of late afternoon bathed the room, and the moment felt like a secret—yours and his alone.

But what caught you wasn’t just the photos. It was the caption, simple yet profound in its clarity:

"Happy birthday to my best friend, the love of my life, my adventure partner, and my girl."

The internet exploded, notifications from friends, fans, your team, all lighting up your phone. Messages poured in—questions, congratulations, shock. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the truth in Pedro’s words, as clear as the morning light filtering through your window. No more hiding, no more stolen glances or shadows in the background. Just this—a love that had been quietly building, finally stepping into the open.

May 6, 2023

New York, NY

The night of the Met Gala buzzed with energy, a heady mix of anticipation swirling in the air. You both got ready in separate hotel rooms, allowing your respective teams the space to work their magic. The atmosphere was electric, the evening monumental—not just for the fashion, but for what it symbolized: your first public event as a couple. You had spent hours getting ready, your heart racing for reasons beyond the red carpet.

When you finally laid eyes on Pedro in his Valentino ensemble, time seemed to slow. He stood in the doorway, resplendent in a long crimson coat that swirled dramatically as he moved, paired with tailored shorts and sleek black boots. The boldness of the look, the way it fit him so perfectly, stole your breath.

"Oh my God," you whispered, unable to stop your jaw from dropping. There was something about seeing him like this—bold, confident, unapologetically himself—that sent a rush of heat through you.

Pedro, amused by your reaction, raised an eyebrow. “I know,” he said, smirking slightly, clearly aware of the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t help yourself, a cheeky grin curling on your lips. “May I say, as the kids say, that you are serving cunt?”

He burst out laughing, the sound filling the hallway and bouncing off the walls, a deep, genuine laugh that made your heart skip a beat. As he stepped closer, his eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of your body wrapped in the immaculate white Versace gown. The gown hugged your body perfectly, each intricate detail catching the light as you moved.

"Well," he said, still chuckling, his voice dipping as his gaze softened, "you're making it very hard to concentrate on anything else."

The cameras flashed endlessly as you stepped onto the carpet together, arms intertwined, your bodies pressed close as if the entire world didn’t matter. For the first time, there was no hiding, no second-guessing. Your love was out there, on display for everyone to see, the vulnerability of it both thrilling and terrifying. Every step you took together felt like a declaration.

Inside the venue, the evening flowed. The opulent setting melted into the background as you moved through the crowd, hand in hand. There were moments where Pedro would pull you in close, whispering jokes or sweet nothings in your ear, and you'd catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. You danced together several times, his hands resting on your waist, the weight of his touch grounding you in a night that felt like a dream.

The chaos of the night faded away as soon as you were alone, the two of you slipping out of your clothes. The city outside was alive, its lights casting a soft, romantic glow over the bed as you lay together, skin on skin. Pedro moved above you, his hands tracing gentle paths down your body, every touch filled with reverence.

His lips followed the same trail, soft and deliberate, until he kissed you, slow and tender, his body sinking into yours with a quiet intensity. The urgency of earlier was gone, replaced with something deeper, something that spoke of love and forever. His movements were languid, like you had all the time in the world, and maybe you did.

•••

Pedro had been cast in Gladiator 2 and left for Morocco in June to start filming. The distance was both expected and dreaded, the time apart a necessary evil in your world. But then he was gone, and you missed him every day. You flew out to see him twice, visiting the set with a thrill in your chest, knowing that you were entering his world, one where he wore armor and swords and commanded a screen.

The second time you visited, you stayed in a quaint residence near the edge of the city. The night air in Morocco was warm and fragrant. Lying on the bed, a soft breeze ruffling the curtains, you watched Pedro kick off his boots, shedding the intensity of the day's filming as his grin softened in your direction.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice still rough from the day's work.

You rose, crossing the room to slip into his arms, pressing your face into his chest. His arms tightened around you, pulling you into him. You sighed into the space between his collarbones, feeling utterly content in his embrace.

“You know, it never gets old—seeing you in costume,” you teased, peering up at him.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. “If I knew you had a thing for gladiators, I would’ve done this sooner.”

You slapped his chest lightly, earning another laugh. “I don’t. Just you.”

•••

When July came, the vast ocean between you dissolved, replaced by the steady beat of his heart as Pedro flew from Morocco. The journey had been long, the hours heavy, but the moment he stepped onto the red carpet in Los Angeles and saw you, standing tall in your black dress, framed against the shimmer of camera flashes, his weariness evaporated. The world could have spun around you, but all that existed for him was you—radiant, poised, and undeniably powerful.

His eyes never left you, and as the evening wore on, he finally drew close, his presence a gentle comfort in the midst of the chaotic premiere. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, each word carrying a tenderness that only you could feel.

Without hesitation, you leaned back into him, your body instinctively finding its place against his. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter, grounding you amidst the sparkle of the night. “Thank you for being here,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, meant only for him. It was a moment suspended in time, the noise fading as his warmth enveloped you.

In his arms, you weren’t the glamorous you, the center of attention. You were just you, and he was simply Pedro—the man who had flown across continents just to be by your side for the night. His pride in you radiated through every gentle touch, every lingering glance, and in those precious moments, you felt it deeply.

There was no performance here, no expectations. You didn’t have to try; you didn’t have to prove anything. With him, you were never too much or not enough. You were loved—completely and without condition.

•••

The SAG-AFTRA strike gave you both a break you hadn’t anticipated, but it was exactly what you needed. For the first time in ages, there were no press tours, no filming schedules, no red carpets to think about—just you and Pedro in the brownstone you'd bought together in New York.

The place was still in disarray, a maze of half-unpacked boxes, paint swatches taped to walls, and mismatched furniture that had yet to find its place. But it was yours. It was home.

Most days were spent amidst the chaos, trying to bring some sense of order to the space. You’d argue, though never seriously, about where to hang a certain painting, or which color should blanket the living room walls. Pedro had been adamant about a soft olive green, his voice confident as he gestured to the swatch. You’d rolled your eyes, but eventually relented, knowing full well he’d win you over. The walls gradually filled with memories—framed photos of your shared adventures, artwork picked up during travels, and books, some stacked haphazardly, others lovingly arranged by Pedro himself.

One rainy Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing Pedro’s emotional support Lakers shirt, the yellow one, the fabric soft and familiar against your skin. Pedro lay with his head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his dark curls. His eyes softened as he looked up at you, a smile playing at the edges of his lips, those crinkling lines at the corners that always made your heart flutter.

"Keep it until I come back," he had said, handing you the shirt the night before he left for Morocco. You’d kept it, of course, holding onto that part of him while he was gone, as if the shirt itself carried a trace of his warmth, his presence. Somehow, Pedro’s t-shirts always felt softer than yours, even though they were washed in the same generic detergent.

When he finally returned, seeing him at the door was enough to make your pulse quicken. You stood there, in his Lakers shirt, grinning at him in the way that only he could inspire. His eyes darkened when he noticed, a low sound escaping his throat. He didn’t even bother to hide the desire that bloomed so quickly between you, his fingers already tugging at the hem of the shirt before you even had the chance to say anything.

That night, he made love to you with the shirt still on, pushing the fabric higher as his hands skimmed the bare skin of your thighs. His fingers knew exactly how to touch you, how to unlock the deepest parts of you before you even knew what was happening. Pedro always wanted your company in such a frank, straightforward way, his need so clear and open that you found yourself giving in to him completely, surrendering to his hands and his mouth before you even realized what you were doing.

As his lips pressed against the curve of your throat, trailing kisses down your neck, he murmured softly, “Missed you so much, mi amor,” his words brushing against your skin as his hand curled tenderly against your ear, thumb tracing the delicate curve. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the tiny bullseye doodle inked on the back of his left hand, just between his thumb and index finger.

The days unfolded like that—long stretches of time where the outside world felt far away. You’d lounge in the living room, watching movies. Or dancing to Prince songs in the kitchen while cooking together.

•••

The strike went on longer than expected, giving him something he hadn’t had in ages—time. Time to breathe, to be with you without the constant pull of deadlines, flights, or set schedules.

When the idea of escaping to Europe surfaced, it felt like fate. He craved your company in ways he hadn’t realized until the possibility of uninterrupted days became real. And so, flights were booked, suitcases stuffed, and you ran away together.

Paris was the first stop. Cobblestone streets and the smell of fresh bread lingered in the air as you wandered hand-in-hand along the Seine. Pedro couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You were his favorite sight in the city.

One evening, the sky was tinted rosy, as if it, too, was in love, bathing the city in a soft, ethereal glow. You leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder, as you stood by the water, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background.

“We needed this,” you murmured, voice as soft as the setting sun.

“Yeah, we did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The simplicity of the moment made his heart swell. Here, in Paris, everything slowed down, and they had time—time to love without distraction.

•••

Mallorca had a way of making everything slow down. It was the kind of place that made Pedro feel young again. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sky stretched out, impossibly blue, matching the water that shimmered below.

When you arrived at the hotel, the exhaustion from travel and the constant rush of life evaporated as soon as his hands found you.

He couldn't wait any longer, his hands reaching for you the moment you crossed the threshold into your room. His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips pressing urgently against yours as he murmured, "Take this off, quick," between heated kisses. You giggled, that soft, breathy sound that always made his heart skip, but the look in your eyes was anything but playful.

The two of you had tumbled into bed, a mess of limbs and laughter, desire taking over. You were on top of him, moving slow and deliberate, the way he liked it. Your skin glistened with sweat, the heat of the room wrapping around your bodies, and he couldn’t think of anything except how much he needed you in that moment. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was branding him, marking him as yours. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing the curves he knew so well, and still, every time felt like the first.

When it was over, you both lay tangled together, the scent of your exertion heavy in the air. He could feel your breath on his neck, the warmth of your skin against his. For a long while, neither of you moved, content to just exist in that perfect silence, the summer heat pressing against the windows as the world outside slowed to a standstill. You didn’t know how easily you had marked him, how deeply you had sunk your teeth into his flesh.

Hours later, he woke to find you still draped over him, your head resting on his chest, your fingers splayed over his stomach. His heart ached in the best way—this was what it meant to be yours. Every part of him, from the way he loved you to the way his mind quieted when you were near, belonged to you.

The next morning, you were sitting by the water, perched on the smooth rocks that lined the shore. The water was clear as day, a sparkling, crystal blue that seemed to go on endlessly. You were wearing that purple swimsuit he loved so much. It made his pulse quicken every time he saw you in it.

You were eating fruit—mangos and berries, the sweetness lingering on his lips as you both played cards; the deck spread out between you. Pedro loved these simple moments. The sunlight reflected off the water, casting a coppery glow over everything, and he couldn’t help but stare at you as you talked, your wet hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes bright and happy.

“You’re cheating,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as you set your cards down, suspicious.

He grinned, pretending to be offended.

“Cheating? Me? I would never.”

“You totally are,” you insisted, reaching across to poke his chest. “I know that look. You’ve got something.”

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands, his gaze sweeping over you. “I’m not cheating, cariño. I’m just better at this game than you.”

“Liar.”

It was easy between you, the banter flowing naturally as you both basked in the warmth of the sun. There was a lightness to being here, a sense of freedom that neither of you could ignore.

Everything felt right—perfect, even.

A few minutes later, you stretched lazily, setting your cards aside as you glanced toward the water. “Wanna take a swim, old man?” you teased, your eyes sparkling. “I’m hot.”

He raised an eyebrow, his heart racing just a little faster at the sight of you.

God, you were beautiful.

"Yes."

You stood, offering him your hand, and he took it, pulling himself to his feet with a grin. “Come on then,” you said, leading him toward the water, your bare feet dancing across the hot rocks.

The water was cool against his skin as you both waded in, the heat of the day melting away as you swam lazily, floating in the crystal-clear sea. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way the water glistened on your skin, the way you smiled at him, carefree and full of life.

•••

Prague felt like stepping into another time, a place woven with cobblestone streets and Gothic spires. Pedro loved it here. It suited the two of you—a city where you could get lost, but it never felt like a mistake, only an adventure. As you walked hand in hand through the narrow alleyways, your laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls.

He hadn’t been able to stop staring at you all night, captivated by the way your red lipstick caught the dim light of streetlamps, the way it stained the wine glass at dinner. It was as if the color made everything else disappear, and his attention had been stuck on your mouth, tracing the lines of your lips as you smiled, teased, and bantered with him. The playful glint in your eyes was dangerous, addictive.

“You keep calling me ‘old man’ like it’s supposed to offend me,” he teased, his voice low as you strolled down the empty streets, slightly drunk, arm looped through his.

“Well,” you said, pausing dramatically to look up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You are older. Wiser, though. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “Careful, baby, or I’ll stop giving you the benefit of my hard-earned wisdom.”

“Hard-earned wisdom, huh? Sure,” you teased, your fingers tugging gently at the fabric of his black dress shirt, your steps a little unsteady but your voice steady with danger. “Was it hard-earned the same way you’ve earned all those aches and pains?”

He groaned exaggeratedly, putting a hand to his back, pretending to wince. “See? There it is again. More ageism. You’re really hurting my feelings here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the sound light and free. “You don’t have feelings.”

“I do,” he replied, pulling you closer with a smirk. “But only for you.”

As you walked, your voice drifted into song, soft and playful, filling the quiet streets with warmth. He didn’t know if you realized how much those little moments, like hearing you sing absentmindedly, grounded him, made him feel like everything in the world was where it should be.

“Do you ever stop singing?” he asked, though not wanting you to stop.

“Not when I’m happy,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

His chest tightened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as the city’s chill air wrapped around you both. “I like hearing it.”

When you reached Waldstein Gardens earlier that afternoon, the place had been nearly empty. The serenity of the garden, the way your footsteps echoed in the quiet, felt magical. The trees arched over the pathways, casting dappled shadows that danced as you moved through them, your laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

At one point, you had gotten lost, but neither of you cared. It was part of the charm, part of what made being with you feel so effortless—there was never a rush, never an urgency. You wandered the gardens as though you had all the time in the world.

“Getting lost with you isn’t so bad,” he had said at one point, his hand brushing against yours.

“You’re just saying that because I have no idea where we are.”

“Maybe.” He stopped walking then, turning to face you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth, smudging that perfect red lipstick ever so slightly.

“But it’s true.”

You kissed him then, in the middle of the empty path. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, it felt like Prague, the gardens, the world itself, existed solely to frame this moment.

Later, back in your hotel room, you laughed about how lost you had gotten, and he couldn’t stop looking at your lips, still stained that perfect red.

•••

Budapest was a dream of thermal baths and long, lazy afternoons. One day, you both spent hours soaking in the warm water, your body pressed against his, head resting on his shoulder as you floated aimlessly. He had never felt so relaxed, so completely at ease with anyone else. You were his anchor, keeping him from drifting away into his worries.

“You sing when you wash yourself,” he told you one night as you stepped out of the bathroom, hair wet and a towel wrapped around your body.

“Do I?” you asked, smiling as you pulled him close.

He nodded, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “It’s one of the best sounds in the world.”

"Any requests for my next shower?"

"Hm, maybe some Fleetwood Mac?"

"Excellent choice, señor."

•••

Amsterdam was breathtakingly beautiful, and Pedro started to feel the weight of traveling in his bones. Though he didn't care. He was too busy loving you.

You two were in a bookstore, and you were a few aisles over, browsing through a stack of Russian literature, and he could hear you muttering under your breath, something about Dostoevsky. He turned the corner and found you flipping through a copy of White Nights.

“I swear, I’m like that annoying guy who’s always like, ‘Oh, I love Dostoevsky, I’m so cool, blah blah,’” you said, half-joking but self-aware, and Pedro couldn’t help but laugh at your expression.

He leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, his smile soft and warm. “I actually read Crime and Punishment,” he said. “Surprisingly, it was a pageturner.”

“So, that makes us both annoying, huh?”

“Guess so.” He chuckled, watching as you turned your attention back to the books, eyes scanning the shelves like you were searching for a treasure hidden somewhere in the pages.

Pedro had always been drawn to sad books—melancholic stories, poems filled with longing. He didn’t know why, but they spoke to a part of him that craved depth. Maybe it was his way of dealing with his own emotions, or maybe it was just the kind of person he was.

A few minutes passed, and he found you again, holding a book in his hand. “Have you read The Master and Margarita?” he asked, handing it to you with a curious look.

You shook your head, glancing at the cover. “No, but if it’s one of your favorites, it’s going in the basket.”

You slipped it into the growing pile of books in your arms, and he smiled to himself, a little satisfied. He always felt a thrill when he introduced you to something he loved, like he was sharing a part of himself with you in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

Later that day, you found yourselves biking along the narrow streets, the cool breeze ruffling your hair. Pedro had long since gotten used to the feeling of the city under his tires, but he could still feel the fatigue of the trip settling into his bones.

You, on the other hand, were full of energy, pedaling with ease and laughing as you wove in and out of the winding paths.

“Stop, stop!” you called out, laughing as you veered toward a small ice cream stand by the water. Pedro pulled up beside you, catching his breath as you hopped off your bike, grinning like a kid.

“You want some?” you asked, eyeing the menu as if you hadn’t already decided what you were getting.

He raised an eyebrow, watching you with that look he always gave when you were being particularly cute. “You’re the one who’s always saying I’m the one with the sweet tooth.”

“Yeah, but I’m hot,” you replied, throwing him a playful glance. “Old man, you should try to keep up.”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be offended as he got off his bike. “You know, the more you call me ‘old man,’ the less inclined I am to buy you ice cream.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you ordered two scoops of stroopwafel-flavored ice cream. The vendor handed it over, and you took a bite, closing your eyes in bliss. It was one of the things he loved about you—how you seemed to savor every little thing, even the simple joy of ice cream on a sunny afternoon.

After you had both finished, you found a bench by the canal, sitting side by side as people biked past and boats drifted lazily by. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and Pedro wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your hair mixed with the cool air of the city.

“You know, this has been one of my favorite days,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He smiled, his heart full. “Mine too.”

A few days later, Pedro stretched his legs out on the couch, wrapping them around yours, as the familiar opening scenes of The Princess Bride rolled across the screen. The rain outside was steady, a soft backdrop to the cozy warmth of the hotel room. He was in his element, leaning into the cushions with a contented grin, quoting the movie with ease.

"Farm boy, fetch me that pitcher..." he said in perfect sync with the screen, his voice low and exaggerated. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the slight roll of your eyes.

“Oh my god, P, you do know every line,” you said, your voice tinged with affection as you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "You're such a nerd."

He turned to you, a mock look of indignation on his face. “Uh, do I need to remind you of all the times you’ve made me watch Mamma Mia?” His eyebrow raised dramatically, but his tone was playful. “And each time, you quote it in its entirety—and sing all the songs. Should I get started on Dancing Queen?”

You laughed, the sound soft and light. He loved that sound. Loved that it was his ridiculous comments that brought it out of you.

"Oh, don’t even tell me you don’t love it," you fired back, grinning up at him, your finger poking his side as if daring him to deny it.

He grinned wider, shrugging a little too innocently. “Well... I may or may not have had Super Trouper stuck in my head for weeks after the last time. So thanks for that.” He shifted, planting a kiss on the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair for a moment.

You nudged him, laughing. “I knew it. You love it. Admit it—you secretly love ABBA.”

He groaned dramatically. “Okay, fine. But only because you sing the songs better than the actual cast,” he teased, grinning as he leaned in closer, his forehead brushing yours. "Also, because Pierce Brosnan’s singing makes me feel better about my own.”

“Oh, please,” you said, laughing, “I’ve heard you sing. He's good. You? you...try.”

Pedro’s grin turned soft as he looked at you. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured, his hand absentmindedly running through your hair.

The movie continued playing in the background, but it was quickly becoming an afterthought as you tangled yourself further into him. Your feet brushed against his, and he shifted slightly to wrap his arms around you tighter.

"Honestly," he started again, "I don't know how you do it. Mamma Mia, what, three times a month?"

“Hey, ABBA is universal,” you shot back, poking him again.

Pedro chuckled, leaning back into the cushions.

“Alright, alright.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, and you scrunched it.

“Do you think we’re ever gonna get through a movie without this much banter?” you asked, grinning as you broke the tender moment.

Pedro laughed.“Absolutely not. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes again, settling deeper into his chest as the rain continued to patter against the window, and for a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the movie continuing on without needing your attention.

But then, just as the movie’s most iconic scene approached, Pedro couldn’t resist.

“As you wish,” he said, quoting Westley once more, his voice low and affectionate, his lips brushing the top of your head again.

You groaned, half-laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Pedro murmured, his grin softening into something more tender. “But I know you wouldn't have it any other way.”

"You're right for once."

•••

Lisbon was hot. The kind of heat that makes everything slow down—the air, the conversations, the drinks. Pedro loved it. The golden sunlight bouncing off the tiled walls, the lazy sound of street musicians playing as you wandered through the city together. His friends had joined you both here for a bit, filling the days with laughter and easy company.

Tonight, you were all crammed into a small bar. He was on his third cold beer, the condensation dripping down his fingers as he took a slow sip, savoring the moment. Every now and then, he’d feel your gaze on him, and when he looked back, there you were—teasing him about yet another ridiculous shirt he’d thrown on.

“Is this one an improvement over yesterday’s?” he asked, voice full of mock innocence. He gestured to the vibrant, swirling orange and pink pattern across his chest.

You squinted, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned closer. “It’s loud. I’ll give you that. If we get lost, I can just look for a neon sign with arms.”

He snorted, setting his beer down, and casually placed his hand on your knee. The conversation around the table swirled—friends joking, sharing stories, laughing—but his focus kept drifting back to you. The way your skin glowed under the low light, the way your shoulders were bare, save for that thin scarf you’d tied as a top. Every time you leaned forward to laugh, the knot on your back shifted slightly, and he found himself tracing the lines of it with his eyes, admiring the curve of your spine.

You said his name a lot lately. In that soft, familiar way you did when you were teasing him, or when you wanted his attention, or when you were just... comfortable. Every time you said it, it sent a small jolt of tenderness through him.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger for just a second longer than necessary. The skin was warm from the Lisbon sun, and the smell of your perfume mixed with the salty sea breeze.

One afternoon, the group had convinced you both to take a pottery class. He hadn’t been sure about it at first—clay and his hands weren’t usually a good match—but seeing the excited look on your face when you found the studio made it worth it.

You’d both sat at a long table with his friends, laughing as you tried to shape bowls and cups out of the spinning clay. Your first attempt looked more like a lumpy rock than anything functional.

“Is that supposed to be a mug, or are you sculpting an alien egg?” he teased, leaning over to inspect your disaster of a creation.

He saw you glance at his perfectly shaped little vase and pretended to look offended.

“I’m going for abstract, thank you very much. It’s called art.”

He chuckled, reaching over to smooth out one of the many dents in your clay. “Uh-huh. Very avant-garde of you, Picasso.”

But as much as he teased you, he caught your sneaking glances, a small smile playing on your lips as you focused on your own project. He loved that look, the one you got when you were completely in the moment. It was one of the intangible things about you that had him wrapped up in this feeling—this deep, undeniable love for you that grew stronger with each passing day.

Then, there was that morning with the guitar.

You knew he could play a little—enough to get by—but since he’d be playing in the second season of The Last of Us, he wanted to get better.

Naturally, you’d offered to teach him. The two of you had sat on the balcony of your Lisbon apartment, overlooking the orange-tiled rooftops, the sunlight leaving soft shadows over the city. You had your guitar across your lap, showing him some basic chords.

He was fumbling through a chord progression when you placed your hands over his, your body pressing up behind him to guide his fingers. He could feel your breath on his neck, the closeness making it hard to focus on the strings.

“C’mon, you’ve got this,” you said, your voice encouraging but playful. “It’s not that hard.”

He let out a frustrated laugh, leaning back into you slightly. “Says the musical genius over here.”

You laughed, your lips brushing against his ear. “You’re just distracted,” you teased, your hands still over his, guiding his fingers through the chord.

“Maybe I am,” he muttered, grinning as he strummed again, this time hitting the right notes. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

You leaned closer, your chin resting on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at your face. “See? I’m a great teacher.”

He shifted slightly, turning his head so your faces were almost touching. “Or maybe I’m just a great student.”

“Don’t get cocky, Pascal.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, feeling that same warmth spread through him again. These moments—when it was just the two of you, tangled up in something as simple as learning a song—they felt infinite. He knew he’d carry them with him long after this trip was over.

Back in the bar, as the night stretched on, Pedro sat back and took it all in. His friends, his drink, you. It was the small, intangible things that made him love you more each day. Every once in a while, he’d lean in to place another kiss on your bare shoulder, just because he could. Just because he was happy.

•••

Pedro leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, as the sun dipped behind the whitewashed buildings of Santorini. The sky was a vivid pink, painted like a postcard, and the sea below shimmered in a way that made it look almost unreal. You sat beside him on the balcony, sharing a bottle of white wine, your feet propped on the railing. The light caught your face, and Pedro couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by how the golden hue played off your skin, tracing the curves of your cheekbones, catching in your eyes.

You turned to him, smiling as you took a sip from your glass. “What?” you asked softly, your voice teasing.

He shook his head, smiling back. “Nothing. Just... I’m watching the sunset.”

You laughed, the sound soft and melodic, filling the space between you. “Pedro, the sunset’s over there.” You motioned toward the horizon, but he didn’t budge.

“I know,” he said, his eyes still fixed on you. “I’m watching this sunset.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your cheeks flushed, and Pedro swore he could spend every night like this.

"You're so cheesy."

Later that night, as you lay together in bed, Pedro traced the tan lines on your back, his fingers lightly brushing the places where the sun had kissed your skin. You had fallen asleep draped over him, your breath soft and even, and for a moment, he just watched you, trying to memorize the way you looked right then—beautiful, peaceful, perfect. He wondered if you knew what a cure you were, how you’d managed to stitch up the parts of him he didn’t even know were broken.

A few days later, you dragged him to a small, lively bar tucked away in the maze of Santorini’s winding streets. “Someone told me about this place at breakfast,” you said, pulling him by the hand. “They have fun cocktails, I heard.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, but let you lead him. “Are you sure that's all?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Yes, yes,” you flashed him a grin, that wicked little smile that always made his chest tighten.

The bar was relaxed but bustling, filled with the soft murmur of people talking over drinks. Pedro wore a loose white linen shirt, feeling a bit too warm but too comfortable to care. You, on the other hand, looked like you belonged in a dream—a short, flowy white dress that clung to your body just right, showing off your legs in a way that drove him wild. All his thoughts kept coming back to you in that dress. He couldn’t stop looking. Every time you shifted, crossed your legs, or leaned in to talk, his mind wandered to how good you looked in it.

As the two of you sat at a table in the center, sipping cocktails and bantering over something stupid, Pedro noticed the energy in the room shift. The lights dimmed, and a woman—likely in her 60s, with long white hair and a colorful dress—stepped to the front of the room.

“Good evening, everyone!” she said, her thick accent cutting through the crowd. “If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. And if you haven’t, welcome to the karaoke section of the night!”

Pedro’s eyes went wide. He turned to you immediately.

“Oh no,” you muttered, pulling your chair back. “I had no idea—do you want to leave?”

For a moment, he thought you were about to escape, but instead, the woman with the mic suddenly appeared at your side, handing it to you. You grinned at Pedro, your eyes twinkling with mischief, shrugging as if to say, what can you do?

Pedro let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve ambushed me,” he said, grinning as you stood up and made your way toward the front.

The crowd cheered as you started to sing Honey, Honey, and Pedro leaned back in his chair, watching you in awe. You were working the room like it was your own personal stage, your white dress flowing as you danced in your sandals and smiled, effortlessly captivating everyone.

As the music swelled, you pointed at him during the line, “You look like a movie star,” your eyes locking with his. Pedro played along, pointing at himself with an exaggerated look of confusion, mouthing, “Me?”

God, you were driving him crazy.

The whole room was watching you, and they had their phones out, and he loved it. Loved that this moment would live forever, likely plastered across social media by morning. But more than anything, he loved that you were his, that you could light up any room and still make him feel like the only person there.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and you took a few pictures with some of the guests before sauntering back to the table, sitting down across from him like nothing had happened. Pedro was still grinning, his heart beating fast from watching you, completely enamored.

“Not bad,” you teased, sipping your drink, pretending like you hadn’t just stolen the show.

Pedro leaned across the table, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant just for you. “You’re killing me here, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Killing you, how?”

“You... in that dress,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to your legs before flicking back to your face. “Dancing, in that dress. Singing. It’s unfair, really. I’m trying to keep it together over here.”

You laughed, your foot brushing against his under the table. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Should I have picked a more modest song or…dress?”

Pedro smirked, leaning in even closer, his hand reaching across the table to rest on yours. “You know what’s comfortable?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “The fact that you’re going home with me tonight.”

Your eyes sparkled, and Pedro knew that look all too well. “Well, sir,” you said with a grin, “then I guess I’ll have to make it worth your while.”

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “You already do,” he whispered.

•••

Amalfi Coast was like a postcard come to life. The sea carried out before him, sparkling blue. Both of you spent hours on the beach, the sun hot on your skin. You wore a red bikini that left little to the imagination, and every time he glanced at you, he felt something stir in his chest. There were parts of your body, those sun-kissed curves, that felt too sacred to stare at for too long, yet he couldn’t look away.

You could not be held responsible for his reaction to you, for the cry of your sunburnt skin against the bright red bikini.

When you both returned to the hotel room after a long day, you ordered a bucket of ice. Pedro didn’t question it, watching you from the bed as you moved about the room with that effortless grace you had. When the door clicked shut, you emptied the ice into a small towel and handed it to him.

“Will you do my back, baby?” you asked, voice soft but certain. Of course, he would. How could he deny you anything?

He pressed the cold towel to your sunburnt skin, your body arching slightly under his touch. “You should have stayed in the shade,” he teased, though his voice was filled with tenderness.

"You know how stubborn I am."

He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so content, so completely grounded in a moment. You were his fix, keeping him tethered to this world, to the present, to himself.

Later that night, with the cool breeze from the sea drifting in through the open window, Pedro pulled you close, pressing soft kisses to the places he had soothed with ice earlier. You moaned softly, and he felt that familiar warmth spread through him.

In those moments, he wants to give you everything—his time, his love, his energy. He hopes you take it. He wants to be yours completely, to listen to all of your musings, that you write him a thousand songs and letters, to be your safe space, just as you were his.

•••

He was nominated for an Emmy while you were in Rome, and he could tell you had never been more proud of him. You tackled him in the hotel room when the news broke, showering him with kisses, his laughter echoing through the space.

“Mi amor, you're going to kill me,” he laughed, though his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly.

“I don’t care,” you beamed, your hands cupping his face. “You deserve this so much.”

October 28, 2023

Los Angeles, California

This week was etched into your memory as the final crescendo to a whirlwind of Halloween festivities. LA had been alive with spooky energy the entire month, and tonight was no different.

You had spent the past week with Pedro, hopping from one Halloween event to another, attending parties, and trying to outdo each other with costumes. A few nights ago, you went to Halloween Horror Nights with his sister, Lux, and it had been a blast. You kept things simple with jeans and a t-shirt, but the thrill of the night was anything but.

The three of you had navigated the maze of haunted houses, clinging to each other whenever something jumped out at you. Lux had led the way, fearless, while Pedro and you exchanged shrieks and laughter.

"Okay, next haunted house, I'm going first," Pedro had said, puffing out his chest.

"You said that last time, and yet..." you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lux laughed, shaking her head. "Don't let him fool you, he's jumped every time."

Pedro gasped dramatically. "Betrayed by my own sister. I thought we had a pact."

The whole night had been filled with that kind of lighthearted banter, and by the end, the three of you were breathless from laughing, your sides aching as you relived the best scares over churros and hot chocolate.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the final party of the season, the one you and Pedro were hosting at your LA home. The living room had been transformed with cobwebs and orange fairy lights, pumpkins scattered around with flickering candles inside. The theme for your costumes had been a matter of heated debate all week, but in the end, you’d settled on something so ridiculous it was perfect.

You, in a buttoned-up suit and black tie, with a fedora perched on your head, were Oppenheimer.

Pedro, in black pants, a black shirt with white fringe, a pink bandana draped around his neck, and a white cowboy hat—was Cowboy Ken.

Together, you were, you guessed it: Barbenheimer.

For hours, you floated around the party, telling people, “We’re Barbenheimer!” while Pedro chimed in, “Or more like Kenenheimer, don’t you think?”

The whole night you were drifting from conversation to conversation, catching up with your girlfriends. All your old dramas are revived that night, and it is so sweet. But eventually, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, searching for a moment of peace away from the noise. You opened the fridge to grab another drink when you heard the familiar sound of Pedro's boots behind you.

"Well, hello there," he said, setting down two empty beer bottles on the island. His voice was soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that you recognized immediately.

You turned around, leaning against the counter with a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, hi, baby.”

You took a step towards him, your eyes shamelessly raking over his cowboy getup. He really had committed to the role, he hadn't taken that hat off all night.

Pedro noticed your gaze, smirking as he adjusted his hat. “What are you up to, Oppie? Did you need a drink, or are you just here to admire the view?”

You chuckled, crossing the kitchen to stand in front of him. “You know,” you began, running a hand up the front of his shirt, “when you decided on Cowboy Ken, I was a bit skeptical. I thought you were going to look funny…”

“Oh yeah?”

“But it turns out,” you continued, letting your voice drop, “it’s actually really hot, mister.” Your fingers trailed slowly over the lapel of his shirt, down to his belt.

Pedro tilted his head, his smirk widening into a full grin. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, eyes gleaming. “I guess I have a thing for cowboys now.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke. “Good to know,” he whispered. His hand came up to rest on your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The smell of him, that mix of cologne and something distinctly Pedro, filled your senses.

The morning after the party, you woke up to a flood of notifications. He was fast asleep next to you. Sleepily grabbing your phone, you scrolled through the pictures from last night, stopping at the one you'd posted of you and Pedro in your costumes.

The caption: "Save a horse, ride a Ken."

It had been quite a hit. People were already loving the playfulness of it, but then you noticed Pedro’s comment beneath the post. Of course, he couldn’t resist adding fuel to the fire.

Pedro had written: "How about we skip the horse and go straight to the riding? 😘🐎"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at the screen. It was so him. And of course, the comment section below his was already blowing up with people reacting insanely to it.

This man.

December 22, 2023

Santiago, Chile

Christmas in Chile was supposed to be calm—a peaceful, family-filled holiday with Pedro’s relatives. You'd imagined quiet dinners, soft music, and some traditional Chilean dishes. But in typical Pedro fashion, things didn’t stay quiet for long.

It started innocently enough. The two of you had decided to explore the local market, weaving through the crowds, hand in hand. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of grilled meats and roasted chestnuts, the hustle of people bartering, chatting, and living. Pedro was telling you something funny—some story about when he was a kid and his brother dared him to climb a tree.

You weren’t really listening, though, because your eyes kept catching on the colorful stalls and bright trinkets. It was the perfect, chaotic slice of Chilean life.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened. One minute Pedro was laughing, and the next, his foot caught a loose cobblestone, and down he went. Time slowed for a moment, and all you could do was gasp as you saw him hit the ground, his arm awkwardly twisted beneath him.

“Pedro!” You shrieked, rushing to his side, heart hammering in your chest.

He winced as you kneeled beside him, your hands hovering over him like you weren’t sure where to touch. His face was scrunched up, but he looked up at you with that familiar grin, trying to calm you down despite the clear pain written across his features. “Baby, it’s fine. Calm down.”

But it wasn’t fine. His right arm looked wrong, and even though he tried to brush it off, you knew better. Panic twisted your stomach, and before you knew it, you were helping him up, heading straight to the hospital.

The next few hours were a blur of waiting rooms and x-rays, and you held your breath every time Pedro winced. By the time they had him in an arm sling, you’d run through every possible scenario in your head, imagining the worst. But Pedro, as always, was trying to make light of the situation, his laughter filling the otherwise sterile room.

When you finally sat beside him, a mix of relief and exasperation washed over you. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” you teased, leaning over, your earlier panic slowly dissolving.

Pedro smirked, eyes sparkling despite the bandages. “Maybe later,” he said with a wink, his tone low, full of innuendo.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even in pain, even with his arm in a sling, Pedro was Pedro—never one to let anything dampen his spirits for long.

A couple of days after the initial chaos settled, you found yourselves at his family’s home. Pedro’s sling stood out against the twinkling Christmas lights, but he didn’t seem to care. And neither did you, because as you sat together, surrounded by family, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth. Even if your quiet holiday had taken an unexpected turn, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

December 31st, 2023

Los Angeles, California

New Year’s Eve felt different this time around—different in the best way possible. There was a softness to the night. The party swirled with music and movement, friends mingling and dancing in the flicker of colorful lights. But even with all that, your attention was fully drawn to him.

Pedro looked ridiculously adorable, even with his arm in a sling from that incident, and to top it off, he wore this silly pointy party hat that somehow made him even cuter. Every time you glanced at him, your heart warmed a little more. He had been a trooper through the night, navigating conversations and laughter with his usual charm, but always with that one lazy smile he reserved just for you.

After a few drinks, you found yourself perched on his lap, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His left arm, the one still functional, wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. You were rambling about something silly, pestering him like you often did, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Understood," he said, his fingers tapped lightly against your lips, a gesture that you had come to love.

You caught his fingers, pretending to bite them before leaning in for a kiss. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and familiar, and despite how long you’d been together, every kiss still made your heart race a little.

The song playing in the background, Do Friends Fall in Love?, fitted perfectly.

His hand slid gently down your back, making you shiver at the contact, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your hip.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You smiled, laughing softly as you nuzzled closer. “You’re an open book, Pascal,” you teased, rolling your eyes dramatically, though your words were laced with affection. “Easy to read.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you that half-smile, the one that always made your heart flip. It was a smile full of challenge, like he knew something you didn’t but wasn’t about to tell you.

“Oh yeah?” he muttered, leaning in closer, his lips grazing your ear, making you blush even in the warmth of the crowded room.

The night carried on around you, the music mixing with the hum of laughter and conversations, but your attention never wavered from him. The countdown to midnight began, the excitement in the room rising as everyone gathered with glasses in hand, but you were only aware of the way Pedro’s thumb traced patterns on your thigh, the way his eyes softened as they looked into yours.

“Five… four…”

The rest of the party blurred, voices fading into the background as the two of you stayed locked in that moment.

“Three… two…”

Pedro’s eyes never left yours, and in the space between heartbeats, the room fell away. His gaze was warm, intense, and full of love—so much that it felt like you could melt under it.

“One!”

Cheers erupted around you, glasses clinking, people shouting “Happy New Year!” But you barely heard any of it because Pedro’s lips were on yours, warm, gentle, and full of everything that made your heart feel like it was soaring.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but smile, resting your forehead against his, feeling the soft tickle of his breath against your skin. “Happy New Year, baby,” you whispered, your voice filled with affection.

He smiled back, eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth. “Happy New Year, mi amor,” he replied, his voice low and tender, the words settling between you like a promise for the year to come.

a/n: alright so this was so nice and fun to write. please pleaseee let me know your thoughts besties!!! and don't forget to reblog and like. much love <3

next and final part!

[prettynice8]

My Bodyguard Pt. 2

Jungkook x male reader

this beautiful king

Stuff: fluff, smut, youre both a bit dumb with feelings, like supes fluffy, bottom reader, top Jungkook, missionary, cuddle fucking, kissing, one bed trope? kind of?

Tw: threat used to propel the romance.

Word count: 3,261

Notes: I'm sooooooooo sorry I haven't written in such a long time, i was swamped with stuff and then had no motivation, but then I got a request, and they asked if I was actually going to write it and that reminded me that I had to get off my ass and feed the public what they want, gay shit about real men I have and never will meet, and of course men who are just drawings.

Jungkook couldn't remember a time where he was more carried away in the beauty of another. He couldn't remember the last time he's felt such things for another, he can't remember because it's never happened before.

He was completely and utterly enamored by you, the way you talked, dressed, laughed, cried, yelled, even the way you ate had his full attention, and you felt no less.

You can't get your mind off of that night when he was staring at you, you knew there was something behind his dark gaze other than just a platonic view. He could have been looking at one of the most beautiful sunsets to ever exist, yet he was looking right at you, almost totally ignoring the sun set... why?

These thoughts have been plaguing your mind ever since, it was like you couldn't think of anything else but him. His dark eyes, his tattoos littered on his left hand, the way his jet-black hair looks all sweaty after a workout, his lip piercing that just looks so kissable, his bright and adorable smile, and most importantly the way he looked at you. You weren't so oblivious that you didn't realize the way he looked at you, the way his eyes were always filled with... something whenever he would gaze upon you. You noticed it every time but didn't say anything about it, not knowing yourself what exactly was, and asking your bodyguard why he looked in such ways at you sounds terribly awkward, something you don't think you have the ability to deal with.

"Hey y/n, are you ok?" Jungkook asked, pulling you out of your daze.

"Oh yeah, I'm totally fine." you replied, it wasn't exactly a lie, it was hard to feel anything negative when around Jungkook, which is so funny. When you first met him, you hated the bastard, but now you can hardly stand to be without him, which makes it convenient since he is your bodyguard after all.

Though saying that you are totally fine is a bit of a lie, since you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's like he plagued your every thought, but you can't do anything about it. Telling your bodyguard, basically the man that works for you, that you think about him and only him in ways that aren't necessarily platonic may be quite the odd conversation to have, and one that you'd rather just not have.

But little to your knowledge, Jungkook felt the exact same way. Ever since that night he can't get you out of his thoughts, nor his dreams. He was almost dying, having to constantly be around the person that he's done many a sinful thing while he's asleep, and every time he's with you all he thinks about are these dreams, and since he's always with you it makes it quite the conundrum.

"Are you ok? you seem rather flushed." You pointed out, causing Jungkook to snap back into reality, such as you did.

"Ye-" before he can even finish what he was about to say, you see your father bash into the room in distress.

"What's wrong dad?" You asked, understandably worried about his random outburst.

"I have some terrible news. We've been sent a disgusting letter, a threat, placed on this house." He panted out, fear evident on his face.

"Can I read it?" You let out, your father's fear rubbing off on you.

"Absolutely not, it's too vial, downright evil. Though guard, you probably should." He exasperates.

Jungkook takes the note and reads its contents, his face scrunches up in disgust at the letter. It's filled with threats on the family's life, the same family whose heir is the boy he's infatuated with.

"We need to harden security, and I'll have to be around y/n at all times, be in the same room and have him in my sight constantly, even if this is fake, we have to take it with absolute certainty." Jungkook says to your father, taking swift action while also shocking you, as he's never taken his job so seriously in all the time he's been here so far.

You begin to shake in utter terror, never realizing what your title nor what your family meant until now. Jungkook notices your erratic shaking and attempts to calm you down, holding you tightly against his chest.

Though the terror of the situation still lingers in the air, it is quickly dimmed by Jungkook's touch. He holds you so tightly to his chest that you can hear and feel his heartbeat, which is beating like crazy, understandably.

This is the first time he's touched you in such a manner and it feels great. The threat is so quickly a thing of the past, after all you have gotten them before, nothing as bad as that but being so rich that you're in the public eye definitely has its drawbacks, but all of that seems so silly when you're in Jungkook's arms.

Though you've gotten the worst threat ever, you've never felt more secure in his arms. He continues to hold you tight, even after the shaking has stopped. Jungkook realizes that he's still holding you and he doesn't stop, also enjoying having you in his arms.

He lets go, leaving you disappointed, but that emotion is quickly covered up when he cups you face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. Eyes that are already usually filled with adoration for you, are now filled with genuine care and worry.

"It's okay, I'm here, and I'd sooner die than let anything hurt you." He stated, leaving any worry or fear left in you to be completely squandered.

You continue to look into his eyes which can only be described as way longer than platonic. You match his determined and caring gaze with your longing one, practically getting lost into the infinity of his orbs. The view was far better than any sunset, better than anything up until this very moment. For the first time in the short time you two have known each other you finally know what's going on behind those orbs.

You finally know how he feels about you. With the way he was holding you, and now how his hands gently hold your face, it's clear that he cares about you more than any mere platonic affection, but should you confront him about your findings, or leave it be.

Jungkook, much to your dismay, pulls away from you, his touch leaving you as well, which feels like a devastating loss. You feel so much for him that a possible threat on your life is diminished just from his touch.

Jungkook noticed your gaze and had to pull away, for your father was still right there and he doesn't know what he might do if you looked at him like that any longer.

"Are you ok now?" He asked, genuinely worried about you.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks to you." You responded, not missing the fact that Jungkook's face erupted in blush after you said that. Jungkook is gracious yet surprised that you seem okay, though he assumed that you must have faced multiple of these. This assumption causes him to feel even more guilty about his first impression of you.

"Th-that's good." He said, before realizing that your father has left the room, Jungkook was too caught up in the wonder of you that your father's absence went completely unnoticed. Which brings him to remember all the times he forgot that people were around other than just the two of you. It's a mansion full of servants and helpers, yet he's never noticed them. He's always only noticed your over encompassing presence.

Later that night when you get ready for bed with Jungkook, he insists on getting ready with you so that no one may attack you. You realize that he chooses to sleep shirtless, opting to wear nothing but red plaid pajama pants. You try to look away, you really do, but his muscled biceps, rippling abs, and glorious pecs are just too damn attention catching, it's his fault really.

"Well, night." You said quickly, trying to just go to sleep so you don't have to ogle at him any longer. You almost make your way out of the bathroom until you're stopped by your one and only, Jungkook.

"And where do you think you're going mister?" He asked you playfully.

"Uhm... to bed." You answered, confused as to why he asked that question.

"Not without me you're not." He stated matter of factly, acting as though you should have already known this, and your face erupting in blush does not go unnoticed by him, causing him to chuckle and smirk at you with that damn charming grin.

"Wh-what?" You stuttered.

"You heard me. I can't take any chances with you so I'm going to be sleeping with you." He answered plainly, though his confident facade did shake a little after he realized his poor word choice.

"But..." You tried to deflect but the words got caught in your throat. You can't believe that the same man whom you've had many wet dreams about is actually going to be sleeping in the same room as you. This is absolutely fucking insane.

"No buts, I care far too much about you to take any risks." Jungkook said casually, done talking about it and leading you into your own room, and he of course follows closely after. 

You stop any kind of arguing, partly because you know it's useless but also because of what he said, he actually said he cared about you. Obviously, you knew this already, but to actually hear him say that is something else entirely. You were in awe at the statement, but the reality of the situation came flooding back in as you lay in your bed, and Jungkook didn't just mean sleeping in the same room, HE MEANT THE SAME BED!

The reality of the situation being that the man you're completely obsessed with is laying right next to you, half naked, this is literally the plot to one of your many wet dreams you've had of this man. It's like a dream come true, but also a nightmare.

Your nerves are off the charts, shaking erratically at the prospect of him actually sleeping next to you. You intentionally face your body away from his, since if you could see his face so close you'd probably faint. Jungkook notices your erratic shaking, since he's in the same fucking bed as you. He quickly springs into action, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back to his chest.

"Still scared about the note." He said, not even asking thinks that must be the answer, why else would you be shaking so much, it's not like the man of your dreams is in the same bed as you, shirtless.

"Y-yeah, the note, that's what it is." You lied, since the truth would be far too difficult to come out and speak. Now could you just tell him how you feel, probably, He almost definitely feels the same way, and you do really want to be with him, but it would all be too hard. You're a rich heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in the country, and he's your bodyguard, basically your employee, it wouldn't work between you too... right?

"It's okay, I promise not to let anything bad happen to you, I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to you." He said, trying to calm you down, going as far as to rub his hand on your side, even pulling your shirt up and touching skin. He's just trying to calm you down, why else would he be running his hand along your bare side.

Okay, you have to tell him how you feel. Just by the way he says that is enough to make your heart melt, and you're already getting hard at his touch, you breath catching as he runs his hand along your side. Your breath shakes at the skin-on-skin contact. You know you can't keep it in any longer, you can't, you have to say how you feel now. Declare your lo-

"I love you y/n." He declared, not quite out of nowhere, but certainly not from somewhere either. He said it so casually, it practically rolled off his tongue like it was the most normal thing to say to someone, like saying hello, you still notice the tenderness in how he said it. Even though he said it so casually, it's still obvious that he meant what he said. You can feel it in your soul that he really does, well, love you.

You turn around so you can see him face to face, resting your hand on his cheek and looking into his stunning eyes, "Thank god you said it first." You said, grateful that at least one of you finally declared what was so obvious.

He chuckles at your statement and continues to rub your bare side, his other coming up to hold your chin. "Does that mean..."

"It means that of course I feel the same way as Jungkook. Fuck I've loved you for so long now, it was torture to keep it in." You finally declared your own love for him.

"Then why did you?" He asked.

"I didn't hear confessions from you either." You stated, pointing out the irony of his statement.

"Fuck, that's fair." That's all he says before finally laying his lips on yours.

The kiss is delicate, practically just being a long-lasting peck, but it finally becomes a kiss when he brings in the presence of tongue. Even after he lets his tongue in your mouth, it stays delicate, until it doesn't.

The kiss becomes passionate, his tongue swirling with your own as his hands go to grip your ass tightly, pulling you closer to him as he rubs his ever-present erection with your own. You moan into the kiss which only makes him dive his tongue deeper down your mouth, exploring every millimeter of it with said tongue.

You still can't believe that this is actually happening, but if this is a dream then it better not stop. Though he's gripping your ass so tightly that if it was a dream you would have woken up already.

The kiss is fucking great but dear god do you need more than just his tongue. He senses your restlessness and acts accordingly by dividing his finger in your ass.

His finger intrudes you so quickly you can't help but moan. In fact, you moan so much that you end up breaking the kiss. Jungkook takes no mind as he just tries to pleasure you more, pumping his finger in quickly so he can get you ready for the thing that really matters.

You moan from pleasure and take it upon yourself to return the favor, taking his big cock out of his pants and into your hand. Jungkook groans at the sudden touch and happily accepts it. You quickly match the pace of your hand pumping his cock with the pace of his finger.

Jungkook then fits another one inside you, causing you to grip his dick harder for some kind of leverage, making Jungkook let out another grunt from his lips.

Jungkook pumps his two fingers in and of you more, now being knuckles deep inside and intruding easily, which lets Jungkook know that you're probably ready for the real thing.

he takes his fingers out of your hole and quickly takes his clothes off, that bodyguard training being very useful since he did it all very speedily.

He fully takes off his own pants, opens your legs for better entrance, and then rubs his cock against your rim, letting out many a moan from your lips, but that's pussy shit to what's about to come.

"You ready?" He asked, voice lustful, but he also genuinely wants you to enjoy this just as much as he will.

"Born ready." You cheekily answered, ready to make love with the man you love.

"If I ever go to fast or-"

"Fuck Love please fuck me!" You accidently yell out, Jungkook only responds with a chuckle and kisses your forehead.

"You asked for it." He said, putting his lips on yours again before finally plunging his cock into you.

He starts off by just putting in bit by bit, not wanting to hurt you or go too fast, since he was so big. You're not exactly complaining, though you want to get plowed by him you're also aware that it would hurt in ways that's not even worth it if he started going so fast now, so you settle with passionately making out with him while he slowly but surely fills your hole.

After what feels like forever, he finally bottoms out, he stays still for a bit, kissing you in hopes of distracting you from the gut splitting cock currently inside of you, before eventually moving.

His thrusts start off slow and waiting, as to now break you so soon into the relationship. He's a master at taking his time, which you kind of love, with every thrust you know he cares about you enough to at least let you walk a little next morning, but these thoughts are quickly beaten out of you with the beating his dick soon does on your ass.

Though you can still feel love in every thrust, you can tell he really loves you since he starts thrusting into you like crazy, totally filling your ass again and again with his cock.

Your moans fill the room and his grunts echo through the walls, the entire mansion is probably awake and listening to the two of you making sweet love, but neither of you care. You're both used to zoning others out and just focusing on each other, especially in Jungkook's case.

He lays his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes the entire time, though his cock is splitting you open, he still wants you to know that this is an act of love, which is why his arms are completely wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close.

The closeness of your bodies can't hold a candle to the closeness you feel emotionally with him, but it does help. You've never felt so connected with another person and probably will never feel so close. The way he deeply kisses you mixed with the way he's holding you, and of course the fact that he's literally physically inside of you is a big part of why the moment feels so special.

After a few more thrusts you moan ear splittingly loud as you cum all over his chest, finally feeling release.

"Can I?" He asked like the sweetheart he is, in which you immediately, to fuc- I mean loved out to speak. He smiles and grunts loudly as well, not at all as loud as you but who's counting, as he too reaches climax, filling your asshole with his hot cum.

He stays inside of you, not having to move much since you both are practically already cuddling.

And that's how you both stay, Jungkook buried inside of you while holding you tightly close to him, your head resting on his muscular chest.

"I love you y/n." He declared, holding you even closer.

"I love you too, Jungkook." You declared right back, "I'm beyond ecstatic that my soulmate is also my bodyguard."

THE END

final thoughts: tell me if you got the kiss is when there's tongue reference.

[tactical-jellyfish]

Tf 141 with an s/o who loves fiber arts!

Word count= roughly 1,750

Warnings: No! Just fluff with the lads :) Enjoy (but inly if you wanna)!!!

Kyle, who really never thought that knitting would be this hard, considering how much you raved about it keeping you both calm and properly stimulated. Now, he sits by your side on the living room floor, shakily holding two bamboo needles in his hands and trying to hold the "working yarn" (the yarn attached to the ball, apparently) the right way as you tenderly lecture him for being a dunce. "No, baby, you need to get through the stitch first before you yarn over-" Your voice is so pretty like that, trying to steer him from making another weird-looking hole for no real reason, but Kyle just whines again as you take the swatch into your own hands, finish off the whole row like some magic creature of the yarn and thread.

"You said that this was supposed to be easy, luvie." He whines into the crook of your neck, having loosely wound himself around your side as you showed him exactly what to do for the fourth time this hour. Some part of him loves the unfailing tenderness, the softness of your voice and the way you poorly hide the fact that you're laughing at him under your breath. "Sorry, i just thought-" There's a snort from your lips as giggles envelop you, your smile turns wide. Kyle's heart melts a little in his chest "I just thought you'd be better at this-"

Kyle gasps in mock offense, before pushing the needles to the floor, already planning his revenge for that little slight. "Say that one more time, and I'll give yer little magic sticks to my nieces and tell 'em they're swords." He revels in the shocked gasp you give, and grins as you bat him upside the head. "Hah, funny man. Try." Your voice is quieter, a little bit more dangerous, just daring him to do that very thing. Kyle saves his own ass by pecking your cheek, gently taking your hands into his own. "I wouldn't, babes, you know I wouldn't." There's not a modicum of lie in that statement. Kyle knows that the sweetest ones are the most terrifying, and his mum would never let him hear the end of it if he lost you. "Yeah, I do know you wouldn't, jus' wanted to mess with you." It's Kyle's turn to gasp now, but he smiles when you kiss his cheek in return, leans into you like a lapdog despite himself. Tonight's going to be good, and he knows it.

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Johnny, who remarkably managed very, very well with embroidery. You had been so happy to see him, posted on the couch next to you, working away at the hoop, having only very few questions on how he should hold the thing, if the tension you kept talking about was a little bit off. For an hour, maybe two, it was lovely. Simple silence as you leaned up on his shoulder, working a larger project as the Scot figured out exactly what he was doing on his own. Deft hands, you watched him pick apart the small knots in the thread without issue. It flooded your heart with pride. "Are you finally going to let me see the thing, Johnny?" You questioned playfully, trying to straighten your spine to get a peek before there's a big hand shoved over your eyes, and a thick accent chiding you for your gall. "No!" He squawks, you just know that he relishes in not letting you see, riling you up through your own curiosity, because Johnny is, at his core, a cheeky little shit. "Ye gotta wait, mo leannan, ye cannae jus' peek like that!" It draws a grumble from your lips, but you close your eyes, gently take hold of his wrist in your hand and nod, giving a softer affirmation before he coos at you. "Don' worry, it's almost done anyway." He soothes you with a soft peck to your temple, and just like that, you're calm again, all heart-eyed and dumb with love, relaxed. It's another thirty minutes before the finished product is tenderly set into your lap, and you gasp in surprise before seeing it. It's... stupid. An old sketch of his that really had amused him all too much, one of you from a picture at a night out (you had tripped on a root and he managed to get a picture of your face mid-fall) that he had always seemed too damn enamored with. "Oh my god." You press your hand to your face in shame, already feeling ridiculous before Johnny laughs brightly, pressed a firm, wet kiss to your cheek. "You look lovely! Don't ye? I think you look lovely." It's a sweet sentiment, enough to endear you to the terrible, terrible thing that your fiancé has chosen to immortalize and drive a too-fond sigh from your lips. "You're lucky that I love you." You grumble, giving Johnny a half-hearted glare before he swoops in to sweetly kiss your lips, because he really does know you too well. "Aye, I really am" He doesn't miss a beat, still grinning like an idiot. It makes your chest soften, your guts go mushy and fluttery. "Don't be coy, MacTavish." You reprimand. He grins, and kisses you again for good measure.

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Simon, who really didn't think this would be necessary, but here he is, sitting next to you cross-legged on the floor with the hook in hand. "Like this, right?" He speaks gruffly, and loosens his posture for you to peek over his shoulder. He feels the ghost (pun intended) of a smile pulling up at his lips when he hears your affirmative hum. "Yeah. You're doing real good, honey," Your voice wafts into his ear so nicely, floods his mind so deliciously, the only person that Simon knew he would always listen to, his angel right here on Earth. "Out of curiosity, have you ever done this before?" When you finish your question, Simon does let that smile grow on his face, lets the warmth flood into the cavity of his chest, seep into the crevices of his soul, heal the damage bit by bit. Simon leans his head on yours, and takes in a breath. The truth was, he had. One night, after a particular date when you had entirely infodumped a current project to him, he had done a little research. Then, promptly after, learned to crochet, even if it was only the basics. It paid off now, with you on his arm and impressed with his skill. "Nah. Maybe I'm just good at this, hm?" He denies that, shuffles his cheek closer into yours, soaking up the warmth that you radiate, relishes in the soft chuckle that you give. "Mmh, maybe you're gonna be even better than me, is that your plan?" Your teasing is soft, given out of affection. It makes Simon smile, makes him relieved that he's once again managed to make sure that a date went well. "No. Just pick things up fast." The mood really is dead in the water, but Simon really loves that you seem to thrive in that, that you still peck his cheek anyway despite him practically having negative game. "Smartass." You chirp at him, setting down your own piece on the floor before wholesale resting your head on Simon's shoulder. He fights a chuckle. "Better than being a dumbass, isn't it?" The joke wasn't his (he stole it from Johnny), but when you laughed, Simon knew it was well worth it anyway.

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

John, who was more than content to help you work on another big project of yours. He was endlessly proud of you, how wonderfully you worked on those commissions and how perfect they always looked when you finally shipped them off. But disaster always strikes at one time or another, and the cat is often the cause of that. After maybe an hour of soothing his panicking partner, John had you wrapped up in a blanket in the corner of your own office, gently taking the needle into his own hands to sew the small tear in the fabric back together as you sniffled a little bit. Were you more than skilled enough to fix this issue yourself? Yes. But John felt particularly loving lately, wanted to make sure that his lovely, hyper-competent partner knew that they could rely on him. Because they always could. When he speaks, its gently, glancing up from the fabric in his hands to look into your eyes, still a little bit bloodshot from the tears. "Don't worry yourself, sweetheart. My mother didn't raise a man who doesn't know how to do repairs." The comfort was genuine, both an assurance of his skill and a statement that you could just lay back, let him take the reins for once and allow you to calm down a little bit. "But-" you sniffle, wipe at your nose with a tissue, and John doesn't allow you to question this. "Nope. None of that self-doubt, yer therapist already said that's bad, didn't she?" You nod, John watches your cheeks flush a bit simply because he remembered, that he cared enough to stow that away in the back corners of his brain. Oh, if only you knew how much he adores you, your little heart would blow up. "I can't just let you do my work for me, John, that's not right." The small rebuttal makes him pause in the middle of a stitch, gently set the needle down. His darling had the morals of a saint, why was he surprised by that? "Who said that I was doing your work? Maybe I'm just your guest of honor, sweetness." John speaks softly, shoots you a cocky grin that finally brings a smile back onto your face. "Yeah, yeah, alright," He smiles as you stand, wraps a strong arm around your midsection as you tuck yourself into his side, calming all of the way back down, turning back into the wonderful, sweet, bordering perfect partner returning to form once more. "That means that you have to sign it, too, you know." You tease in return as John nervously swallows, knowing damn well he is hopeless to ever replicate the pure beauty that is your signature on professional pieces. "Well, I'm not so sure about that-" He uselessly stutters to the joke, feeling his own cheeks heat up more than a little bit at the invitation. "Oh, don't be like that, I could teach you." Now that makes Price melt.

[ju1cyfru1t]

Hiii pooks! 😙 I love❤️ ur writhing sm

I’ve been having such a spider man phase after watching the new spider verse movie and I was wondering what would the turtles think when they figured out reader being NY’s Spider women or spider person like they haven’t told thier turtle bf about it and stuff (live for the drama😵‍💫)

Always love you and def feel free to ignore!

I LOVE THIS thank you pookie 🤭 hope u like it 🫶🏻🕸️ u didn’t specify so I’m gonna assume you meant the rise turtles!

Rise! Leo, Mikey, Donnie, Raph x Spider-Woman! S/O

ROTTMNT x Reader

fluff! :D, fem! reader, contains swearing, not proofread

Leo

- He may not be the brightest mutant, but he is observant

- Probably interrogated the info out of you

- -> “Y/N, where exactly were you last night?” “Oh, uh…I was with, um, April.” “That’s funny…considering April was with us!”

- It didn’t really shock him to find out you had a big secret, what did shock him is what that secret is

- He’s also a little hurt that you didn’t tell him. Don’t you trust him??? But that wasn’t his biggest concern

- “Wait, so like…spider woman as in like, big mama kind of spider woman?” NO-

- You would have to really explain it to him

- But let’s be real, he still wouldn’t understand so you’d have to show him by like climbing up the fucking wall or something

- But he really does think your powers are super sick

- Laughs when you try to explain your spidey senses -> “wait, you’re serious?”

- ^ calls them your “tingly thing”

- maybe you can web his fucking mouth shut

- LOVES your suit, thinks you look stunning and super awesome

- “You know, I always said that was your color Y/N!”

- Invites you to patrol with them! (then he doesn’t have to do as much)

- thinks you’re so hot when you fight (NOT IN A FREAKY WAY YOU FREAKS) and hypes you up

- freaks tf out if he ever gets a web on him, including if you were to swing with him to get out of harms way

- doesn’t ask for them, but he can’t deny he likes the iconic Spider-Man kisses

Mikey

- would just straight up ask if you’re hiding something. Dr.Delicate touch DOES NOT PLAY ‼️

- Of course this would be something you’re hesitant about, but he would remind you that you can confide in him

- Def was not expecting THIS.

- He is asking you a million questions all at once, and will sit nicely and listen as you explain with starry eyes (stop lookin at me with them big ole eyes)

- You’re #1 fan and biggest hype man

- Thinks you’re the coolest person ever fr

- Wants to swing around on your webs with you. Around NYC, in the lair, in Donnie’s lab, on missions, it doesn’t matter he WANTS it.

- THE ICONIC SPIDER-MAN KISSES ALL THE TIME ITS HIS FAVORITE WAY TO KISS YOU NOW

- weirdly interested in your webs 🕸️

- Compliments your suit anytime you wear it around him; thinks your mask is so so cute

- ^ in his free time he’ll sketch and color new suit designs to show you (also just drawings and paintings of you in your suit)

Donnie

- isn’t going to pry any secrets from you; but he does secretly wish you’d come to him on your own.

- so you can imagine his gratitude and relief when you finally tell him what’s up

- Doesn’t really say anything about it, but he doesn’t get why you didn’t just tell him sooner. I mean, you do know he’s a hero too, right?

- he’s fascinated, he’s never seen anything like your powers before. especially because you’re not a mutant.

- really just asks questions about how it all works. Your webs, how you stick to surfaces, your enhanced senses, the whole deal yk?

- He did NOT like big mama’s webs, and he doesn’t really like yours either I’m so sorry.

- ^if he needs them, would ask to use some like he did with Big Mama’s

- It’s not you I swear he just can’t do it

- you could like climb all over his lab ceiling and walls and scare the shit out of him tho

- ^ “Y/N get down this instant! WE TALKED ABOUT THIS-“

- admires your enhanced senses and intuition of danger

- is absolutely gonna make gear for you, as well as offering to make upgrades to your suit

- wouldn’t really directly say it, but he really likes the design of your suit. it just fits you so well. (he IS going to make a purple one for you)

- would scream if you ever just dropped down in front of him to kiss him spider man style

- ^ traumatized; it’s not his favorite thing but he doesn’t mind terribly

Raph

- might take him a while to notice if something is off about you. Leo or Mikey would probably have to directly point it out for him to realize fully

- Isn’t going to beat around the bush and just asks why you’re acting lowkey shady

- really shocked, might take him a second to process even if he doesn’t really know exactly what you mean at first

- honestly he understands why you keep it a secret, just a little saddened that you kept it from him

- He’s gonna need you to really explain your powers

- “…where do the webs come out of tho?”

- would deepen your bond and connection. you can really relate to each other carrying a deep burden and the pressure of responsibility.

- AMAZING DUO with his strength and your agility

- very good hype man

- takes you on most missions and patrols, thinks you’re a really valuable asset to the team

- also calls your spider senses your “tingly thing”

- it’s not that he doesn’t like your webs, something about them just make him nervous. Refuses to let you swing him on them unless he’s in immediate danger.

- does NOT let you crawl around the lair walls, he’s scared you’ll hurt yourself

- ^ “Y/N! You’re gonna hurt yourself, GET DOWN!”

- really thinks you look so pretty in your special suit, he just doesn’t know how to say without feeling like he sounds dumb. He would DIE if it was red.

- “ I really…er, like your costume.”

- very supportive! he gets the struggle of protecting the city, but is happy you get to do it beside each other. :D

- he likes the spidey kisses, they just really fluster him

——————————————————————————

y’all I’m sorry if there is any misinformation in this don’t flame me but I haven’t seen atsv yet

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Super excited to see more Fourth Wing content on Tumblr. I don't have any specific ideas yet, but maybe some fluff with our hot wingleader Xaden? Or some wholesome training scenes with the dragons?

It needs to be brought here because it's a crime to have practically nothing here!!!

Morning lights

The morning sun wasn't even fully out when Aetos banged on every single door on the first year's floor shouting something about the promised training and how lucky everyone should feel that he's taking his time to put in extra work even if it should be a punishment for performing worse then others squads in the last training session.

You suddenly become hyper-aware of the still-cold morning air seeping through the window, that you left ajar last night. Dawn is still breaking outside. Light shades of pinks and oranges painting the horizon. It's a beautiful sight. One you wouldn't want to miss or at least enjoy one of the mornings when someone isn't forcing you out of bed.

You move to get up slowly but two strong hands instantly tighten over your lower stomach, drawing you back to where you were laying moments ago. "Remind me to spit into Aetos morning coffee", the husky voice fills the space. You let out a breathy chuckle, turning slightly in the embrace of the man who's been sharing your bed for some nights now. "Don't, he might come swinging at me", you mutter, trying not to fully chase his sleep away since his eyes were still closed. He lets out a slightly frustrated huff, "I would love to see him try", and here it is real Xaden Riorson lethal, powerful, ready to fight at any given moment.

It was slightly funny how this big muscular male was squeezed beside you looking like an absolute work of art that didn't belong in the first year's bedroom. Your fingers carefully moved to run through Xaden's dark hair, nails scratching the scalp softly. The most content sigh leaves his lips as his hands grip your hips tightly.

"Wingleader, the cadet is needed on the training grounds", you say in a more serious tone, in a way mocking Aetos. But you also know that time is working against you now. You do need to get out of bed and get ready. The last thing you want to listen to is grumpy males complaining. "This cadet is needed in bed", Xaden mumbled against your skin, bringing you even closer to him, his warmth seeping into your skin and now you understand why you didn't feel the cold breeze from outside. How could you when you have a whole personal heater in your bed? "Is that an order?", you tease, Xaden opens one eye, throwing a glare your way, "Yes. Yes, it is".

Yet it all wasn't that simple. He was still a wingleader. A wingleader who shouldn't even be here in the first place. Because the conclusion that everyone would go straight to would be that you slept your way into safety. And you don't want to be labeled as a whore. This place was a shit show as it is most of the time.

You firmly push at Xaden's arms, the last thought fueling you with enough strength to pull away from him. "No...", he tries to grab onto your hips once more but you're out of his reach now. Could he easily drag you back? Yes. One flicker of his shadows and you would be pinned to the bed. But he's not stupid too. The commotion outside the door is getting louder. Meaning that you're running out of time.

"Now you're being a whiny baby", you tease, pulling Xaden's shirt from your body and reaching for your flying leathers instantly. Better safe than sorry in these kinds of situations. "I'm not a whiny baby", he argues back and you can hear the announcer in his voice that makes you chuckle, "And now his masculinity has been scarred", you place your hand on your chest sighing dramatically. "Sometimes I hate you", he rolls his eyes, before moving to sit up. His muscular chest somehow looking even more unreal in the early morning light. But you shake your head quickly, reaching for your daggers, "Oh same... look at us sharing mutual emotions", you flash him a smile that he doesn't return.

"Be careful", he says, eyes now practically cutting right through you. One of his shadows move to caress the scar that now was forming on your forearm. You brush your fingers over the shadow, "I'm always careful". But you can tell that the worry growing within him is much bigger than most mornings. "This is something Aetos came up with. Most definitely no one in command...", but you cut the distance between you, knee pressing into your mattress as you lean closer to him, "I will be fine, Riorson", you lean in brushing your lips over his. The kiss is gentle and soft. A rare moment because most of the time it's filled with so much speed and desire that you lose yourself in the moment. Not even noticing when it ends. "And I have Liam" you mumble, packing his lips one more time before turning to leave. Xaden growls and you know that it's because you said another male's name right before kissing him. Territorial bastard.

"Any clues about what this is?", you catch up with Liam, who instantly wraps you up in a side hug as you walk alongside the others.

"Not really. Some bullshit", he grumbles still sleepy. "Use your far sight signit", you wrap your hands around his middle. "And look into Aetos insides?", you let out a laugh, quickly clasping your hand over your mouth and shoving Liam slightly. Yet a couple of heads instantly turned your way. Jack one of them. Instantly glaring at you. You return the favor by flipping him off but that only makes his snarl more.

Morag. You call out. Not far away. The voice rings out, soothing you in a way. Do you stink of wingleader once again? You roll your eyes. Mind your business. Morag lets out a dramatic sigh. I have to carry your stinky ass. You flip him off mentally. Out of the two of us, it's you who stinks.

"I'll see you out there", Liam taps your shoulder as he walks towards his dragon. Wrapping your arms around yourself you watch as he jog towards Deigh. You can't imagine your life without him now either. You two had bonded almost immediately. After crossing the parapet you burst into tears. Liam had instantly stood in front of you shielding you from the crowd and equally as much not letting others see your tears. "If it helps, I'm sure a shat myself midway", he had whispered, making you let out a chuckle as you whipped your tears.

But you're brought out of your head as a hand holding a cloth clasps over your mouth and you're brought into a tight chest with a huff. Your hands instantly move to push away from the person holding you down, moving and wiggling in its hold. "Squad whore", the words ring in your ears and you instantly know how this is. Just don't have much time to be mad when a wave of dizziness hit you. That fuck must have dosed the material in something.

I'm almost there. Hold on. Morag's voice fills your head. Your nails dig into his pam as you try to rip it off your face. But then you see the gleam of light. Reflection. Sun. A dagger. Your eyes widen. Jack strikes for a kill just you move you heal up shoving between his legs as hard as you can. The blade zaps the side of your neck, and the warm blood trickles down almost immediately. "I'll end you bitch", Jack barks from behind you. You try to step away but your legs buck as you come in contact with the ground. The roar pierces the field. For a moment you feel relief flowing through you because it has to be Morag but it's the blue wings that make your gut drop. Even the shouting from cadets dies down. Sgaeyl. Why is she here? She shouldn't be here. You try to push your hands against the ground. You need to get out of her way as well, yet your body feels so heavy. She lads with a thud, sending dirt debris flying all over.

Xaden you plea in your head, gods what a way to die by his dragon. Just Sgaeyl steps closer, growling as she glares ahead. You count your last seconds and then her wing moves over you. Drawing away the early sun. You feel the blast of heat and then an agony-filled cry.

Breath Morag orders. What's happening? You ask, feeling your consciousness starting to slip, your hand now clasping the side of your neck. You stink of someone and you're sure Morag is rolling his eyes. Xaden. Sgaeyl felt Xaden on you. Or has he told her something? Does he know? Sgaeyl moves her wing away, and her snout if you can call it that moves closer to you as she inhales your scent. "Thank you", you mutter, "Just tell Xaden a less dramatic story, please", you're not sure but it sounds like she lets out a snort before moving to nudge your hand and then everything goes black.

When you open your eyes once more it takes you a moment to realize what had happened as memories filled your head. Head. Head that was pounding. The tightest on your neck piercing with pain. "Love", a voice rings out and you flinch instantly. Warm fingers run down your arm, that same comforting warmth that you know. You blink your eyes a couple of times. Waiting for your eyes to concentrate. And there he is. His hair was messy from all the pulling he must have done. The shirt slightly wrinkly. "Why are you here?", you ask groggy, hand instantly reaching for your throat at the uncomfortable pulling. "In my room? Or with you?", panic runs through you. You can't be in his room. No. No. No. People will talk. You move to sit up but Xaden's arms instantly hold you down.

"You're not going anywhere. Gave me enough of a fright", he grumbles in frustration, "I didn't ask for it", you argue back. Something in his eyes darken, "And I did? I've never ran faster and you were there behind Sgaeyl wing all bloody", his voice raising with every word he spoke. Your gaze softens. Losing had always been his biggest fear. And it's been a long while since he had something precious to lose. "Sgaeyl saved me all thanks to you I'm sure", you lace your fingers through his. Xaden shakes his head, "That's all her doing. I did get a lecture about not taking proper care of you", you let out a slight chuckle, imagining her lecturing him and him not being able to talk back, "Say thank you to her from me", you mutter.

Xaden runs his fingers through your hair, letting out a sigh, "I...I love you", he whispers, bringing your hand closer to his lips. You smile at him sweetly, brushing your free fingers across his cheek, "And I love you". Xaden leans in, brushing his lips over yours before pressing his forehead against your shoulder, "Though I wish I could bring him back just so I could kill him myself", he grumbles, "Xaden!", you warn him, yet let yourself chuckle.

[literaila]

listening ears 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: in which peter is terrible at keeping secrets. and socks. 

warnings: idiots to friends to lovers, no angst just pining, arguments, fluff, ahhhh

a/n: heres the link to the playlist. for a real time experience, listen. (this makes it sound like an amusement park which i think is funny)

word count: 10k

the first time you meet him, you're listening to sad music. 

it's unclear which song--being that it's late enough that they've begun to blur together, instrumental shifting to piano and soft sullen voices and heartbeats you can't hear but feel--but it rings in your ears as he walks by. 

as spider-man is suddenly in front of you, suddenly right in front of your bench, flashing blue and red and ego and playing with some weird white string between his fingers. 

you're also fairly certain that he's cursing. 

so, quietly, you hit pause on your phone, taking out an earbud. you watch him, hoping that he's already noticed your presence. 

hoping that maybe he'll leave and there will be no questioning--from either of you--about what you're doing out this late on a night like this. 

the snow on your head has melted, turning your hair several different forms of wet. 

and when spider-man has not looked up, or any other place he might be mugged, you, graciously, clear your throat. 

alerting him of your presence and beginning an attempt to beg him to leave. 

spider-man, unsurprisingly, jumps back. 

his white eyes are wide, but that might just be the costume. 

you smile and wave. 

"wha--" he looks around, behind himself, like you might be waving at someone else. "when did you get there?" he asks. 

his voice is quieter than you've heard it before. less animated. maybe a bit rough, or sore. 

you tilt your head, lifting a brow. "about an hour ago." 

spider-man stares blankly at you. "no." 

you contemplate laughing, or maybe tripping him with your leg as he peers closer at you, but ultimately hum. "okay." you drawl, "maybe i didn't." 

your smile is soft. your voice is abundantly sweet. 

you do not doubt that if spider-man wanted to, he could make both of you disappear in an instant. 

not that you're afraid, of course. you've seen the news. and experienced an average day in new york. 

spider-man tries again to pull his hands apart. fails. 

"sticky?" you ask him, swinging your legs. 

you think--but really just know--that spider-man glares at you. 

and then, with the subtleness of a child, he leans up again, straightening his back. clears his throat like he's got a lot to say. "what are you doing out so late?" 

his voice might be even deeper now, as some method of intimidation. 

unfortunately for him, you got over your fear of spiders a couple of months ago. 

"i could ask you the same thing," you respond. 

spider-man does not find this amusing, apparently, because he just stares at you. waiting and watching. 

eventually, maybe just to evade some awkward silence approaching, you sigh and relent. "i was drawing," you say, gesturing to the notebook you set aside. 

you don't tell him about the music, or your sore eyes. 

or about how when he first showed up you almost fell off the bench. 

these are things he probably doesn't need to know, you think. 

spider-man must frown or something because he grumbles out his next question. "drawing?" he repeats. "at three in the morning? in the dark?" 

"there's a light right there," you point to the streetlight above your head, the picture of innocence. 

you continue to smile at this man, if only because he seems to find it immensely irritating. 

"aren't you cold?" 

"the weather?" you furrow your brows, criticizing him. "c'mon, i thought you were better than that." 

"it's snowing." 

"i hadn't noticed." 

"your paper is getting wet--" he points to your notebook, to the soiled edges. 

it's the first thing to make you frown since he's shown up. 

"shit," you whisper, brushing some snow and lead off of the paper. "i liked this one." 

"sorry." spider-man clears his throat again. he bounces between feet like he's freezing. 

"is spandex warm?" you ask him, leaning forward. 

"i'm fine."

you frown. "are you always this grumpy? or is it just cause i scared ya?" 

"you didn't scare me." 

"must be the hands then," you say, leaning over so you can try and see the hands he's kept hidden behind his back. 

but spider-man pulls them out--two of them--wiggling his fingers. 

you frown. "how'd you do that?" 

spider-man doesn't answer. instead, he looks around, probably for someone to rescue him. 

unfortunately, everyone else went to bed hours ago. 

you grin at him, suddenly and smoothly, holding your notebook out to him. "wanna see?" 

spider-man is definitely judging the mess of a journal you have, but he takes it from you anyway, if a bit hesitantly. "whoa--" he says, turning it over. and then he pauses. 

he looks back to you. 

you smile. 

"this is a penis." 

you and maturity have never gotten along. 

you make an effort to keep a blank face--snickering internally at the dry way he says it--and shake your head. "no," you say, "if you turn it over it's a smile." 

spider-man does so. 

and surely behind the mask, he's doing a slow blink, probably scowling at you. 

"do you like it?" you ask him, keeping your voice soft and sincere. 

he hands it back to you, sighing. "you should head home." 

"so, no?" 

"really," he says, almost gently. "you'll get frostbite. there's a reason no one else is out." 

you blink, leaning back. "except you?" 

spider-man swings his arms back and forth. he looks away. "except me." 

"you can't get frostbite?" you guess. 

and spider-man, despite himself, tries to smother a laugh with a cough. but you hear it clearly enough. 

you furrow your brows as you peer at him. 

and so he points a finger at you, stern. "get packing." 

"what if i live on this bench?" 

he doesn't laugh this time. he just starts to walk away, eyes still on you. "if you're not gone in five minutes i'm swinging you home." 

"you don't know where i live," you say, calling his bluff. 

but he turns around, waving nonchalantly.

you watch him, maybe surprised or irritated. 

either way, you call after him. 

and he spares you a glance. 

"maybe i'll draw you next time," you say. 

and then he's gone, and you're switching playlists. 

*

when peter runs into the bathroom he's not really thinking about germs. 

or toilet seats or washing his hands, or, obviously, checking the stalls for anyone else in there. 

the fire alarm went off two minutes ago; anyone who remains, peter thinks, is probably not going to connect any dots between him and spider-man. 

and when he unzips his backpack, digging his suit out of one of the pockets and cursing as pencils and pens fall onto the ground, he wonders why he didn't iron it this morning. 

why he even tried to do laundry yesterday, considering that he's not very good at it and may has definitely noticed. 

still, he kicks his shoes off. 

the floor isn't wet this time, peter's thinking, so thank god for that. 

he swings his jacket off of his shoulders and hurries to unbutton his pants. 

there's a gentle buzzing of a fan in the corner, only slightly drowned out by the siren that is giving peter a headache. and flashing lights. and people running by. 

and lots of chances to get caught, but not enough care in the world. 

and if peter focuses enough, he can hear some type of music playing, somewhere close. 

loud bass, quick rhythm. 

he almost pauses to think about it, and then decides against it.

he flings his pants onto the floor, folding his shirt over his head. 

it is very cold in this bathroom. 

still, peter slides his socks off, hating the tiled floors, and internally screaming when one of the socks falls under the stall, disappearing to places that peter does not have time to look in. 

and then he's squeezing into a very irritating suit. 

trying to remind himself what the greater good is and blah blah blah. . . 

but his arms are sore as he tries to zip it up, jumping to reach. 

peter is insanely grateful for doors and peace and quiet and advil, of course. 

and finally--finally--when he has the suit on, he scrambles to pick up everything he left on the floor while also putting his web-slingers on. 

a good effort, really. 

he sticks his backpack to the wall, promising himself that he's not going to forget it. 

and then he unlocks his stall, beginning to step out when he catches a glance of you. 

standing right in front of him, white earbud dangling toward the ground, proud smirk as you hold his sock up. 

peter pauses. he stares at you. 

you tap an innocent finger on your chin. "aren't you supposed to check the bathroom before you change?" 

peter's first move is to try and grab the sock from your hand. but you, swift on your feet, duck away, humming to yourself. 

"you're gonna go save a bunch of people with a sock in your hand?" you ask him.

peter thinks for a moment--not about socks, thank god--if you were standing in there when he walked in. 

if you had paused when he burst through the door, not thinking about what bathroom this was or any person who might've stuck around. if your eyes were wide and mischievous--as they are now--when he quickly ducked into a stall. 

but he knows, really, that you weren't there. 

because, peter recognizes, he wouldn't have been able to miss you. 

still, you're smirking at him. 

"better get out there, spider-man," you say, gesturing towards the door. 

and peter doesn't have the time to curse at you because you're right. 

he doesn't bother to try and grab his sock again. 

and when peter opens the door he can hear it--

your laugh. 

and a gentle throbbing of another one bites the dust coming from your headphones. 

*

you're trying not to laugh. 

really, it's an extreme effort as you store the snort deep inside your chest, trying to melt the smile off of your face. 

you are squirming in your seat as your sternum begs for some sort of relief. 

and you contemplate leaving the library before this goes too far. before you start cackling in his face, unable to hold back--even if he gives you a weird look and everyone else around you starts complaining. 

there's not much you can do to stop it, honestly, not when you've been sitting here, studying, for the last hour, music lulling you almost to sleep. and not when the boy who is now sitting in the cubicle next to you kicked his feet out, revealing some scruffed up converse. 

and of course, some mismatched socks. 

when you looked down--in a moment of weakness, dropping some type of pencil--you had to do a double take. 

not that you can judge this boy, who you've been studying for the last five minutes and his choice of attire. you lose your own socks all of the time. 

but there's a grey sock, plain and casual and not unlike your own. and then, just a couple of inches over, there's another sock. this one with a striped, colorful pattern, and words on the other side that you can't really read--for lack of view--but recognize almost immediately. 

because, coincidently, you have the same sock in your backpack, awaiting a certain visitor. 

and so, as soon as you looked up at this boy, the amusement crowded your not-so-subtle eyes. 

he's got brown hair, a frown on his face as he reads a textbook that looks much more than dreadful. his chin is jutted out, his teeth idly munching on the lip between them. a headphone in one ear.

and, of course, this boy doesn't look over. he seems almost unaware of your presence. 

and maybe that's what makes this so funny. 

being that you've experienced this a couple of times now, and it's getting really hard to not say anything about it. 

synchronicities, you know, can only go on for so long. 

and this boy--this strange, somewhat attractive boy--is blissfully ignorant. 

and you can't believe that he's wearing those socks in public.

you clear your throat, smile unstoppable now. 

but he doesn't look over. 

and you cover your mouth, shaking your head and turning yourself completely so that when he finally does decide to look over, he will know that you've been staring at him. 

he will know that there's no avoiding this interaction. 

which, for some strange reason, you're getting immense pleasure out of. 

if you listen close enough you can hear the music he's playing. 

some melancholy guitar music, completely what you would've assumed from him. 

it makes you smile even wider. 

you clear your throat again, leaning forward, legs crossed on your chair. 

you kind of want to make him jump. 

"excuse me," you say, softly. good enough to not draw any attention in this library. 

though, your smile might be enough to raise some eyebrows. 

the boy looks over, eyes wide and attentive. 

you note his face as he takes you in. 

"i was just wondering," you continue, innocently, "where you got your socks?" 

you have rendered this boy speechless. which you seem to do a lot of. 

you cough. "i mean, sock." 

he looks down, to his feet, and then to you, seeming to understand. you catch a smudge of panic in his eyes, carefully glazed over as he opens his mouth, trying to say something. 

he scratches his neck. blinking, with his mouth open, like he's trying to make sure that you're actually there. 

and, to be honest, this is exactly what you imagined of him. 

"lose all of your other pairs, too? or do you just like the look of clashing colors?" you blink at him, leaning back. 

he takes a deep breath. "i'm sorry?" 

"i mean," you shrug, turning back to your desk, "if it were me, i probably wouldn't wear those. especially when someone might have the exact same sock. but, to each their own." 

"you--" he awkwardly laughs. "i just, um, found this. in the bathroom." 

"was it in a backpack stuck to the wall?" you look back to him--his wide, scared, doe eyes--polite smile on your face. 

"actually, i bought them yesterday. they came like this." 

"interesting design choice," you respond. 

and the boy, who is still staring at you, though not quite as breathless now, ducks down, leaning closer to you. "what do you want?" he whispers, eyes glaring. 

"excuse me?" you whisper back.

"i'll--whatever it is, i'll try and get it. just don't--please don't tell anyone." 

you frown, resting your head on a hand. "tell anyone what?" 

"what you--" he looks around for anyone who might be listening. "what you know." 

you tilt your head, questioning, and amused eyes. 

"about me," he clarifies, almost hissing. 

you lean back, studying him. "we just met," you say, with a hand to your chest. 

he glares back. 

"i won't spread your questionable fashion choices around the school if that's what you mean." 

this boy still doesn't laugh. just like the first time, and the second, he seems to find you distasteful. almost annoying. 

and honestly, that might be the only thing fueling this fire in your veins. this want to mess with him until he drops. 

"seriously," he says, angry, "what do you want from me?" 

"just to know where you bought those." 

and then, as quietly and quickly as possible, you bend down to dig into your backpack, smiling in satisfaction as you find it, and then leaning back up, handing it to him. 

"i wouldn't leave those around," you whisper. "you never know who might try and copy you." 

you are almost threatening him. 

the boy glowers. "i don't know what you're talking about." 

you shrug, turning away again. 

but he grabs your arm. "what?" he demands, again and again. 

his eyes are angry, his face is hard and he's leaning away from you like you might reach out and turn him to dust. 

but you only smile, asking sweetly "what's your name?" 

he stares for a moment, blinking. "what?" 

"i think maybe we have met before," you answer. "you seem familiar." 

the boy grinds his teeth together. 

but you wait, shoving that chuckling down your chest. 

"peter," he says, the word mad and tough. 

"peter," you repeat, looking away from him. "nice to meet you. i'm y/n." 

you reach to shake his hand, and he stares at it like it's poison. 

you roll your eyes. "don't worry," you add, softly. "i haven't forgotten. i still have to draw you." 

his frown increases. 

and you laugh as you turn away, thinking about secrets. 

and listening to the music in peter's ears, still drifting over. 

*

peter is not really paying attention tonight. 

he roamed around all day--because there was nothing else to do--talking to strangers and not having to smile for pictures, just hoping for something to pop up. 

and it did, and then it didn't. 

when the problems are easy to fix, peter knows, they're less enjoyable. 

still, the distraction was nice. 

and you are not as you sit on a bench in front of him, smiling. 

you've got that look on your face--the one that makes peter want to run away. 

especially because you know who he is. 

because he's been especially reckless the past couple of weeks, and as a consequence, you have shown up. you have smiled at him, whispering gentle words and even gentler promises. 

and you've got a pencil in your hands. 

a glint in your eyes that peter's seen somewhere before. 

"fancy seeing you here," you say, amused. this is the same bench he passed by on the first night--when he was thinking about going home but didn't. 

peter curses his own stupid decisions; the difference that they could've made. 

"are you going to threaten me again?" peter asks, not really joking, though his voice gives nothing away. 

"i don't know what you're talking about." 

you're shrugging, looking away from him as your lips curl at the corners. 

and then you look back up. "you never did answer my question about the socks, though." 

peter rolls his eyes, though he doesn't miss the way he moves forward, trying to catch a glance at the surely explicit picture you're drawing. 

curiosity is a curse. 

"aren't you cold?" peter merely repeats. 

"it's not snowing. so, no." 

peter grunts. "another body part?" he nods toward the picture you're drawing, the thing you've chosen to look at instead of him. 

"a foot," you grin up at him, eyebrows raise. "though, if you wanted. . . i could get started on my picture of you." 

peter wishes you could see his frown. 

still, he takes another step towards you. "how much?" 

"hmm?" 

"how much are you charging for it?" 

peter watches you stifle a laugh, feels the pin-prick of pleasure in his chest. "only a smile," you say, head tilted. 

"no thanks, then." 

"c'mon, spider-man," you complain. "you're so much nicer to everyone else." 

"everyone else hasn't threatened me." 

you pout. "i won't tell anyone," you tell him, eyes wide, "if that's what you're worried about." 

peter doesn't answer, just stares at you. looking for any tells. 

"i mean," you continue, shrugging. "not that anyone would believe me. you've got enough frown lines to put me to shame." 

as if to prove your point, peter frowns. "what's that supposed to mean?" 

"well, i don't think anyone else has ever heard spider-man so much as grumble. so you. . ." you scrutinize him, nose wrinkled. "you couldn't be him." 

peter narrows his eyes. 

but you smile again, patting the bench next to you. "sit." 

"i can't. i'm working." 

you roll your eyes, sighing. "i'm the only one here. wouldn't you be better off watching me? just to make sure i don't do anything." 

you smile at him, and it's more vicious than kind. 

peter notes your eyes and the secretive glances you're giving him. 

you might be right. 

so he shrugs and moves to sit down next to you. 

he's been closer, anyway. 

you flip to another page, looking up at him, then down. 

and so it begins. 

you hum as you draw him, and peter taps his fingers on the bench, feeling nervous and uncomfortable, and mostly, hating that he's allowed himself to do this. 

maybe just to keep in your good graces. 

"what classes are you taking?" you ask him after a couple of minutes go by. 

"what?" 

"last week," you say, head tilting. erasing something on the paper. you've tilted it up on your knees, leaning against the arm of the bench, so peter can't see. "you were studying. that textbook looked horrible." 

peter lets his lip perk up. 

"what were you studying for?" 

"a chemistry midterm." 

you look at him, eyes just a bit tired. "you're into science?" you ask, almost doubtful. 

peter crosses his arms. 

"i mean, no offense or anything--" you smile as you say it. "--but i would've picked you for a music major. or business." 

peter understands the implication. he doesn't say anything. 

"gym major?" you ask, stealing a glance at his arms, laughing to yourself. 

"what about you?" he asks, suddenly leaning forward. "i didn't realize there were classes on how to manipulate someone." 

"that's called law," you respond, dryly. "and i'm an art major." 

peter is sure you can feel his raised brow. 

you roll your eyes, sighing as you relent. "fine. undecided. but i'm figuring it out." 

you smile again like you know something he doesn't. 

another minute passes, peter listening to the wind and your pencil as you scribble against the page. 

"how long is this going to take?" peter asks, looking up, wondering how long he's been here. 

"you can't rush art." 

"i can when it's annoying me." 

you don't look at him, but peter watches as you tense. he almost catches himself--the words he's just spoken and accidentally let out--and decides not to say anything. 

maybe you'll forget about it. 

"so," you drawl, after thirty seconds of awkward silence. "you're a chemist." 

"engineer." 

you scoff. "sorry, but that means the same thing to me." 

peter snorts back. 

"how old are you?" you ask him, brow furrowed as you concentrate. 

"i'm not telling you." 

you raise a brow, but don't look at him. "why not?" 

"you'll just add it to the file." 

you don't say anything. 

"the file of things you know about me." 

there's a quirk on your face, the clearing of your throat. "i was serious," you tell him, again. "i'm not going to tell anyone. i respect your privacy." 

peter gives you a dubious look. 

"i respect your anonymity," you revise, giving him a grin. "and if you keep moving your face i'm going to mess up your portrait." 

"are you actually an artist?" peter asks, "or is this a ploy to get unsuspecting strangers to stop?" 

"guess," you say. 

"i'm going with the latter." 

you shrug, not looking at him. "i've been told worse. but i think you're really going to like this."

peter doubts that, but he doesn't say anything. 

and another tens minutes pass--in which you scrutinize everything about the suit he designed, snorting when he argues back--and then you're tearing out a page, smiling at him.

"i mean it," you tell him, "next time i see you i want a smile." 

"i could be smiling right now." 

you stare at him. 

"just give it to me." 

you laugh, putting your notebook in the bag next to you. "just don't look until i'm gone, okay?" 

"you don't want to watch my reaction?" 

"i don't think i need to." 

and peter watches as you put everything else away--pencils and erasers and stick of charcoal. he pauses when he finally notices the headphones you tuck into your bag. 

"you were listening to something before i got here?" 

you just nod, zipping up your bag. 

"what?" 

you look up at him, eyes daring. "guess," you say. 

"kanye?" 

you scoff. "please." 

"miley cyrus?" 

you tilt your head, "i would be more likely to listen to the hannah montana soundtrack." 

"metallica?" 

you nod, lips pursing. "you got it, spider-man. i'm a metal kinda girl." 

peter could've told you that. 

but you're smirking before he can respond, pulling the pencil back out, flipping over the paper, and concealing it with your hand so that he can't see. 

"there," you say, after forty-five seconds of scribbling. "now it's finished." 

you put the pencil away, standing up. 

"i'll see you soon," you say to him, nodding. "and that smile." 

peter snorts. 

and then you're walking away, waving an idle hand goodbye as you turn the corner. peter watches until you're gone, making sure that you're not going to pop back out when he least suspects it, and then he slides over on the bench, finally grabbing the paper. 

he flips it over to find a black-and-white picture of himself, every slope and curve of his suit that he recognizes in the mirror. 

and he knows, for sure, that you lied to him. or he lied to you. 

it wasn't the latter. 

still, somewhat amazed, smiling under his mask, his eyes drift down to the words you've written at the corner of the page. 

you are a call to motion, it says. there, all of you, a verb in perfect view. 

and then another foul "smiley face." peter almost laughs. 

when you move, you've written, i move. 

and your number at the very bottom, scribbled a bit recklessly. 

peter memorizes the numbers before he swings home.  

*

you get the first text three days later. 

your phone vibrates in your pocket as you're waiting in line at a coffee shop, watching the people around you move with creases in their brows. 

your fingers itch for the notebook in your bag. 

and when you read the screen, you're a bit confused. 

a text from an unknown number, and all it says is: 

you lied. 

you frown, thinking of who you might've irritated in the past couple of days. 

it only takes a couple of seconds to recall the boy who you've messed with the most. 

peter and the scowls he's given you. 

you smile, knowing what he means. 

and then you send him the spotify link to enter sandman. 

*

peter rolls his eyes when he gets the message. still, he clicks on the link, plugging his headphones into the jack. 

he walks while he listens, wincing at the words. 

and when it's finished--when peter officially decides that he's finished with you--he sends back another link. 

one to the song you wrote out for him, the song you happened to lie about. 

are you flirting with me? he asks, trying not to let himself regret it. 

or smile as he sees the little bubble at the bottom of the screen, letting him know that you're still there. 

you send an emoji of a spider back and peter's smile fades. 

*

you're laughing as you type, you still owe me a smile. 

you move up in the line, trying not to stumble over the shoes of the person in front of you, scowling when peter sends you a scowl back. 

not literally, of course. but it's been two minutes since he read the text, and he has not answered. 

which, you think, is very rude. 

is that a no? you type out. 

peter merely says: you owe me a song.

so you send him knee socks, by arctic monkeys. 

and you forget what to order when you get up to the counter.

*

peter begins to look for you before he walks around any corner. 

he's avoided that bench, thinking that if he gets too close, too soon, you will get bored. 

that you might've already after you sent him that song and he had nothing good to send you back. 

he's been thinking about it for the past couple of days. 

while he studies, and showers, goes to class, and swings from building to building, staring down at tiny people and thinking that one of them might be you. 

but you haven't shown up. peter thinks maybe you've been hiding out too. 

maybe worried because he hasn't texted back. 

but then he corrects himself; he can't imagine you worried about anything. 

still, he peeks around the corner before he moves, waiting for your cheeky smile and irritating laughter. 

instead, he finds a crowd of people that he doesn't know, and who don't know him. 

not that you do either. 

peter is listening to music as he walks. trying to pretend that there is no correlation between you and this song. 

he moves around the people, keeping his eyes low. he says hello to anyone who says anything to him. he smiles at strangers and reminds himself how to be polite. 

he thinks about how mean he's been to you, and wonders if it just comes naturally. 

and when he gets home, kissing may on the cheek and walking up to his room, happy to finally put down his backpack and all of the books in it, he's still thinking about you. 

thinking about the picture he's put on his wall, and your simple handwriting underneath it. neat and smooth, nothing like he'd expected it to be. 

he's thinking about you as he gets undressed, sliding on his suit and staring at the socks he's left on the floor. 

when you know who's callin' even though the number is blocked. . . 

peter shakes his head, kicking them under his bed. 

but, right before he leaves, he grabs his phone from his bed, angrily clicking on a playlist. 

and then he sends you another link, about a week later. 

and he doesn't have it in him to question it. 

*

you awake from your nap to a text. 

the name at the top of your screen just says "itsy bitsy," because you were a little bit delirious and thought it was hilarious when you put him in your contacts a week and two days ago. 

you almost smile at the notification, and then catch yourself. 

spider-man, peter, has sent you a link to love grows (where my rosemary goes). 

you click on it, smirking as you do so. 

and then two minutes and fifty-four seconds later, you finally text him again. 

are you busy tomorrow?

*

"you're my muse now," you say to him, pointing to a stool. 

you sent peter the directions to an art studio, about three minutes off campus, and told him to come at noon. 

it is 12:23 and you haven't stopped smiling at peter since he walked in. 

"any song suggestions?" you ask him, wide eyes and tilted head and that devious smile that runs goosebumps up his arms. 

peter clears his throat. 

"no," he says. "pick whatever," 

you asked him to pose for you. told him that he owed you at least that, if not some laughter. 

and peter disagreed, but didn't argue. 

and now he's not quite sure why. 

you put on some soft guitar music, going to a shelf in the corner of the room to grab something. 

"how's my bench?" you ask him as you move back over to him and sit on the ground. 

peter frowns. "i don't know." 

you pull out a notebook, scoffing. "you're telling me that you haven't checked it once in the past week?" 

"nope." 

"aren't you supposed to be like the protector of new york city, or whatever?" you blow some hair out of your eyes as you say it. 

"that typically applies to people." 

"except me," you grumble, under your breath. 

peter's lip twitches. 

"what are you doing, again?" he asks. 

"well, i figured since i drew spider-man, the least i can do is also draw peter." 

"you said i was a terrible statue." 

"you are," you laugh at him, "but you've got a nice face." 

peter pretends not to feel it as he flushes. 

"i won't show anyone," you tell him, "if you don't want me to. but it would be nice for my still art class." 

"so you are an artist," peter says, attempting to evade your subtle question. 

"only in my dreams. i'm also taking algebra, economics, and philosophy 101." 

peter frowns. 

"i'll declare next year," you tell him, frowning as you erase something. 

"as an art major?" 

you grin at him, but the peter that's on the paper. "wouldn't you like to know?" 

peter doesn't answer that. 

he watches you as you draw him, peeking an eye on the side of his face every couple of moments, and smiling when you catch him staring at you. 

"what's your last name?" you ask him, breaking the silence. 

another song plays, and peter still doesn't recognize it. 

"parker." 

you snort. "figures." 

his brows furrow. "what does that mean?" 

"of course, you would have a superhero-ey name." 

"what's yours?" 

"y/l/n." 

peter laughs. 

you frown. "what?" 

"of course, you would have an annoying-sounding name." 

you glare at him, but peter doesn't miss the twitch of your lip. "don't copy me, parker." 

"don't make it so easy." 

and you don't say anything back, instead choosing to focus down at the paper, but peter notices the little chuckle that falls from your mouth. the silent sneer in your eyes. 

"what?" he asks after it doesn't go away. 

"i think that was the first time you've actually teased me." 

you don't say the rest of it. and peter doesn't acknowledge how comfortable he feels, sitting on this stool as you stare up at him, watching you as you look back. 

"you can use it," he says, suddenly. 

"what?" 

"the picture. for your class."

you don't say anything, but nod in acknowledgment. 

and peter feels like an idiot as the silence drifts. feels like he shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have agreed to this.

and the song changes again, a soft, melodic sound. 

peter almost smiles. 

"is this opera?" he asks, heavily judging you. 

you grin, dropping your notebook on the ground and standing up. you take a step closer to him, leaning in. 

"shut your mouth and see," you whisper to him. 

peter is almost offended, brows furrowed as he stares at you and how close you are. 

but then someone else echoes the words back, and you begin to dance, holding a hand out to invite him to join. 

peter does, memorizing the slow movement of your hips as he stands up, feeling like his limbs are heavier than they were only four minutes ago. 

and the two of you dance to only angel like no one's watching. 

peter listens to you sing the words under your breath. 

i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine.

*

you are humming to yourself when you get the phone call. 

when your hand stumbles, pencil creating a harsh line over the drawing you've spent the last twenty minutes hating. you scowl at your hand, and then your phone, for interrupting. 

until you see peter's face on the screen. 

the picture you took of the picture you drew of him, scowling at you like he seems to do a lot of. 

you don't smile, but bite your lip as you press the little green button. 

"hello?" 

"hey," peter says, voice soft. he clears his throat. "what're you up to?" his voice is suddenly louder like he's using a microphone. 

you smile, glad that he can't see it. 

"just laughing at this picture of you." 

"from last week?" 

"yup." 

"really?" 

you roll your eyes, hoping he can feel it. "no," you drawl. "i was just working on something new. what's up?" 

"do you like movies?" 

*

after that, peter doesn't have to avoid you. 

he doesn't look for you around any corners, because you've already leaned forward, already allowed him to see your smile and guess what you might be thinking about. 

"hey," you say to him as you match his stride. "how was class?" 

"boring," peter answers, accepting the earbud you hold out to him. 

"of course, it was," you grin at him, "i wasn't there." 

and peter just barely laughs, feeling a bit light when you smile back, face full of some sort of victory. 

you play a song about being cold, and peter completely understands.

*

"i can't believe you got me to agree to this," you say to him as you open the door. 

you're wearing a dress. pretty and flowing and completely surprising peter, if his face says anything. 

"wow," he says, coughing. then clearing his throat. then coughing again. "it's--you look nice." 

you scowl. "i look terrible." 

peter just chuckles, looking down again, then at your eyes like he's forgotten something. 

you just glare at him, waiting for him to tell you that you don't have to come. 

but peter holds his hand out to you. "ready?" he asks. 

"no. because i'm not going." you try and close the door in his face. 

peter pushes it back, just smiling softly at you. 

finally, you understand why he's been so irritated and cruel to you. if your smile is anything like his, then his reaction is completely rational. 

"it'll be fine," peter coos, reaching a hand out to comfortingly--and condescendingly--rub your shoulder. 

"it's a banquet," you say, just barely getting the words out. "for science." 

"it's a party for engineering majors. i invited you a week ago and you didn't say anything--" 

"all of your teachers will be there," you correct him, staring daggers. "if there are adults there, then it's not a party. and you made it sound fun." 

"we're adults." 

"i'm an adult, peter. you are a child. you are childish for tricking me into this." 

"tricking you?" peter laughs, eyes gleaming. "i don't remember that part of the conversation." 

you, suddenly, smile sweetly at him. "i don't know if you've heard," you whisper, smoothly, "but this is going to be terrible." 

he grabs your hand, rolling his eyes. "it'll be boring, maybe, but not terrible. i'll stay with you the whole time." 

you frown. then say again, in the same, all-knowing tone, "i don't know if you knew this about me, peter parker, but i'm terrible at boring. or being serious. or talking to people." 

"you talk to me just fine--" 

"as soon as anyone says anything i'll start laughing. it's a nervous reaction, i can't control it." 

"i'll put a hand over your mouth." 

"that's a violation of my boundaries." 

peter snorts, "look, not that i'm not enjoying this--" 

you pinch his arm, shaking your hand out of his. 

"--but we're going to be late. we can talk about your chortling on the way there--" 

"chortling?!" 

"witch cackle, guffaw, whatever," peter corrects. 

"you are not making me want to go with you." 

"c'mon," peter whines, catching your hand again. "you're my plus one. everyone will think i'm a loser if i show up without you." 

"they already think that," you hiss at him, moving back again. "and anyway, i can't walk in these." 

you gesture down to the heels you dug out of your closet. 

it took you two hours to get ready, simply because you were stressed out enough to absolutely ruin every outfit you put on. 

"i'll die, peter," you say, staring at him desperately. "die." 

he raises a brow. "you can put on different shoes." 

"you're a man." you wave a hand, scoffing at him. "what do you know about fashion?" 

peter shakes his head. "okay, if your feet get sore, i'll carry you." 

you stare at him blankly. "i highly doubt that, noodle arms." 

the smile that appears on your face is one of satisfaction. 

but peter rolls his eyes and doesn't bother to correct you. 

"look," he says, pulling his phone out. "i brought my phone so we can listen to music. i'll let you pick." 

you look away from his eyes to the strand between his fingers. then back to him. "you promise?" 

"sure," peter says, almost snorting. "and anyway, i heard that there might be karaoke and you know that--" 

as soon as he says the words, you're turning around, grabbing your purse from the table by your door, and locking it. you shut it, reaching for peter's hand. 

"alright," you smile, easily. "let's go." 

peter laughs as you begin to drag him along. 

you sing along to sexy silk while you walk with him, just to keep the smile on his face. 

*

"hey," you say to him as you pick up the camera on his desk. "you didn't tell me about this." 

peter looks over, noting your frown and the furrow between your brows. he's sitting on your bed while you canvas his room, making fun of everything he's got in there. 

not to mention the way you almost died of laughter when you saw your drawing on his wall, telling him that he's a dirty little liar, then smiling a secretive smile at it. 

not that peter noticed.

still, he sits up, watching as you click on some button. 

"there are lots of things i don't tell you about," he says, smoothly, and smiles at you. 

your scowl grows. "you've got a camera?" you ask. 

and then, after peter doesn't bother answering that and another moment passes, your jaw drops. 

"you've taken pictures of me?" you demand, pointing to a moment he got a week ago, minutes before he met you for lunch. 

"that's not you," peter lies, and goes to take it from your hands.

but you pull away. 

"when did you do this?" 

peter hesitates for a moment, but he sees the look on your face. "last week." 

"why didn't i notice?" 

peter smiles. "because you are particularly unobservant." 

you glare. 

". . . and because i was about twenty feet away, and ten minutes early." 

"peter," you complain and whine. "why wouldn't you tell me about this?" 

"didn't want to steal your thing." 

"i don't have a camera." 

he shakes his head. "no, art, or something." 

"you're lying," you say, peering at him. "that's your lying face." 

he holds a hand to his chest, mock offended. 

but you don't say anything as you put the camera back on his desk, frowning at the window and avoiding his eyes. 

peter watches for a moment, at the pout on your face and how soft and smooth your skin looks. 

he thinks about you dancing and almost forgets that you're mad at him. 

"hey," he whispers to you, hand reaching out. "i'm sorry i didn't tell you. i didn't realize that you'd want to know." 

"of course, i want to know," you mumble. peter thinks you might be saying something else.

"well, now you do." 

"i also know about your ninja turtle underwear," you say, with a hint of a smile on your face. 

"yeah," peter says, standing up. "and you can hold it against me forever. i won't even complain." 

you look over at him, raising your brows. "really?" 

"mhmm." 

and then you purse your lips, pretending to consider it. "okay, i guess," you say, as a means to forgive him. 

and peter is glad about that. glad when you walk over to him, pushing his shoulder. 

"but don't do that again," you tell him, almost as a threat. 

"do what?" 

"keep a secret from me." 

peter almost winces, but decides to smile instead. "you already know all of them," he says, simply. 

and you smile back. 

he doesn't quite let himself believe that it's a lie. doesn't think about you being mad, or what you might do if you found out. 

he just sighs, reaching over you to pick up the camera. 

"do you want to see more pictures?" he asks you. 

and then delights in the eager way you nod back. 

*

you are humming along to the song playing from peter's phone as you doodle on the piece of paper in front of you. 

you don't know the name, but peter's played it often enough that you know the words. 

and, coincidentally, he's laying his head in your lap--claiming a headache--as you play with his hair. 

he is almost distracting you as you attempt to draw a pretty little spider on his bedside table. 

peter hums back, but it's not to the song. 

"what?" you ask him, pausing your hand. 

peter reaches up, moving it for you, and you snort. 

"okay, okay," you say to him, and scratch his scalp some more. 

"are you ruining my table?" 

"no more than you already have." 

peter groans, but doesn't bother to look up. you know that he knows that you're not drawing anything on it. 

you smile down at him, then get back to the tiny sticky note you found in his drawer. 

the pen you stole from the dining table downstairs. 

you sing to him, to yourself, and minutes pass, and the song changes. 

but you picked this one, and peter doesn't complain. 

"do you feel any better?" you whisper to him, refraining from calling him a big baby. 

"no. keep going," peter grunts. 

you scoff but listen. 

"look," you tell him, holding the drawing in front of his face. "do you like it?" 

"pretty," peter mumbles. 

but he doesn't even open his eyes. 

so you flick him in the nose, raising a brow. "you didn't even look, you idiot." 

"don't be mean to me," peter whines, "i'm in pain." 

"you refuse to take any medicine."

"you're close enough," he whispers, and you try not to feel anything at the words. 

"just one eye," you say to him, pulling at his skin. 

and peter relents, staring at the picture you've drawn for him. "are you trying to be funny?" 

it's a spider, sure, but a very hilarious interpretation of it swinging and falling off a building, and then, a couple of feet away, a picture of it being smooshed. 

you grin. "i think you should put it on your next suit." 

"i'll think about it," peter says, and closes his eyes again. 

you laugh at him and hope he can feel it. 

sing along to the song until peter falls asleep. 

i wouldn't fall for someone i thought couldn't misbehave. 

*

when peter wakes up, he's alone. 

he wonders when you disappeared and where you went. he aches for the feeling of your hands in his hair and your smile and laughter as he wakes up. 

it's dark outside though, so peter's glad that you're at home, at least, hopefully sleeping. 

he looks at the clock, frowning at the numbers. 

he sits up, head buzzing and blinking until he can see. 

and then he walks over to the bathroom, figuring that he should probably brush his teeth. 

and when he goes back to his bed, back aching and thinking about you, he notices the sticky note you've put on his wall, right next to the picture you drew of him. 

he smiles at it, glad you put it there, where he probably would've put it anyway. 

and there's another one, right next to your bed. 

you're lame and you fell asleep, it says, don't worry, you didn't drool. 

peter smiles, appreciating your handwriting. he puts it on his wall, right next to the other one. 

and then he texts you. 

when did you leave? 

you answer almost immediately: about an hour ago. 

it's one in the morning, and peter frowns. 

did you walk home alone? 

yup! 

he scowls, immediately dialing you. 

"hello?" you say, singing it. 

peter wonders how you have so much energy, but doesn't give himself the time to dwell on it. 

"you walked home alone?" he asks again. 

"yes, peter." 

"in the dark?" 

you hum. 

he's scowling, wishing you were there so you could see how serious he is. "don't do that," he says. 

"peter," you sigh, snorting a bit. 

"you shouldn't be walking home by yourself." 

"might i remind you that you fell asleep? who else was i going to ask at midnight? may?" 

"you could've woken me up." 

peter hears you laugh. 

"aw," you say, "but, baby, you just looked so peaceful." 

peter almost flinches at the words, because you're not being serious and still-- 

"promise me that you will, next time." 

you laugh again. "okay, peter. i'll uber home next time." 

"you'll wake me up." 

"please," you tell him, "i don't have a death wish." 

*

you are frowning as he sits in front of you, but trying not to. 

you're trying to keep a calm face and a smooth mind and repair peter without him figuring out a single thing about you. 

without getting into another fight with him. 

but he knows you, much better than you'd like. 

"what?" he whispers to you, the words soft on your cheek. 

he's got bruises sprinkled over his abdomen. a bright red cut on his cheek. a black eye and fingers that look more like pens than limbs. 

still, you're trying not to be too rough with him. 

trying to clean these wounds without opening up any others. 

"nothing." 

"you're frowning." 

"you've got a big cut on your face." 

he grabs your hand, stopping your movement as you dab at it. "you're frowning," he repeats, a bit louder. 

you sigh and look away. "peter. . ." 

"you're mad at me?" he asks, tilting your head back to him. 

you're three inches away from him, staring. 

and you don't even need to answer, because it takes one look from you, and peter nods. 

"okay," he says, turning his cheek so you can clean the cut again. 

you do. 

and you listen to his breathing, hearing your own heart pound in your ear, staying silent. 

there's not much you can say to him without wanting to scream. 

"are you going to tell me why?" he asks you, minutes later, when you've had to replace the water so it's not so cold. 

you hum. rub some ointment on the wound, apologizing when peter winces. 

"y/n," he says, tilting his head. he's smiling at you like it might get you to break. 

"you're not taking this seriously," you complain, closing your eyes. you move back, just for peter to move forward. 

"hey," he says, grabbing your hand again. his eyes meet yours. "i'm okay." 

"you're hurt," you argue, frowning, concern piercing your brows. "you had to come here so i could patch you up." 

peter swallows. "i wanted to see you." 

"no," you shake your head at him. "you can barely move that arm. you limped in here." 

"it'll be fine by tomorrow." 

you scoff. "but it's not fine now peter!" you whisper the words, but with enough force that he moves back, his eyes wide and his brow furrowing, as if he's just realized how serious you are. 

"you're really mad?" 

you shake your head, looking away from him. "i'm scared for you, and i'm mad because you don't even care. every time," you say, "you just brush it off. tell me that it'll be fine." 

"because i will," peter swears, trying to catch your eyes. 

"but what if you're not?" you ask him, just whispering the words, your voice breaking. "what if you come here," you look back to him, tears evident. "and i can't do anything to help you?" 

peter starts to say something, tries to brush the liquid away, but you flinch back. 

"no. what if someone else has to move the mask? what if they see you, but you're already--" you stop, not wanting to say the words. 

and before you can blink or breathe, peter has wrapped an arm around you, crushing you to his skin. 

he apologizes and holds you close, breathing slowly as you try to catch your breath. 

he whispers in your ear, rubbing your back. 

"i'm sorry," he says, "i didn't realize." 

and you know that. and you know that this argument isn't quite fair. 

"i promise i'll be careful. i promise, okay?" 

you nod against his neck, breathing him in. 

and a moment passes, and you try to memorize the feeling of being this close to him. 

and then you whisper, "you're my best friend, peter. i don't know what i would do without you." 

and it's only partly a lie. 

"i know," peter says, moving back so that he can look you in the eye. "i know." 

you try and smile at him, and he tries and smiles back. 

"okay," you whisper. 

and then you notice the small wince on peter's face. 

you frown. "what?" 

peter looks down to where your stomach has brushed against the cuts on his and clears his throat. "ouch," he says. 

you meet his eyes and laugh.

*

peter knocks on your door, waiting.

he hasn't seen you in a couple of days, and you haven't been answering the phone. 

he hears someone move around. hears a lurking at the door. 

"y/n?" he calls. "i can hear you." 

but you don't answer. 

so peter knocks again, checking his phone for any sign of you, and staring at the door. 

all he gets is a quick "read" message, and then silence. 

he sighs. 

"c'mon," he calls again. "just open the door, or text me, and i'll leave." 

but you do neither. 

peter scowls. "i'm not gonna go," he tells you. "i'll be out here until you are, and when i freeze to death you're going to feel really bad." 

he might hear a scoff, but the only thing that follows is some silence. 

he says your name again, leaning against the door. 

and then he scrolls on your phone, sending you another text. 

he hears your phone ring on the other side of the door. 

and he can hear you sighing because he's just sent you a link to door. 

there's a moment that passes, where peter is just a bit proud, and then you open the door. 

"that's not even what that song means," you tell him, glowering, but you let him in. 

peter just smiles at you.

*

you're drawing him again. laughing as he teases you and listening to a playlist that he's made for the two of you--promising that it was great and that you'd enjoy it very much. 

this time, though, it's a bit different. 

you haven't asked to draw him since that day when he met you in the studio and finally looked comfortable enough to sit still. you haven't wanted to push that line, again, because you knew that it would be different. 

and that last picture of him, well. . . 

it's not the same as now. not the same as peter is when he's smiling at you. 

when he's singing along to a song that he's chosen and rolling his eyes when you say something, or make fun of him. 

it's not the same, you know, because last time, it was merely some strange sort of attraction to him. some want, or need, or crazy, fantasy thing. 

but now. god. 

now you know peter. now you know what he looks like when he's upset, how he acts when he's scared, or what he cares about, or who he truly is, behind the mask. 

now you're in love with him and trying to hide it. 

unsuccessfully, you're sure. 

"how much longer?" peter asks you, spinning around in your chair as you sit on your bed. 

it's also different because he's in your room, messing with your things. 

"i've already told you, peter, that you can't rush art." 

"you're probably not even drawing me." 

you grin down at the paper. 

peter continues to sing, continues to flip through an old notebook of drawings. 

"you know," you tell him, just glancing up to meet his brown eyes. "i don't like this song very much." 

peter raises a brow. "really?" 

you nod, pursing your lips. 

and so he sings even louder. 

"a zero, zero," peter says to you, laughing. "now he's a--" 

you throw a pillow at him, smirking. 

peter frowns. "that's going to ruin the drawing." 

"so is your singing," you tell him. "stay still, peter." 

"can i at least see?" he asks. 

"not till i'm done."

and then the song changes, and suddenly, you're grinning at him. 

just like that first day.

*

as soon as peter hears the opening chords, he's cursing himself for putting this song on the playlist. 

for letting himself be manipulated at the thought of your smile, and funny laugh as you danced around to this one the first time. for allowing himself to give in to it. 

because your smile is nothing but evil. 

and suddenly, you're not drawing, but standing up, biting your lip. 

"hey, good lookin'," you croon. moving your hips and your shoulders and smiling at him because you just know. "whatcha got cookin'?" 

peter throws his head back and groans. 

but you're singing along, dancing around him, and whispering the words in his ear. 

"there's soda pop and the dancing's free," you whisper, the goosebumps much more than a physical reaction. 

and, really, peter's trying not to smile as he watches you dance. as he watches your smile ebb and flow and listens to your voice, to your accent as-- 

"--so we can go steady," you gesture at him, smiling sweetly. "how's about saving all your time for me?" 

you are a monster, an absolute devil as you pull peter up, as he goes so willingly, and begins to dance with you. 

his hands around your waist and yours wrapped around his neck and that goddamn smile. 

and your voice, and every single thing that you mean to him. 

"c'mon," you say to him, giggling. "dance." 

and he does. he can't stop. 

then, when the song begins to fade, and you whisper a last "how's about cooking something up with me?" he pulls you down to your bed. 

he's almost breathless and laughing at you as you try to squirm away. 

he's absolutely gone as you still against him, suddenly realizing where you are. 

that he's pulled you so that you're laying right against him. and, peter is three inches away from you, and he can feel your breath against him. 

he can see your smile as it almost fades. 

as you watch his eyes, but falter, and look down. 

down and down and peter's eyes follow. 

he's staring at your lips, and he almost doesn't notice it as he leans in, as your breath hitches. 

and he kisses you. 

finally. finally. 

he pulls you as close as he can get you, hand wrapped around your neck, and at the base of your head, and digging into you, and your hands are on his face, they are still and alive as you grip onto him just as tight as he's got you. 

as you pull him, push and pull his lips, and breathe into his mouth. 

as he finally feels all of you, and thanks god that you're there. 

and when he pulls back, almost disassociating, eyes wide, he's staring at you. 

he's listening to a song in the background but he doesn't know the words. 

he can't think at all, can't breathe with you right there. 

"i'm sorry," he whispers, as he suddenly remembers who you are and what you mean to him. 

but you--you smile at him. you laugh like you can't believe it. 

you look into peter's eyes and you see all of him. 

you shake your head, one hand drifting to your lips like you can feel something new. 

you laugh again. 

"peter," you whisper to him, and he's staring back. "do it again." 

if you were a waiting room, i would never see the doctor. 

*

more of them.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch​ @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff​ @hollandweather​ @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan​ @valvlry​ @imthatcoolmom​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  

[chihirolovebot]

I'm doing well! I hope you are too, dear/p

Forgive me for asking if you won't do it, but may i get a a few of Kokichi and Fuyuhiko relationship headcannons? They're my soft spot haha <3

Also, no need to rush. I can wait if you need me to.

-🍡

KOKICHI AND FUYUHIKO RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS.

featuring. kokichi ouma, fuyuhiko kuzuryu / gn reader.

content. fluff, kissing, cuddling, weapons mention, comfort.

notes. 🍡 ur taste is spectacular. these are my favourite boys too :')

FUYUHIKO.

f. first of all. he's so romantic on the side.

like oh my god he's rlly just very soft, especially around you.

he actually confesses pretty quickly, just because he hates making a fool of himself pining for you.

cause like. you know he's not slick. he brushes pretty easily, he trips over his words, he zealously avoids you so he doesn't make an idiot of himself in front of you.

he takes you for a nice lowkey expensive dinner then gets the family car to drive you home. right as you pull up to your house he starts fidgeting like. um. so. hey, funny thing.

it's pretty hard to confess when peko is staring at the both of you from the backseat like ( : ౦ _ ౦ : )

but he does it because he's NOT afraid smh.

he's so protective. he will absolutely kill and die for you.

if someone so much as looks at you funny he's getting in their face like "huh? huh??? did you say something?? wanna speak up??" and peko is already drawing her sword.

he's not a fan of pda - it makes him shy - but he always has an arm or hand on you when you're out in public together in the nature of your safety. he's never fully at ease until you're fully in his sight and under his protection.

gifts you weapons and thinks it's hot when you carry them around NSHSHW.

the king of flustered if you steal his clothes. his jacket, hat, tie, name it. will grumble and complain but then if you try and give it back he'll just be like "tch... keep it if you want it so bad. cheapskate."

flicks you on the forehead or raps you about the head when you annoy him lol.

he likes going out but privately he likes quiet evenings in just as much. having the two of you just lying in bed or on the couch with your back to his chest </3 yeah

it makes the two of you feel so safe.

buys you stuff all the time. clothes specifically tailored to make you look gorgeous, flattering jewellery (nothing tacky, he is a man of taste), expensive shoes. if you get your hair or nails done, he pays for that too.

please..... please give him massages.... he's so stressed don't you wanna help him out a lil :((

gets his bouts of insecurity, but rarely confides in you about them. instead he'll retreat into himself and get bitter, maybe even lashing out before he's confronted with the very real fear that you could leave him all alone again.

look me in the eye and tell me he can apologise without crying. he's can't. he gets all teary and then he's angry about crying and then he's crying cause he's frustrated and aaahhhehe give him hugs.

he only says the really soft shit in the dark. the lights off with you two curling into each other, his hands tracing soft shapes into your skin, and he presses his face into your shoulder.

"don't ever leave me." and if it was anyone else that would sound threatening but it's fuyuhiko and you know it's born from a place of fear and insecurity. "please."

you bring his hand to your mouth and press your lips to it gently, not commenting on the bodily shudder that wracks through him at the motion. you can feel the raised scars on his hands beneath the skin of your mouth.

"i won't. never."

"... love you."

"i love you too."

KOKICHI.

.....

okay. alright. okay.

im gonna assume you're a very patient person because you're gonna need it.

you gotta read between the lines with everything this mf says.

honestly though,, once you figure it out, it's not too hard.

he doesn't exactly confess? you just have to figure it out.

and if you're too dense to do that, he'll just kind of announce that you're dating and let you take it from there.

he's like, surprisingly possessive. not in an overly controlling way - like, he'll never try and stop you talking to someone or cut them off unless they're genuinely overstepping their boundaries, but

he's gonna make it very obvious you're with him.

and unlike fuyuhiko, he has no shame. he is overly affectionate in public, an arm around your waist, squeezing your hips to make you jump, wrapping around your middle from behind and pressing his face into your back.

the type to sigh obnoxiously loudly when he's bored and droop all over you, head in your lap, arm around your shoulder, leg twined around your ankle. he's like a housecat.

please just. hold him. he loves casual affection, it makes him feel very wanted.

teaches you to play a ton of games! card games, chess, board games, all of them pretty complicated. he likes when you lose and he can lord it over you but honestly, he loves it even more when you get good enough to make it a real challenge for him.

he puts on the sore loser act, but he's secretly fucking thrilled. he literally finds you so attractive when you beat him at stuff.

stealing his clothes? non non. kokichi steals your clothes.

your hoodies, jeans, socks, shirts, you name it, he's taking it. he's very lightfingered and it takes you a while to realise he's taken something of yours.

but if you try and ask for it back he'll be all "huh? what are you accusing me of?! i bought this with my own hard-earned money and you're trying to make me out to be some kind of common criminal!"

basically guilts you into letting him keep them. little sewer rat.

fun dates!! the arcade, amusement parks, aquariums so he can look at the weird fish and say some out of pocket shit to make you concerned.

"sighhhh, i wish i was a jellyfish."

"??? do you need to talk to someone??"

jokes aside. you're one of the few people he completely trusts and it shows.

sincerity happens at the end of the day when the house is dark, when you're both made soft by exhaustion and he's just. tired and small and happy to have you here to take care of him sometimes.

you're both just lying down ready to sleep when he pokes you in the back. "y'know, if you ever leave me i'm gonna have to have you killed. you know too much."

"hm? good thing i'm never going anywhere then."

"... right. just as well."

"night, kichi."

"neheehee, you're so dependant on me. night!"

<3

[xpeachesncream]

how many drinks? | one shot (jjk)

summary: the question is - how many drinks would it take for you to sleep with your bestfriend?

pairing: jjk x reader

genre: (18+) college au, dance group au, bestfriends/bestfriends with some benefits au | fluff, smut, sprinkle of angst

words: ~12.2k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, kind of crack-y, dancer!jk to fulfill my needs, unprotected sex, sprinkle of dirty talk, fingering, sprinkle of a handjob, slight biting, nails digging into skin, oc almost gets taken advantage of/forced into doing things she doesn’t wanna do, rough handling, song kang is in this too because i’m also a hooch for him but he’s an ass here, alcohol consumption, intoxication, mentions of blunts/smoking, house parties, cuddling, kissing/makeout sessions, straddling, breast/nipple play, hickeys, fucking on the edge of the bed, multiple orgasms, fingering, licking/neck kisses, oral (f. receiving)

note: one shot title is taken from miguel's song ‘how many drinks’ + a couple of things--

both hoseok and jimin’s piece mentioned below are inspired by real-life pieces my old dance mentor has choreographed and taught. this is the inspiration behind hoseok’s couple piece; this is the inspiration for jimin’s piece

i’m a hooch for all three of them in this video

enjoy imagining koo and oc dancing part of their couples piece like this 🥺

"Y/N." You picked up Jungkook's call as you sat at your desk in your dorm room. You had been finishing up your bio homework until the interruption came blaring through on your headphones.

"Yes?"

"Can I nap in your room?"

"The fuck I look like? A hotel?" You snorted.

"Yeah, a 5 star at that with how good you take care of me." He tries to butter you up, causing you to roll your eyes.

"You're lucky I like you."

"Yesssssssss!" You hear him faintly exclaim on the other line. "Be there in a sec."

"You know my doors are always unlocked." Which, it was true. So many of your friends had decided to live off campus that you and your other bestfriend [and beloved suitemate] were probably the only few left on campus. And that meant people were constantly in your room, hanging out or using both of your rooms, [with permission] or the couches in the shared living room space of your suite as a place to nap. College, amirite? Why the fuck would you lose your parking spot to go back to your apartment when you have friends who lived right on campus? You weren't just good for smuggling free food from the cafeteria to your broke ass, struggling off-campus friends.

Sooner or later, you're greeted by a fluffy, black-haired Jungkook, looking like his shit must have air-dried with how wavy and voluminous it was. He swings your door open so aggressively that you jump a bit in your seat, swinging off your headphones like you weren't even expecting him. You watch as he flings himself onto your neatly made bed like he hasn't felt a bed in years.

"Ugh, yes." He moans as he belly flops onto your bed and stays in that position.

"When's your next class, you little baby?"

"In like an hour or so, I don't know." He says sleepily. "Wake me up, please?"

"Sure." You realize it's Wednesday, and he definitely has Ecology lab later at 3:00PM. You figured you'd wake him up by 2:30 just to give him enough time to groggily walk his ass back over to the science building.

You and Jungkook weren't really close before college. It was moreso that you knew of each other since high school because of mutual friends. You'd see him at parties and he'd see you, but it was never more than the casual hi and bye and small talk. Maybe the occasional comments on facebook pages and the likes on pictures on instagram. But foreel, other than that, that's as real as your friendship got for awhile. You didn't mind it though, you were good with your set of friends and he was good with his. A lot of your friends attended the same university as you two and then your groups intertwined even more. 

But, it wasn't until the past couple of months or so where you both unexpectedly got really close - simply just by talking more and being around each other more. You both had similar interests and Jungkook wasn't the most vocal in his group, but with you, he seemed to talk endlessly. He loved comics and he loved raving to you about Marvel and DC superheroes. He loved to draw, and he'd draw you things every now and then - his most recent being you as a scientist superhero saving the world from overgrown malaria-infected mosquito monsters. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen, and you tacked it against your cork board near your desk. Then, small things like that turned to bringing you food or boba, being stuck at the hip where he'd only go to a certain place on campus if you were there; texting each other inside jokes and funny ass tweets all day turned to facetime sleepover calls and then late hangouts eventually turned to actual sleepovers in your bed, where he'd drape his arm around while you both slept but it never escalated into anything more than that in bed. Although he did fucking hate your medium-sized Olaf plushie that took shelter on your bed - he'd always hike it across the room and talk about how annoying he is and how he's always taking his spot. You never understood it, really.

And then soon, it turned to small displays of affection behind closed doors, where Jungkook would hold you close. Hold your hand if you two were in the room watching a show, or movie. Small kisses exchanged. Big kisses exchanged, making out sessions. But, that was literally it. Nothing else. No sex. No pressure. Lots of unspoken feelings, obviously, but you weren't gonna be the one to bring that up. Because you were comfortable, and if anything, you didn't wanna ruin what you guys already had going.

Like, is this a friends with benefits thing? Maybe? Maybe not? It was hard to label it because it's not like you both determined so, it kind of just fell together that way. And there was really no pressure to fuck every single time you got affectionate. It was cute, sweet. And no one really knew it was like that behind doors - possibly your suitemate Kass and her boyfriend, Jimin, but that's only because you shared the dorm suite with her. Jimin was also one of Jungkook's roommates and his really good friend, so whenever they had slept over on the same night, it was pure and utter chaos. But honestly, if Kass and Jimin hadn't been around you two much, they most certainly wouldn't have the idea.

Whatever it was, it was a comfortable closeness that you both experienced and appreciated. However, the both of you were afraid of discussing what this really was, afraid it'll ruin the dynamic. The atmosphere. Having to come to terms of what it might, or might not be. Neither of you can fully admit that you like the other. Although, it got hard. People did lightly tease you two because you both always looked for each other and were stuck by the hip out on campus.

Oh, well. Bottom line is that you liked your relationship where it was at, but it doesn't mean you haven't thought about the what if's. Jungkook was insanely attractive, and it's no lie that girls swarmed him left and right on campus, but he didn't give a shit [either he didn't give a shit or he was dumb as hell?]. Okay, rewind — to be fair, he would have a fling or two, flirt once or twice. He'd tell you so and so was cute and that they've hung out or texted, but that's it. He just wasn't necessarily looking for anything cause he too enjoyed where he was at with everything.

It doesn't take long before Sleeping Beauty is snoring face down on your bed, looking like Patrick Star with the way he's sprawled out. But, you continue to do your work until it was time to wake him. You gently shake him, his puppy eyes looking back at you after being face down all nap.

"Class time."

"No." He groans. "Can't I just stay here with you?"

"No, dude. Get to class." You chuckle. "You already skipped last week."

"Yeah, but this is a new week Y/N."

"Jungkook." You almost say in a scolding manner.

"Fiiiiiiine." He whines as he shoots up and hops off from your bed. "Are you going to our party on Friday?"

"I said I'd think about it right?"

"Yeah, like on Monday. It's Wednesday."

"And I'm still thinking about it." You snort, making him pout.

"Just come for a little bit."

"Why? You know parties aren't my thing and you'll be too drunk anyways. I'll end up wanting to go right the fuck back home as soon as I step outside."

"I'd like to be drunk and have you there. It'll be more fun!" He pouts as he holds your hand and swings it back and forth.

"I mean, to be completely honest, I'll probably end up going because of Kass anyways."

"Because of Kass." He rolls his eyes. "Oooookay. Not because of you, Jungkook, no." He says sarcastically, brows furrowed.

"Ew. You're such a fucking whiner. Leave." You laugh, throwing an empty water bottle at him.

"I'm kidding." He chuckles. "Wanna grab dinner with me after practice?"

"Sure. If you pay." He groans

"Fine. I'll see you later." He puckers up his lips to blow you a kiss, which you automatically reject by giving him a look before turning your attention back to your homework. You were hoping he'd offer to go to In-n-Out because you were craving that #2 with animal fries and a neapolitan shake, plus there was a Target in the same plaza that you wanted to drag him to for new pens and clearance sale shopping. And you wouldn't even warn him about it. He would tag along, no question.

Hoseok stands in front of the mirrors in the studio, pacing back and forth as your dance group learned a couple of 8-counts from this new piece he had been brewing up. Apparently, it was supposed to be a couples piece but he wasn't sure if he was going to keep it that way. He watched to see if this would be better as a group, or if he should stick to his original plans.

Your college dance group was a small group formed by people with pure, genuine interest and love for modern hip hop choreography. Hoseok was the dance lead, with Jimin being the back up lead. The group came together, taught each other pieces, taught workshops for those interested on campus and performed at the various talent shows and productions the school had throughout the year. It was just your group's way of showcasing your talents, something you all purely enjoyed, and it was nice to see the love and support given by the audiences.

"Okay, run that from the top one more time please. We'll take break after, swear." Hoseok chuckles and gives Jimin the cue to start the song back at the starting point. Jungkook makes a funny face at you as he huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath from the last time you went through the counts.

"Ew." You giggle, slightly pushing him aside. Miguel's How Many Drinks begins to blast through the studio speakers, Jungkook doing his best to sing along and match his tone all while focusing on his steps. Once you're done going through the counts, the music continues to play, Jungkook twirling over to you just to sing—

"Cause I ain't leavin' aloneeee, I feel like I could be honest, babe." He spins to your other side. "We both know that we're grown, that's why I wanna knooooow - how many drinks will it take you to leave with meeeeEEeeeE?"

"You can give me all the drinks in the world and I swear I still wouldn't." You snort, making him frown and click his teeth.

"Too bad that's not really how you act when I ask to sleep over, though." Silence as you stick your tongue out at him. Cause, yeah. You really do tell him to sleep over without hesitation. You loved his company, you can’t lie. "Yeah, fraudulent as hell. I never taught you that." He jokes.

"Shut up, Jungkook—"

"Okay!" Hoseok says, clapping his hands. "This'll be a couple piece. I honestly think it'll work better that way, just like I envisioned it. I'll work with the couple to clean this up before the performance, but to whoever isn't casted for this, Jimin still has a piece to teach the rest of you, so don't feel discouraged!" Hoseok chuckles a bit, giving the rest of the group a small smile. "So with that being said - Y/N, Jungkook, I want you two to do this piece."

"Ouuuuuuuu." Jimin teases you from the sidelines, causing you to put up your middle finger.

"We won’t let you down, cap." Jungkook swings his arm around you.

"I'll teach you the rest of the piece next practice so we can start polishing it up and making it clean before the talent show."

"Sounds good with me." You flatly say, even though 100%, you're pretty excited for many reasons. One, you had been wanting to do a solo or couples piece for awhile, and two, your partner was Jungkook. Your best friend, your ride or die, the dude you've spent so much time with and gave your affection to behind closed doors. It made you giddy just thinking about it, even if you'd blatantly lie to his face later on when he'd tease you. And Jungkook felt the same. You missed the way he subtly bit on his bottom lip when you were named his partner, just so he wouldn't smile too big in front of you.

After practice, you egg him on enough to agree to take you to In-N-Out, without hinting at the plan you had drafted out in your head earlier.  The plan that says you're gonna drag his ass to Target afterwards and he had no choice but to come along.

"Y/N, you liar." He groans. "You said you weren't gonna go to Target." He pouts as you follows behind you anyway.

"Kook, I literally just need to get one thing."

"What's the one thing that you couldn't get on your own time?"

"I don't know, I'll have to find out when we get in there." You giggled, causing him to groan again. "Plus, we're here already. Killing two birds with one stone."

"Ah shit, I suppose I can get some bottles for the party."

"Yeah, make yourself useful Jungkook."

"Yeah, make yourself useful Jungkook, aheh." He mocks your tone and does that really weird and ugly ass laugh that dudes always do when they try to mock girls, however, you ignore it because you've just stepped into Target and bitch, this was Disneyland to you. Heaven. Paradise.

"Hm, what are we drinking on Friday?" He says his text outloud as he follows you around the dollar section where you begin to pick up really unnecessary items that you're probably just gonna store away in or around your desk somewhere.

"Should be holy water because you all need it."

"Mmm, I don't know, I don't think they have that but we can check." He responds ever so seriously, causing you to chuckle.

"How many people are you expecting?"

"Honestly, I don't even know. We said we'd keep it to close friends only. I don't really have any friends, so that's all on them."

"Ah, makes sense as to how the entire class was invited." You fire back sarcastically. "Your upstairs neighbors are really gonna have a blast."

"They're invited too."

"You guys are so dumb." He laughs when you hit him against the chest. After walking a bit, the two of you head towards the alcohol aisle, Jungkook grabbing what his arms will allow him to grab since alcohol is a little cheaper here than other grocery stores. "Isn't there a limit as to how much alcohol you can buy?"

"I don't see anything anywhere." He hauls about 4 big bottles back to the cashiers. "Besides, I'm giving them business compared to Safeway and those other grocery stores."

"Grab the coupon at least, genuis. It could save you some money." You take off the coupons from the three bottles.

He looks down at the coupon attached to the 4th bottle. "Sign up today and get 2% cash back on every bottle you buy." He snorts after reading the coupon outloud. "More like sign up today and get 2% cash back turnt." He looks at you. "This doesn't sound like a coupon, miss. Where's the ‘get 5 dollars off’ bullshit?"

"2% cash back turnt? Really?" You furrow your brows at him and hand the coupons to the cashier. "Here. God, maybe you shouldn't be hosting parties with your roommates."

"Maybe not." He holds his bags, even grabbing onto yours as you both walk out to his car. He turns up the radio, the both of you singing along to the songs coming through. When he pulls up to the lot of Edgehill Village, he parks in someone else's marked spot only because it's technically next to your door and he doesn't anticipate to stay long. But honestly, that never goes as planned. He grabs your bag from the trunk, silently following behind you as you unlock your door to an empty suite - just as you expected. Kass was most likely at Jungkook’s, spending the night with Jimin, and you'd be alone for the night. It didn't matter to you though, the peace and quiet was always nice.

"You sure you're gonna be okay here alone?" You nod.

"Yup. It's kind of nice actually." You lean forward onto your bed since it's raised a little higher than usual with bed risers, and open up your laptop. Jungkook sets your Target bag down and wraps his arms around you from behind, planting a kiss on your cheek and on your jawline.

"You sure you don't want me to sleep over? Cuddles sound nice."

"It sounds like you want to."

"Only if you want me to." He nuzzles his head against your neck, waiting for your response.

"Kook, please." You chuckle. "If you wanna sleepover, then go ahead."

"Yesssss! I do."

"Well you need to find parking, or else the person that owns that parking spot will be highly upset."

"You got it, captain. Pull up a movie!" He says, dashing out of your room to move his car. He's most likely going to come back in another 5 minutes, being that the only free parking at this time of night is probably on the other end in the gym's lot, or somewhere on the streets [if he got lucky].

And so that 5 minutes sure does go by before Jungkook is breathing heavily when he walks into your room, duffle bag swung over his shoulder with a big, dorky ass smile on his face.

"I'm back!"

"I see." You snort, still going through the movies.

"Hey, let's run through what Hobi taught us first."

"Ugh, I'm so tired though."

"Cooooome on, just once." He pulls you by the hand, his body pressed against yours as his his other arm wraps around your waist. "Please." His puppy dog eyes look down at you, causing you to push him away because fucking hell, that shit makes you weak. Makes the pussy throb just a lil, you know? Christ.

"Only if you watch 10 Things I Hate About You."

"Sure, I don't mind." He pulls up the song on your laptop. The both of you face the mirror in front of you, careful not to hit each other since you had such limited space to fully move around. Running through it once was a full blown lie, being that you both are doing it for almost 5-6 times before you're laughing at how out of breath you already are. You're so out of it and winded by the last time around that you accidentally hit Jungkook in the face, causing him to whine and stumble off to the side.

"Oh shit!" You laugh. "I'm so sorry, Kookie!" You run over to cup his face. "Are you okay? You good?"

"Shit, Y/N. You have a heavy hand." He keeps his hand against his cheek.

"I'm sorry." You lean in to plant a kiss on his cheek, but Jungkook being Jungkook, he looks to the side to have his lips meet yours instead. He picks you up in one swift motion, your legs wrapped around his torso as he sits you on your bed, your hands still cupping his face. And honestly, you really wanted him. You've always wanted him since this whole thing started. God, he was attractive to you - every little thing about Jungkook was a fucking weakness, but you weren't gonna let up first. Not tonight. The scar on his cheek, his soft, fluffy hair, his toned body, his muscular ass arms, the way he held onto you when you both slept, the way he kissed you.

Lord, he was truly going to be the death of you.

Before the kiss could get any deeper, you smile into it and back away, keeping your gaze on the small, dazed smile Jungkook has on his face.

"Can we watch now?" You ask, subtly biting onto your bottom lip.

"Yeah, good idea."

"Actually, after all that, I need to shower first."

"Can I join?" His eyes light up.

"Sit your ass down. You can go after." You laugh as you hop off the bed, grabbing your pajamas for a quick shower. You literally take 10 minutes, walking back into your room with wet hair and an oversized shirt and shorts underneath. Although you had been completely comfortable with Jungkook, the both of you have never really seen each other fully naked like that. Whenever he slept over, you were both always fully clothed. You've seen him hop out of the shower and come in shirtless, but that's probably about it. You start to brush your teeth as he rummages through his emergency duffle bag full of shit that he holds in the trunk of his car, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes to change into after his shower. You already know his ass is gonna use your shampoo for everything because he loves the smell of it and always talks about how good your hair smells.

While waiting for him, you slip yourself under your covers and pull the laptop closer to you, scrolling through your phone aimlessly to see what's new on instagram. Which, is absolutely nothing, so you let out a dissatisfied sigh.

"Ready!" He comes in, tossing his towel aside and shutting off the lights to crawl into your bed with you.

"You smell just like me." You chuckle.

"It's great, isn't it?"

"Your hair isn't bothering you?" You run your hand through his incredibly wet hair as he shakes his head.

"No, I'll be good."

"Okay." He wraps his arm around you to pull you onto his body, the movie already off to a start. As the movie goes on, you find yourself getting sleep as both of your bodies sink deeper into the sheets, Jungkook still not letting you go. The laptop rests on his belly, while your head is on his chest, his heartbeat the one thing putting you to sleep pretty quickly. He's comfortable, just as you are. He's warm, you're warm. He's content, you're content. You drift off to sleep while he continues to watch, knowing your bodies will be pressed tightly against each other in the morning.

"Kook there's so many fucking people here. The cops are gonna come and shut this down quick." Jungkook shrugs.

"Oh well, wasn't my idea." He snorts. "Shot?!" He hands you a shot that you take with ease, feeling like you aren't drunk enough for all this shit and all these people. "Atta girl."

"Yuck, though." You slightly make a sour face as you feel the warmth trickle down your throat and into your stomach.

"Heeeey, whyyyyy do you look so FaMiliaR?" This girl asks Jungkook in a weird, flirty tone, where every other consonant goes up and down. She's obviously really fucking drunk and out of her mind because for one, she definitely goes to the same school as you two, and she has definitely been in class with Jungkook before.

"Oh uh, my name's Justin Bieber. I used to sing from time to time." He says nonchalantly with you furrowing your forehead at him because what kind of response did he just give her?! What did he just tell her? You're so embarrassed that you slowly turn on your heel and walk out of the kitchen as you hear him sing One Less Lonely Girl hella out of tune, with the girl completely smitten over his drunk ass.

"Where's Jungkookie?" Kass asks as she sits on Jimin's lap.

"Over there, pretending to be Justin Bieber apparently."

"Oh, nice. You don't come across that often." Jimin says sarcastically. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yeah, stay here tonight, with Kookie." Kass wiggles her eyebrows, her cheek resting on top of Jimin's head. "It's not like that's anything new."

"Um, I'd rather much be back in the dorm."

"That cold, lonely place? When you could be here, in such a pretty apartment with such a pretty boy?" You shake your head at her.

"Unbelievable." You mutter. Suddenly, an incredibly tall man walks into the apartment, reaching about 6'1 and almost hitting the ceiling with his tall ass. You've never seen him before, but he walks in with Hoseok and Namjoon and for whatever reason, you can't peel your eyes off of him. "Woah, who's that?"

"Who's what?" Jungkook finally comes to your side after being Justin Bieber for a good minute or so, his eyes following yours. Who was he and why were you looking at him so intensely?

"That's Kang! You've never met him?" Jimin says, doing a slight nod to greet him as he passes by. Kang and his fine self looks up at you, a small smirk creeping up at the corner of his lips as he continues through to the kitchen behind Hoseok and Namjoon. "He's a transfer and on the basketball team."

"He's fiiiiine." You and Kass swoon over him a bit, Jungkook giving you a look.

"He's alriiiight. I've seen better."

"Shut up, no one asked you." You lightly punch him on the side, making him lightly groan while Jimin and Kass laugh. The rest of the party, you suddenly have a goal to find out more about Kang and see what he's about because you and Jungkook weren't official. You both didn't really know what this was, but one thing you knew for sure was that it wasn't anything exclusive. You wouldn't bring it up, so wouldn't Jungkook - so was this really something all that meaningful?

Whatever, you didn't wanna keep going in circles about it.

Jungkook fucking hates it though, and he's honestly really jealous that you're suddenly trying to be all cute and woo the new, tall, handsome [but he's not really that fucking handsome to Jungkook for christ's sake] basketball player. Jungkook almost wants to mock his every move and how suavé he is, almost looking like a try hard with the way he's leaning against the wall and talking to you.

Wait— he's talking to you?! You were literally right next to him 2 seconds ago.

"What the fuck?" He squints, trying to make sure he's actually looking at you.

"You're so full of shit." Jimin laughs.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why don't you just admit that you like her and stop being childish about it?"

"I don't like her. She's just my bestfriend."

"Um, okay?" Jimin snorts. "When you sleep at her place every chance you get and vice versa? When she has a ton of your shirts and hoodies in her own fucking closet? When you always get so affectionate with her in the dorm? Sure, you don't like her."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do, you've done it in front of me and Kass before but you both tried playing it off. I don't understand you two."

"Well, I don't like her. She obviously doesn't either with the way she's trying to be all up on him." Jungkook glares at you, his teeth biting the rim of the cup harshly as he brings it to his lips to take a sip.

"Whatever, I'm just saying dude. Probably better to be straight up about it than not."

"Kaaaaaaay." Jungkook responds sarcastically, trying to play off how butthurt he was right now. Cause yeah, he did fucking like you. He was just scared to admit it though because of reasons like this - the fact that you possibly didn't like him back killed him. The fact that you could possibly be using him to feel wanted, needed. It made his stomach turn.

He just really liked you, and god, did he want to be the one in your bed tonight. Whether or not that ended up in sex, whatever. He just wanted to be the one to touch you, be on you.

Meanwhile, Kang was attractive as hell and ouwee, were you feeling him tonight. You were, you really were - except, you could literally feel the holes Jungkook was burning through you from across the room. You'd occasionally glance over due to how distracting it was, Jungkook literally have no shame with eyeing you, almost glaring at you, from across the apartment.

"Is it too forward if I ask for your number already?" Kang licks his lips, his teeth lightly piercing his bottom lip as he looks down at you.

"No." You smirk at him, taking his phone to put your number in.

"We should kick it soon. I'd love to hang out with you and get to know you better."

"Yeah, just let me know when." You blush, until you're suddenly pulled out of your daze by a loud 'ahem,' the loudest throat-clearing you have ever heard in your life. You turn to see Jungkook making his way back over to the shots, knowing damn well he's calling you over. "See you around?" Kang winks before he tips his cup to you and gives you a single nod.

"Sure thing, cutiepie." You bite onto your bottom lip, making your way over to Jungkook at the shot station, instantly pinching his arm.

"What the fuck?"

"Nobody was calling you over." Jungkook smirks.

"Shut the fuck up, yes you were. I know that was you clearing your throat like that."

"I'm sorry, does it bother you?" He blinks cutely, tilting his head to the side. "Besides, why come over here when you're too busy with your man?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Why in the hell would I be jealous, Y/N? Do you." The words sting you, even though part of you still wants to believe that Jungkook may actually like you. All you can do is sigh and brush it off, placing your cup down in front of him as he pours himself another shot. "You sure?"

"Just give me the damn shot." You say, making it your 7th.

And the 7th turns into 8, 8 turns into 9, 9 turns into 10. And at 10, you're pretty fucking drunk even as the party is starting to die down by the time it's close to 2am. All 10 were a good combination of shots and mixed drinks.

10 drinks.

10 drinks is what it took for you to lay in Jungkook's bed at the end of the night, hands tangled in his fluffy hair as your makeout session intensifies by the minute - all due to this sexual tension, frustration, whatever the hell it was brewing between you two after all this time. The both of you are drunk as hell, and it's pretty evident with the way you can still taste the alcohol on his tongue, both sloppily touching up on each other, kisses getting wetter, clothes coming off like there's no tomorrow.

"Wait, are you sure?" Jungkook says, about to unhook your bra.

"Jungkook, god, just fuck me." You plead drunkily, the room spinning around you. He continues to unhook your bra, tossing it across the room where your other clothes lay, peppering kisses along your neck before licking up a stripe to meet your lips again. He hooks his fingers across the band of your panties, tugging them down and letting them get lost within his sheets. You take this as leverage to tug his boxer briefs down, already stroking his hardened member the moment you come into contact with it. The sad thing is that you both are so fucking drunk, you can't even appreciate the fact that you both are naked in front of each other for the first time ever.

You can't even come to terms with the fact that you both are about to fuck each other and cross that boundary completely.

But, hell, what do you care? You were drunk. You got a cute guy's number. You're getting dick at the end of the night.

"Oh shit, Y/N." He moans into your mouth as he feels you stroking him. "Need to feel you." He quickly runs his finger down your fold, slipping in two digits to pump them in and out, quickly prepping you for his dick.

"Hnnng--Kook." You bite onto your bottom lip as your eyes shut close momentarily, your head digging deeper into the pillow the more he tries to stretch you out. "Want you inside of me."

"I got you." He says. You almost whine at the loss of contact until you feel his tip poking at your entrance. He slowly continues to slip himself inside of you, Kook letting out a small groan while your mouth was left open, a soundless moan releasing before you hiss and take in all of him. He fills you up so well, so completely. He was so big that you felt full, bloated, with him being inside of you the way he was.

"Ohhhhhgod." You whimper as he starts to steady his pace, the lewd noises of his cock slipping in and out of your wet pussy filling his room - god forbid if Jimin or their other roommate Yoongi heard this right now. It would be nothing short of pornographic.

"You're so wet. Is that all for me?" He says, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head as he begins to aggressively thrust into you.

"Y-yes." You whine.

"Say it again."

"All for you, Kook."

"I fucking thought so." He drunkily responds as one hand grips onto your hips tightly, the other in your hair as he digs his head back into the crook of your neck, his tongue messily licking near your jaw before he nibbles onto your earlobe.

"Hmmmmgggh, Jungkook. Fuck." You moan as you start to work your hips upward into his, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, causing the pleasure to pool quickly within the pit of your stomach. It causes goosebumps to pierce through the surface of your skin, your hands gripping tighter on his hair. "You're-you're gonna make me cum. Faster." You plead. He does just so, hammering into you, the sound of his hips slamming into yours bouncing off of the walls.

"Ahhh—Y/N." He groans.

"Just like that, just like that, just like that!" You repeat, your clit feeling incredibly stimulated by the way it rubs against his skin while he fucks into you. "Oh shit! Jungkook!" You moan loudly, biting his shoulder as you feel yourself trembling hard in his grip, your orgasm taking over your entire body.

"Shit, shit, shit—Y/N, Shiiiit." He says into your neck, followed by more curses and groans as you feel him coat your walls warmly. He stays inside of you until the both of you come back down to normalcy, your breathing becoming more regulated. He slowly slips himself out, plopping next to you on the bed, but doesn't welcome you into his arms.

The night goes on, the both of you sleeping on your own sides of Jungkook's bed, not really saying a word to each other. Because the both of you, although still pretty drunk, are more aware by the time it's over and it's become so clear how fucked up this got.

You were hurt. Completely hurt. Because you didn't expect Jungkook to just fucking ghost you after that night. You wanted to talk about it, maybe come to the conclusion that you two should just distance yourselves from each other to figure this out, even if it would hurt you a lot to do so.

No.

That morning, Jimin and Kass had to take you back to campus because Jungkook had darted out of his room, nowhere to be seen until later that night. The next week or so, there were no texts, no calls. No visiting your dorm, no asking to sleepover.

Nothing.

Just radio silence, white noise, if you will.

The one thing he could come up with was a stupid response to your text when you finally caved and asked what you did wrong mid-week.

Something along the lines of 'what do you want me to say, Y/N? do you want me to force myself to feel a certain way?'

Followed by a 'i'm sorry, fuck. that came out really wrong' even though you thought it came out perfectly fine. You understood loud and clear.

Even though this wasn't really an exclusive thing, or even a 'thing' if we wanna be straight up, you still couldn't help but feel like Jungkook had just dumped your ass with no explanation and you were still waiting for that explanation to come, whether it would or not. And because of this, you started to see Kang, hangout with him more often. He even took you out on a dinner date and you really enjoyed his company. He seemed genuine, caring, supportive - even if a lot of the basketball boys were the complete opposite. He was different, you liked to think.

And so you stand in front of the mirrors in the dance studio, you and Jungkook awkwardly running through the piece with Hoseok watching, confused as to why all of a sudden the two of you have this weird tension going on. It hasn't entirely ruined the couple piece, but it hasn't brought it together, either. The both of you could barely look at each other, barely get into the movements, the emotions behind the motions. Hoseok had to correct a few things, his 'pah pah pah's' echoing in the room constantly with how many times you and Jungkook had to be set straight for your sloppy steps today.

"Okay, I'm not saying it's bad, cause it's not. But can you both please act like you at least like each other or something? What's going on with you two? You aren't normally like this." Hoseok says, coming down to a crouch in front of the mirrors.

"Nothing, we'll do better. Don't worry." You brush off the entire question with your quick response. Jungkook looks at you, his hands on his hips, lightly frowning at how much you're distancing yourself even though he knows its entirely his fault for running from his feelings and not being honest with you.

"Okay, let's do it from the top." The music starts, you getting into the piece without making any eye contact with Jungkook. Even the steps that cause you to be close and near Jungkook, you look anywhere but his eyes, and your touch is light, trying your hardest not to let any feelings pass through the motion. Hoseok is a little more pleased this time around, but it still doesn't sit right with him, so he lets you two take a break while he heads to the other studio to check on Jimin and the rest of the group.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"Jungkook, you don't get to ask me that." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, not sure if he should continue on or not.

"Y/N—"

"Save it, and let's just get this over with, okay? I don't wanna be here just as much as you." Your words cut him deep because dear, you have gotten him completely misunderstood and yet, he still can't speak. He still can't talk about his feelings. He still can't save this even though he wants to, even though he loathes seeing you the way you are with Kang.

"I never said—"

"Kay, ready? Let's run this full out and make it a good one so we can call it for today." Hoseok says, clapping his hands to hype you two up somehow. The music starts and you're finally able to get into the steps. The emotions. And god, it's only because you're so hurt by your own bestfriend. You're hurt that he fucked you so good, and then dipped. You're hurt that he couldn't even face you the day after. You're hurt that after all this time, he made it seem like you still didn't matter enough - at least enough for an explanation, for some kind of reasoning, conversation, behind what just went down between the both of you. Between what has been going down between the both of you.

Besides the stupid ass responses he gave you through text.

You get so into your feelings that you don't even realize you're tearing up by the time the piece is over, and Jungkook catches it even though you face away from him as soon as the music cuts out.

"Nice, okay! That was so much better! Let's pick it up next session, yeah? We'll keep cleaning it up. Thanks guys!" Hoseok says. You immediately head towards the wall, grabbing your things to avoid any confrontation from Jungkook, but he grabs your arm as soon as you slip through the door.

"Y/N, wait. Stop."

"Let me go." You yank your arm from his grip.

"Why are you crying?" He stops in front of you, his hands placed on your arms to prevent you from moving any further.

"I'm not." You blatantly lie while you aggressively wipe away the stragglers coming down.

"Really? Just gonna lie like that?"

"Why do you care? You haven't said shit to me all week." You snap back, and Jungkook is taken aback from the tone in your voice. You remove his hands from your arms, and take one last look at him before shaking your head and walking off.

Next mistake? He doesn't come after you.

This was a waste of fucking time. If he truly cared about you, he wouldn't let you hurt like this.

You let out a deep sigh before clutching onto your things and walking back to your dorm. The walk from the gym/fitness center was damn near on the other end of campus compared to your dorm. It would be a good 10 minute walk if you really took your time. A good 10 minutes to ponder on your thoughts.

Yes, you liked Jungkook. You really liked him. Having sex with him solidified those feelings even more. How could you not have feelings for your bestfriend after all the moments you've shared? Was it your fault for assuming that? Was it your fault for walking through that door when it seemed to be completely open for you?

"Sup." Kang comes out of nowhere, pulling you out of your thoughts. He swings his arm around your shoulder, gently pulling you closer to his body.  "Just got out of practice?"

"Sure did." You give him a toothless smile. Yes, he was attractive as hell. He always will be. But, even with the time you spent together, the date he took you on, he still couldn't make you feel the way Jungkook has been able to make you feel.

"How was it?"

"Um, it was alright. Nothing new really, just cleaning up the piece before the show. You're going right?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He smiles down at you. "Listen, I don't know if you've heard, but there's another party tonight."

"A party? It's Wednesday." You snort.

"Yeah, I mean, one of the boys on the Lacrosse team is throwing it at his family house because his parents will be gone. Wanna come? I'll pick you up. We don't have to stay for long." You looked at your watch.

"What time is it at?"

"Like 9ish?" Enough time for you to shower and get a quick dinner in your belly. Why the hell not? You were caught up for the week. You didn't have any pressing assignments that were due asap.

"Sure. I'll come."

"Cool. See you later then?" He says, about to part ways with you. You simply give him a nod before walking deeper into Edgehill village. You hoped you wouldn't regret this tonight, and you really hoped he meant it when he said you two didn't have to stay for long. You drag yourself into your room, seeing Kass' door wide open, revealing her packing up her duffle bag.

"Hey, where are you headed during the middle of the week?"

"My two classes got cancelled for tomorrow so me and Jiminie are heading out for a mini getaway for our anniversary." You cross your arms and smile. "He's just gonna catch up on shit when we get back I guess." She laughs.

"That sounds cute. I hope you have loads of fun this weekend, babe."

"What are you gonna do?" Kass and Jimin were obviously aware of everything happening between you and Jungkook being that they had to be the ones to take you home. They never pressed on it though, knowing you both were still pretty upset about how things were playing out. They figured you two would eventually work it out, but until then, they would just sit back and keep their mouths shut. You two were being completely stubborn, but it wasn't their relationship to fix.

"Well, there's this party Kang wants to take me to tonight."

"The Lacrosse party? Messy." She laughs. "Be careful, but also have fun, yeah? I still don’t know if I trust him.”

"Yeah I know."

"Tell me how it goes!"

"I will." You wave her off as you head into your room and shut the door. You figured you would just grab dinner on campus to avoid spending more money than you should; after all, dinner seemed to be pretty bomb tonight. You didn't mind going alone, sometimes Namjoon would join you, asking for you to bring him a plate of food while he does the hard job of sneaking inside the cafeteria through the back door. He usually waits for you at a free table and ends up staying there to have dinner with you, updating you on how life has been, how school has been. Sometimes Hoseok would join you, too. Either way, you didn't mind if no one joined. It was nice to have dinner by yourself from time to time.

You get there on time to be able to grab some food, eat quietly and head out before the cafeteria gets way too busy for your liking. You slip into the shower and throw on a mini skirt, a crop top and a denim jacket, lightly fluffing your hair in the mirror and adding a dab of lip gloss to your lips before Kang is calling you to tell you he's outside your dorm. He's wearing something similar to your color palette, however, you don't make much out of it since this also wasn't really an exclusive thing and you sure as hell weren't going around telling people you and Kang had a thing going on.

To him, you two might be a thing. You've definitely overheard people talking about you two in passing.

To you though, you two definitely weren't. And it was a big fuck you to Jungkook for that.

The house is packed from end to end already, and you're surprised being that it has barely hit 10 minutes since the party was expected to take off. Kang is having to park down the hill, allowing you to hop onto his back for a quick piggy back ride up until you reach the front of the house. There's people already fucked up out on the lawn [you figured they fucked themselves over during their pre-game session cause that shit really happens from time to time], either laying there drunkily or yacking on a free patch of grass.

Gross.

Messy, indeed.

Some people are posted, smoking blunts and offering it to people who were passing by. You and Kang both pass up on it, the idea of not knowing where it has been not sitting right with you. You both head straight to the bottles, taking shots and downing mixed drinks to chase it with so that you can catch up with majority of the crowd. Kang has his arm around your shoulder throughout the night, keeping you close to him, even when he's getting pretty drunk. You realize he's a little more handsy than usual, a little more touchy than you expected him to be. It doesn't bother you for a minute, until he really tries to hike up your skirt while you sit on his lap. You gently shoo his hand away, playing it off while he nuzzles his head against your neck.

"Let's go upstairs, babe." He says, the pet name sounding incredibly off coming from him. Maybe you were drunk, maybe you really just weren't in the mood. It just didn't sound cute, if that even makes sense?

"Okay." You respond stupidly, not wanting to cause a scene at a lacrosse party. You intertwine your fingers with his as he leads the way up the stairs, eyeing the doors as they come into view. He leans forward towards each door, making sure it's clear before opening it. You assume he finally finds one that he's satisfied with when you catch the small smirk that grows at the corner of his lips when he turns the door knob and brings you inside. He pulls you into a deep, rough kiss, one that doesn't even allow you to breathe and process what the fuck is even going on. You can't get into it for the life of you, no matter how hard you try to back away. "Wait, wait."

"What's wrong, baby? Isn't this what you wanted?" He says, kissing down your neck as he drops his jacket to the floor. He gently pushes you onto the bed, his hands traveling up your skirt as you lay there trying to push him off.

"Wait, stop." He doesn't listen. He continues until his hands are literally hooking onto your panties, his finger swiping down your clothed folds. You try fighting him off, but he's way stronger than you. He continues to be aggressive, forcefully trying to shove your panties down until you muster up all the energy you have to finally push him off of you completely. "Stop!"

"What the fuck? I thought you wanted this?"

"Who the hell said that?"

"Are you serious? The way that you're dressed and the way that you look at me. The way you approached me at your friend's party - isn't it all because of this? Because you wanted me? Why are you backing out now?"

"Jesus, get over yourself." You stand, fixing your skirt back down. He furrows his brows at you before his hand grips your arm tightly, shoving you against the wall.

"The fuck, you can't just leave without giving me anything. I brought you here to this party."

"Let me go! You're fucking sick. No one even told you I wanted this to go down. I don't know who you think you are, but you need to get yourself together and stop assuming every pussy is yours to take." He attempts to pin you, his hand holding up both of your hands against the wall while the other tries to pull up your skirt. Someone accidentally opens the door, distracting him and giving you leverage to shove him off and get the fuck away. You dart down the steps, fixing your skirt as you head outside and away from the house.

Fuck, you're far from campus. And Kass and Jimin aren't around.

God.

You groan and run your hand through your hair as you continue to walk down the hill and into the neighborhood to get as far away as possible from that house and that gross ass dude. He was literally just like the rest of the basketball team. You've heard stories and they weren't nice. Looks like he was trained well already, and that shit was sad. What a waste. A beautiful human being with such a nasty, sick mindset. You hoped other girls hadn't fallen for his shit.

Ugh, it sends shivers down your spine. Bad shivers.

"Hello? Y/N?"

"Kook, can you come pick me up please?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Where are you?"

"I'll drop my location. Please hurry." You say, looking back to make sure your coast was clear. You drop the pin into your text thread with Jungkook and sit on the curb until his arrival. It's getting pretty chilly out, and the denim jacket you're wearing fails to provide you with the warmth you're looking for. Sooner or later, Jungkook is pulling up, damn near hopping out before he can shift the gear into park.

"You okay? What happened?" He says, opening the door for you before rushing over to the driver's seat.

"Nothing, can we just go back to your place?" He nods silently, and doesn't press any further after hearing your tone. He watches from his peripherals how you fiddle with your fingers and constantly reach to pull your skirt down even though he doesn't think there's any other way you could pull it down even more. He watches as he parks the car on the curb in front of his apartment how you simply undo your seatbelt and hop out to walk straight into his apartment. He watches as you welcome yourself into his closet and pick out some clothes for you to change in.

You were hurt, and his blood boils thinking about who could've done this and what they could have possibly done.

I mean, no. He knows who did this, but the question was what exactly did he try?

He hears the shower turn on, then quickly get turned off after a good 5 minutes. You had stepped in for a quick body shower, using Jungkook's bodywash just to rid yourself of feeling gross. Feeling gross from being shoulder to shoulder all night long, people breathing down your neck. Kang touching you inappropriately. You slip into Jungkook's clothes, his scent wrapping around you entirely. When you head back into the room, Jungkook has his headset back on as he faces his computer, logging back onto his game of League of Legends. You silently toss your dirty clothes to the side of his room, making a mental note to grab it tomorrow morning and toss it straight into the laundry.

Straight into a fire, perhaps. But you loved those clothes so much, it was unfortunate it'd have such a horrible memory to go with it.

Jungkook slowly removes his headset again and removes himself from his game before he heads over and sits on the edge of his bed. You simply look at him, pursing your lips tightly together to prevent yourself from crying.

But he can tell.

"What happened Y/N?" The question triggers you, making you cry into your hands as he sits there, dumbfounded and worried at how he can fix this and make you feel better. "Look, you don't have to tell me all the details but please tell me how I can help. At least tell me if I need to beat Kang's ass." He says, pulling you into his arms.

"He tried to fucking take advantage of me." You mumble as you remove your face from your hands.

"He did what?" He manages to ask even though he has a hard time swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. He already assumed you had placed him in the same category as Kang even though he never intended to take advantage of you. He really took that night as something special [even drunk], and he never meant to make you feel like you were a used object. Not like Kang.

"He-he," You sniffed. "He tried to force me into having sex with him. He took me upstairs at that lacrosse guy's party or whoever the hell it even was, and he started to aggressively kiss me. And then he tried to force my panties down and touch me there, and—"

"Okay, please don't go on or else I'll literally go over there and tear his ass apart right now. I promise you." He says sternly, his jaw clenching tightly. "God, fuck. I'm so sorry Y/N. I can't apologize on his behalf but fuck, you didn't deserve that." He uses his sweater to wipe your tears.

"I don't even know why I'm crying, this shit isn't even worth it." You groaned. "It's just overwhelming to process, I guess."

"That's okay." He says, letting out a sigh as he brushes his hand through your hair and continues to wipe the stragglers falling from your eyes. "Anything I can get you right now?"

"No, I'm probably just gonna go to bed." He nods. "Thank you for picking me up."

"Of course. You know I'll always be there." He says. You slip yourself into his sheets, watching as he makes his way back to his desk. But fuck, the only thing you needed right now was him. You didn't want this distance anymore, and you just wanted to be comforted in true Jungkook fashion.

"Wait."

"Hm?" He hums as he has a hand placed on the  head of his chair while he turns to you.

"Can you just lay with me?"

"Yeah." He says, shutting off his computer before making his way over to you in the dark. You feel him slip in next to you, his arm snaking around your shoulders so he can pull you close and onto his chest. "Better?"

"Yeah." You say, shutting your eyes as you listen to his heart beat.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?"

"I never meant to take advantage of you, or make you feel like I used you that one night." Silence. "It was dumb of me, but I just— I had trouble coming to terms with my feelings. I was scared that you wouldn't feel the same way, but I thought fuck it, at least you would know, right?"

"What are you talking about, Kook?" You ask, close to a whisper.

"I'm saying that I really fucking like you, Y/N. No, that's not right." He curses himself. "I-I uh, I'm in love with you. And I don't know if I messed this up already with the way I acted, god I hope not, but you at least deserve to know that I truly do value you and that you mean alot to me. That night, even though we were pretty plastered, it meant a lot to me. It was more than just sex and I'm sure you felt that too." He waits for your response as his fingers rake through your hair. "Please say something, anything."

"I feel the same way, Jungkook. You're an idiot for running off, but I couldn't even stay mad at you. You just know how to hit my soft spots and I can never say no to it. Can never turn my back on it." He presses a kiss against the top of your head.

"Fuck, I'm really glad to hear that cause I don't know what I would have done besides cry if you rejected me." You playfully hit his chest.

"You're annoying." You jokingly say as you chuckle.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I never wanted to hurt you."

"It's okay." You look up to press your lips against his before laying back down.

"And Kang better be fucking glad you're pressed against my body right now because I'm still looking to beat his ass."

"He's not even worth it." Is the last thing you say before you find yourself drifting into a deep sleep, in the comfort of Jungkook's arms.

"You two feeling okay? Nervous?" You and Jungkook shake your heads. "Good, you guys got this. You've been looking amazing during practice, the audience will love you two, no doubt. Just remember to show emotions through expressions and hit every beat sharply." Hoseok nods in unison with the both of you.

"Got it, thanks Hobi." You smile at him toothlessly. You and Jungkook patiently waited for your turn backstage, the talent show already off to a wild and fun start. So many students came by to showcase their talents - from beatboxing, open mic, freestyling [like Yoongi did], dancing, singing, you name it. It was always a fun time at the talent show, and it was always nice to see people getting love for the shit they loved to do.

"You're up next." Hoseok says. "I'll be in the front row. Kick ass and have fun!" He says as he rushes off towards the opposite end to head back out to his seat in the theater.

"Ready?" Jungkook holds out his hand for you to take.

"I think so." You playfully respond as the backstage crew is rushing out the previous talent and rushing you two in to take your places on stage. The lights pick up as soon as the music starts, Kang's big ass head already in full view for you. He's definitely not smiling, no, he has a look of pure disgust because he simply couldn't get what he wanted from you.

And boy, who's fault was that? Not yours, no sir. It was his fault for thinking he had it like that.

But anyways, you're feeling the music, you're feeling the piece because you're dancing with your bestfriend and there wasn't this grey area anymore. It was easier to get into the motions, to get into the feeling, especially when things felt right between the two of you.

And God, what else is more attractive than Jeon Jungkook hitting his 8 counts so smoothly, with just enough umph to make it pop but make it pop cleanly.

Yo, please. I beg. Send some help. You could literally melt on stage.

The moments where Jungkook has to be close to you, where he has to touch you - you let him, and you touch him with meaning. You don't stray away this time because you have no reason to. The crowd is cheering, lots of 'ou's' and 'aw's' erupting from various places in the theater.

"Pretty lady." Jungkook whispers in your ear as the move requires his hands to be placed on your hips for a quick moment. You hear him slightly singing along to the song as he parts from you, causing you to blush.

Sooner or later, the couple piece is over and the song is transitioning to Jimin's piece, you and Jungkook rushing off the stage so the next group can take their positions. Jimin wanted to test his limits, creating a piece a little different than his usual taste - Chris Brown's Came to Do begins blaring through the theater speakers. You immediately jump into Jungkook's arms once you both reach backstage, the both of you immensely happy and pumped that you got through the piece without messing up one step or beat. It went so smoothly that Hoseok was standing in the front row, clapping and cheering in typical Hoseok fashion. You intertwine your fingers with his, slipping through the side door to catch Jimin's piece on stage. You and Jungkook are cheering them on, always impressed by the shit your friends can come up with. You both loved dancing, but you couldn't even imagine coming up with your own pieces to teach people.

That night after the show, everyone heads to a nearby restaurant for dinner with everyone. You all take up almost an entire section of the restaurant, splitting two long tables to accommodate the entire group with doubled the waitresses to take your orders. You settle for water, splitting an abnormally huge and filled deep dish pizza with Jimin, Kass and Jungkook. It was a good day, a good night, everyone at the table happily eating and chatting it up over dinner. You turn down any drinks because to be honest, drinks lowkey make you queasy just from the thought of how much you drank at Jungkook's apartment, plus the added bonus of that party Kang took you to. Jungkook declines as well, knowing he has to drive you back safely.

Jimin and Kass head back to the apartment because Yoongi says he's gonna hang out with Joon And Hoseok for a bit, and they warn you and Jungkook that things may get loud so the both of you decide to really stick to the plan of bringing you back to the dorm. Jungkook does his usual routine of dropping you off first before finding parking around campus. You hop in the shower and come out in Jungkook's oversized crewneck that he left in your closet, forgoing the shorts because you certainly thing that at this point, he'd love to see you in his sweater and panties.

And he does. He smiles as he pulls you close, his hands traveling up your sweater, only to find out that you literally don't have shit on besides some cute little boyshorts. He feels himself hardening in his pants quick because he's incredibly attracted to you and everything about you, always has been, always will be.

"You did amazing tonight." He says, gently kissing your forehead.

"You did too, partner." He gives you a slightly shocked look.

"Is that all I am to you? Your dance partner?"

"Yeah, why? Were you expecting more?" You joke as you smile up at him.

"Yeah, I was."

"Oh?" He gently swoops you up into his arms, your legs wrapped tightly around his torso as he sits you on the bed, his hands resting on your thighs while you continued to hold him around the neck. "Care to tell me what you were expecting?"

"Well, you know, my best friend—" He presses a kiss against your lips, thumbs gently rubbing circles against your hips. "My girlfriend."

"Hm, say that again?" Your fingers are gently playing with the ends of his hair, your lips barely grazing his.

"My girlfriend." He says closed to a whisper, kissing you softly. The kiss deepens quick, Jungkook's tongue lining your bottom lip as his way of asking for permission to take it further. You gladly take it and let him in, your tongues instantly fighting for dominance. Your fingers travel up his hair, tugging ever so slightly just to let him know you want more. That you need more.

And he gets that.

His fingers hook onto the band of your boyshorts, tugging them down and letting them fall down your legs and onto the floor. He breaks the kiss momentarily, his brown, puppy dog eyes looking straight into yours.

"Hey." He says, brushing the hair out of your face.

"Hm?"

"I know I said the last time was special, and it was. It is." He corrects himself. "But, I wanna do right by you this time around. So, is it okay if I keep going? Are you comfortable?" He asks properly, since the two of you are both sober and perfectly coherent, aware of your surroundings and the fact that you'll be seeing each other fully naked in a few minutes.

"Yes." You respond. "Yes, I want you to keep going. I want you. This." He simply nods, bringing his lips back onto yours. His hands climb up your sweater and gently gives your breasts a good squeeze, earning a small moan from the both of you. His other hand begins to travel down to your pussy, two long fingers slowly probing your entrance and causing your breathing to hitch.

"You okay?" He asks lowly. You nod, biting onto your bottom lip as you tilt your head back and rest on your hands, no longer able to keep up with the kiss due to all the pleasure starting to pile up deep in your core. Jungkook starts of slow, his head now buried into the crook of your neck as he works his digits upward, tickling at the right spot.

"Ohhhh, Kook." You mewl as his tongue swipes across the surface of your neck, biting gently beneath your jaw. He begins to pick up the pace, the sounds of him finger fucking you filling up the room entirely.

"Fuck, you're so wet baby." He groans into your neck.

"I'm gonna cum." You whine, teeth almost piercing through your bottom lip in between your whimpers.

"Need to taste you." He removes his fingers and sinks down in between your thighs, gripping onto them and pulling you just a teensy bit more off the edge of the bed so he can get a good angle. The sight of his eyes looking up at you in between your legs is to die for, and the sight alone is enough to make you cum. But, you hold on, you ride out for a little longer - feeling Jungkook's tongue swipe in and out of your folds before he's sucking endlessly on your clit.

"Ahhh, fuck, wait, Jungkook!" He slightly smiles while eating you out, signaling that he's not stopping even if you beg him to. "Hnnng—shit!" You moan loudly as you feel yourself toppling over the edge, your body shaking in Jungkook's grip. You twitch every time he continues to suck gently on your sensitive nub, letting you ride out the rest of your high. He comes back up to your lips, the taste of your own cum lingering on it as you kiss him deeply.

"You taste so good." He says, back to twirling your nipples in between his fingers.

"Wanna feel you." You fiddle with his jeans, undoing his belt and sliding the rest down as much as you could. Jungkook gets out of his shirt and tosses it aside before helping get the sweater above your head. His eyes glow at the sight of your bare body in front of him, wanting to do nothing but please you and please you well.

"God, you're so perfect." He places kisses down your collarbone, to the surface of your breasts before quickly swirling his tongue around your perked buds. You moan as you tug down onto his boxer briefs, immediately stroking his hardened member while he tended to you. Jungkook was a fucking beauty himself - his soft hair, his perfectly toned body, his long 'thick in all the right places' dick.

"Please." You plead. "I want you inside of me." You whimper, causing Jungkook's breathing to hitch when you slightly tighten your grip at the base of his shaft. He gently pushes your hand aside to take over, lining himself up at your entrance. He inserts the tip, watching your eyes roll to the back of the head as he slowly sinks into you.

"Mmmmmgod." He moans. "So tight for me, baby. So fucking wet and tight." He repeats, close to a growl. Your moaning begins to pick up, matching the pace of his thrusting. You're still on the edge of the bed, Jungkook keeping you steady by gripping your thighs tightly. He marvels at the sight of your titties bouncing up and down with every thrust, hissing and shutting his eyes momentarily to keep himself grounded and to prevent himself from coming too quickly. Cause god, he can literally blow any second now.

"Jungggggkooook, yessssss!" You moan loudly, whining even at this point with how good he feels fucking into you at such a fast pace. You're feeling slightly sore already from him hammering into you, but nonetheless, it builds more pleasure for you and you want nothing but to reach your high again. "I-I'm coming!" Jungkook moans in unison with you when he feels your walls pulsating against his cock.

"Such a good girl for me." He says, slowing his pace. The creamy sounds of Jungkook's cock slipping inside and out is music to the both of your ears. He finally gains the courage to remove himself, sitting next to your spot on the edge of the bed and pulling you onto his lap. You swing a leg over, your hands resting on the nape of his neck while you sink yourself lower onto his length. Your mouth opens to let out a moan, but the best you can do is let out a hiss. It feels too fucking good that you can't even process it thoroughly. Jungkook pushes your lips down onto his by grabbing your neck, his other hand guiding the movement of your hips as you roll into him.

"Mmmggg—Jungkook." You whimper in between kisses. "You feel so fucking good, god. You're gonna make me cum again."

"Yeah, cum for me. Cum all over me. It's yours." He grunts, his hands guiding you to work him faster. Your movements are getting sloppier, and you feel your wetness starting to coat his pelvis. He doesn't give a fuck though, and neither do you. This shit feels too good for you to worry about the mess you're making on him.

"Cum with me please." He moans at the sound of you whispering into his ear.

"Faster, baby." He says, almost making you cry at how awfully close you are to unraveling. You tug onto his hair, your head buried deep into his neck as you try and suck onto the surface, trying to find an outlet, some kind of release, until you let go. You suck harshly as you coat his cock with your cum, leaving a purple mark right at the base of his neck. You continue to ride out your high, rolling your hips sloppily as Jungkook finally lets himself go, his moan bouncing off of your walls as his seed fills you up warmly.

You stay in your position, slowly raising your head to cup his cheeks and kiss him deeply once more.

"Fuck, I love you." He says slightly pulling away.

"I love you too." You giggle.

"Didn't actually need any drinks to do this now, did we?" Jungkook jokes, softly pinching your hip.

"Shut up."

"Damn, you both couldn't even at least try to be quiet?!" Jimin yells from outside the door.

[planetdream]

okay listen- LISTEN! i'm back with more seungminnie thoughts. this one woke me out my fawkin sleep and now i can't get him out of my head and it's literally driving me insane because it's about mundane, domestic shit; like how he uses your hairbands to hold his fringe back while he does the dishes. or the sound of him padding around your apartment. or the way he fluffs pillows at hotel rooms to make sure they're comfy enough. his obsession with making you your favourite drink when he fails to console you the way you need. leaving his old hoodies and accessories at your place just to see you with them on. oh oh, and his habit of making sure things are just the way you like them, even though you're very capable of doing that yourself. don't even get me started on him touching you absentmindedly- i know everyone says he's not a touchy person but his libra venus + virgo mars makes me think he's inclined to adapt to his partners needs because he knows thats what makes them feel best, so he starts cupping the back of your neck when he notices your mood shift, it's primarily to ground you but it also helps him gage whether or not you're feeling sick??? OR HOLDING YOUR HAND AT THE GROCERY STORE (unless your palms get sweaty, then he'll switch to pressing against your back and caging you against the cart handle) i-eEEEUUUGHHHH just thinking about boyfie!seungmin who's whipped to a peak and garnished with a little cherry on top because you make him feel good?! protected and protective all at once. there's something very natural abt the things he feels towards you and it draws out this side of him that he hasn't even seen before. and like wtf dude :/ WHAT THE FUCK????

the “then he’ll switch to pressing against your back and caging you against the cart handle” has me like—

please i just . love the aura of being in a grocery store so it’s like one of my favorite bonding experiences and thinking about going grocery shopping with seungmin?? i’ve literally had a dream about it before lol

and pleeeeze he lovesss the way you look in his hoodies,, leaves them in your apartment one by one until you’re just housing half of his collection. doesn’t let you give them back either, it always gets replaced by another hoodie. (loves to pull he hood over your head and pull against the strings and tie it in a knot so you’re failing around all funny)

all of these thoughts have me 💔💔🥺

and yes yes that libra venus + virgo mars. just wants to be in tune with the things that you need :( does any and everything that he can to make you happy that sometimes he neglects how he feels himself. he needs balance and equal-ness (? not a real word lmao) in a relationship bc he can really give and give until he’s given way too much. rlly he’s just a soft baby that likes to be taken care of and spoiled just as much as he likes to be the caretaker and do the spoiling.

[wormstacheangel]

Suptober Day 8: Leather and Lace/ Day1 Gen's follower celebration: "I can't believe you."

wc:1.2k tags: married destiel, fluff, cas has self-worth issues

Castiel likes to think he is good at giving gifts. Or at least that he is okay at it.

He tries his best, but sometimes he could see that he once again missed the mark in the other’s eyes. Sometimes he doesn’t understand things entirely, like sure he understands that Jack likes Star Wars and knows about it, but his kid has an emotional bond to the movie that he can’t truly understand.

Just like Dean. He forms emotional ties to every movie, show, and character he sees on screen. At least it felt like he did. Castiel tried to understand; he listened and watched but couldn’t find it compelling enough to grab his attention. Why care about a fictional world when his real life was much more interesting?

But today, he knows for sure that he found a wonderful gift that his husband will like.

“A journal?” Dean looked over the gift Cas just handed him.

Dean was sitting on the couch reading a new book Patience recommended for him. Once again, she was right, and he loved it.

“Yes.” Cas tucked his feet underneath him as he sat beside Dean. “It’s made of leather, and I had your initials engraved on the inside.”

Cas watched Dean’s slight smile as he opened the book up, flipping through the empty pages before his fingers traced the burnt-in initials.

“You don’t like it,” Cas concluded when the silence continued.

“No.” Cas frowned, but Dean quickly reached over to tug at Cas’ lower lip. “Stop pouting. I like it.” Dean weighed the journal in his hand. “Love it, actually. Thanks for adding sketch paper inside.”

“I know you like to draw.” Another hobby Dean can now focus on. Now that he wasn’t worried about saving the world every other day.

“I do.” Dean reached forward and took Cas’s hand. “I love it, Cas.”

“You don’t have to lie, Dean. I understand I suck at picking out gifts.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows at that. “What? Who told you that?”

“Nobody.” He honestly answered, his fingers playing with Dean’s. “I just assumed.”

“Well. You know what they say about people who assume.”

Cas thought about it for a few seconds before he understood. “Ah. I’m an ass.”

Dean chuckled before tugging Cas closer until he was pressed to Dean’s side.

“Not what I meant.” Cas happily let himself become draped over Dean. Watching as his eyes brightened up when Cas was practically on top of him. Their faces were inches away from each other. “Why do you think we don’t like your gifts?”

“I don’t know. I just,” Cas thought about it, picking his words wisely before answering. “Nobody is ever excited for them.”

Dean blinked at him for a second, maybe trying to pick his own wise words, before he gave Cas a small kiss. He smiled into it, and Cas sat there trying to understand what was so funny.

“Cas,” Dean sighed, a smile in his tone. “You’re the best gift-giver.”

“You flatter me but-”

“Shut up.” Dean kissed him again, letting the kiss linger a little longer before he pulled away. “I bet you noticed all my loose napkins.”

“I have. I keep all your little sketches. I enjoy them a lot.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart. But, point is, I haven’t said shit to you about it. And yet you buy me a journal with pages filled with sketching paper.”

“I thought you would like it. Maybe keep all your sketches in one place.”

“Yeah. Exactly my point, Cas.” Cas opened his mouth to ask Dean to get to the point instead of making this conversation longer and much more complicated than it had to be, but Dean shushed him before he got a chance. “You’re thoughtful. You see things that we need that we don’t ask for, and you just give it to us like you read our mind or something. Like, I have been thinking of getting into sketching but wasn’t sure if I was good enough to get into the actual paper. And voila, you give me this.”

Cas smiled; he looked at Dean with narrowed eyes still. “I don’t do that. Read your mind, I mean.”

“I know.”

“Does everyone else feel the same?”

“Cas, Claire takes that ugly stuffed cat everywhere she goes. Sam and Eileen can have full-on conversations because you took the time to teach Sam how to sign. You bought Kaia all the Junie B Jones books cause she mentioned it once during dinner, and now she clings to you. And do I have to mention that Jack’s comic collection is so fucking huge?”

“Does he enjoy those? I always try to look for good hero role models for him.”

“Dude, you live under a rock? The kid is obsessed with them!” Dean presses his smile into Cas’s jaw. “Your gifts are the best. I promise. You are always giving us gifts that show us that you are listening. That you are watching. That you’re...well, that you’re taking care of us. Cause you love us and shit.”

Cas chuckled, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders as he tilted his head back just enough until their lips touched. Kissing once again and letting Dean’s words bounce around in his head, feeling overwhelmed that he was being seen this way. Happy that they all know from the small gifts that yes, yes, he loves them all.

Dean pulls away, staring at Cas with wide eyes before they turn warm and teasing. “I can’t believe you.” Cas quickly hides his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Are you, Sweetheart, are you crying?”

“No.” Cas wiped his face in the soft t-shirt; it still smelled of the new dryer sheets Dean picked up the day before. Floral.

“I love you. You know that?” Dean pressed kisses into his hair. His hands rubbed circles into his back while he maneuvered Cas to sit on his lap. All this gentleness was still hard for Cas to wrap his mind around. How can this man that he holds so dear see him the same? Maybe he doesn’t. Cas always understood that while Dean loves him, his husband will never understand how strongly his love for Dean is. How rooted it is to the world around them. But Dean never needs to know. All he has to know is that he is loved. “I should say it more.”

“You should.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They just sat there for a while, enjoying the enveloping warmth and comfort that the other brings before they were back looking at the journal Cas had given him.

“What’s with the lace detailing on the inside? Is that-?”

“Part of our wedding suits. I thought it would look nice.”

“Down to the details. You know,” Dean put the journal down on the coffee table before he turned towards Cas. A twinkle of mischief in his eyes made Cas’s heart race. “If you keep doing nice shit for me, I am gonna go down on you.”

Cas’s eyes widen before he cleared his throat. Trying to find his voice while watching his husband get on his knees in front of him. “I um, maybe I’ll make…Fuck. I’ll make dinner.”

Dean laughed, “God no.”

“I...I won’t make dinner?”

“Thank you for being kind.”

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part III (x reader)

Summary: Spencer has to face Anita and Sam— and learns a little about reader’s past. Reader and Spencer babysit for Michael and Henry. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a tiny smidge of hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, drinking/alcohol, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen)

Word count: 4.2k

a/n: This picks up right after the end of the tmsidk epilogue! I also worked two requests in here.

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer stacked the last of the tiny chairs in the center of the room, stepping back and dusting his palms on his trousers. He looked over to see Y/N playing a sort of container tetris with the bins of supplies in her closet. He smiled a little to himself, his head still in the metaphorical clouds with her confession of love. 

She maneuvered the bins to her satisfaction and shut the closet doors, pushing against them to squeeze everything in until the latch clicked. She turned to see him watching her and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. She gave him a wink and a grin, and he was falling all over again. 

She perched on the corner of her desk with a tired sigh, and he made his way across the room to her. She reached for him as soon as he was within arms length, wrapping her arms around his middle. She snuggled into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate.”

She laughed and looked up at him. “Celebrate what?”

He shrugged. “You. Summer.” He brought his arms around her shoulders. “Love.”

She smiled and scrunched her nose at him. “You just want me to say it again.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her fingers squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered immediately and rather dreamily. 

“Yo, Y/L/N!” 

The call of her name from the hallway startled them both. Anita began to step over the threshold, continuing, “You ready to get absolutely crunk tonight or— oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes tracking Spencer’s frame. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer stepped back from Y/N, smiling a little awkwardly at the formality and giving a wave. “Mrs. Lopez. It’s, um— it’s nice to see you again.”

Anita hummed noncommittally, and Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned her attention back to Y/N. “So, are we going out or what?”

Y/N groaned. “Anita, I’m exhausted. Can we keep it low key? Oh!” Her eyes lit up with an idea, and Spencer could already see where this was going. “Spence and I were gonna get dinner to celebrate, um— summer. Call Sam; we’ll all just go together.”

Anita spared a glance in Spencer’s direction before sighing heavily. “Fine. But I’m drinking.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the hallway.

Y/N chuckled. “I swear she’s not actually an alcoholic.” Her eyes landed on Spencer’s face, and she smiled gently. “I know you weren’t expecting a Meet the Friends night, but it’ll be fun.”

“She hates me,” Spencer surmised.

“She does not hate you.” Y/N stood from the desk, pressed a reassuring peck to his lips. “She’s just… protective. That’s all.”

…

Y/N was entirely wrong. Anita Lopez hated him. That was the only explanation for her absolutely icy demeanor. 

They’d met up with her and Sam at a Mexican restaurant in Tenleytown. Sam was wonderfully kind and funny, even apologizing for having “flipped him the bird” the last time she saw him. And it was a good thing Sam was being friendly, because Anita was decidedly… less so. 

Spencer understood completely of course. He’d broken Y/N’s heart. Penelope had been ready to hunt her down at the mere thought of him being hurt. As Y/N’s best friend, Anita had every right to be wary of him. She had every right to hate him. He’d just... hoped that she wouldn’t. 

Thankfully, Y/N and Sam were more than happy to carry the conversation— he and Anita chiming in here and there. He learned that Sam worked as an attorney at a firm specializing in family law. She and Anita had two kids, Riley and Sidney— one in 2nd grade and the other in preschool. 

“Y/N is still Riley’s favorite teacher ever,” Sam told him. “I mean, it helps when she’s also your aunt, I guess.”

“He didn’t get any special treatment,” Y/N insisted. At Sam’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Okay, maybe a little special treatment. But you raised a good kid! And I can’t help it that he was the most trustworthy of the bunch.”

“Oh my god, the field trip,” Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. 

“The field trip!” Y/N turned to Spencer. “My group of kiddos from two years ago— they were kind of a tough group.”

“Kind of?” Anita squeaked. “Let me just tell you, I can hear them through the floor. The entire middle school is literally dreading the day they make it upstairs.”

Sam piped in, “I chaperoned on said field trip to the zoo. And I vowed that I will never, ever go on another field trip. Ever.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked incredulously. 

“So many things,” Sam baited. 

Y/N covered her mouth to stifle a cackle, leaning a bit into Spencer’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile, looking around at the three women. Even Anita was chuckling, and she’d barely cracked a smile all evening. 

“Okay, so many things happened,” Y/N started, “but the worst was—”

“The poop!” Sam wheezed. “The poop was the worst part of that day. The smell alone, oh my god.”

Y/N composed herself as best she could, gesturing over the table. “So after this nightmare of a day, we get on the bus, and there’s this— smell.”

“The absolute worst smell you’ve ever smelled, Spencer,” Sam assured. 

“It’s awful. It’s so bad,” Y/N agreed. “And I’m literally going seat to seat, checking to make sure no one has shit themselves.”

“You could not pay me enough,” Anita chimed in. 

“And I get to the seat that is very clearly where the smell is coming from. And I can’t, like— hold my nose, right? I don’t want to embarrass him!” Y/N turned to Spencer with flushed cheeks. “So I ask, ‘Sweetheart, did you have a bathroom accident?’”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Oh no.” 

“But oh, it wasn’t a bathroom accident,” Y/N clarified, waving her hand. “No, no— that would be too easy. This child had somehow managed to obtain copious amounts of poop from one of the zoo animals and packed it into his lunchbox to take home.”

Spencer could feel his jaw drop. “Oh my god.”

“So, he unzips his lunchbox and it’s just— overflowing with shit.” Y/N dropped her head into her hands, overcome with giggles. 

“And don’t forget the worst part: his mom was on the field trip!” Sam lamented, throwing her hands up. “I will never understand.”

Y/N lifted her head with an exasperated grin, and he wasn’t sure if it was the story or the fact that she loved him, but Spencer felt like he could float away into outer space. 

“I told you I had a lot of poop stories,” Y/N reminded him, drawing another round of laughs. As they composed themselves, the waiter came by their table to clear some of their plates and refill their water.

“God, I said we were keeping it low key, and then I drank half a pitcher,” Y/N complained, pushing back from the table. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

She gave Spencer a reassuring smile, and he tried not to panic as she stood and left him with Sam and Anita. And because the universe was toying with him, at that exact moment, Sam’s phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket with a sigh. 

“Shit— I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She kissed Anita’s cheek and stood from the table. “So sorry; I’ll just be five minutes, I promise.”

With that, it was just the two of them, staring intently at their water glasses. Spencer was certain he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Anita broke the silence first. 

“You know what’s annoying?”

Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Considering that the issues one might classify as an annoyance vary for each individual person, there are over seven billion potential answers to that question.”

Anita tilted her head with an unimpressed purse of her lips. Spencer hedged, “And I understand now that it was probably rhetorical.”

“I actually kind of like you.” She leaned across the table with an irritated sigh. “I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, um— I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re good for her. Smart, humble, kind. Enamored with her, as you should be,” she deadpanned. She dropped her chin into her hand. “Almost as hot as she is.”

He laughed a little at that. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her hand back to the table. She still didn’t crack a smile, and her gaze bore into him. “I don’t know how much you know about Owen, and she’d probably kill me for saying anything. But he was a real piece of shit.”

This was not the direction he thought this conversation would take. He didn’t know anything about Owen; he’d tried not to think too much about anyone Y/N might have been with before him. 

“It didn’t start out that way.” She drew her brows together. “Well, I don’t know— maybe he was always an asshole, and he was just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “The point is, I didn’t know he was treating her like garbage until it was too late. He was already all…” She gestured wildly around her head. “In her head, telling her lies about herself, fucking her up, isolating her. For years he did that. And then it took her years to get him out of her head. To— unlearn all the lies. To build herself back up.” 

He could see her grinding her teeth, trying to calm down. He was intensely grateful to not be on the receiving end of Anita’s wrath. He was also immensely glad that Y/N had a friend like that. And his blood absolutely boiled at the thought of her ever feeling anything less than adored. 

“You’re a fed or whatever, so I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she continued, “but I would love nothing more than to put that fucker six feet under.” She ran her hand through her hair, and when she continued her voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. “All that to say, I… I wasn’t there for her when Owen was destroying her from the inside out. And I will never let that happen again.” 

Anita locked eyes with him and her voice was resolved. “I like you, Spencer. And I want to keep it that way. So, just— don’t give me a reason not to.”

She didn’t drop her gaze, and he couldn’t quite think of the appropriate response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brain was still fixated on the idea that anyone had ever hurt the loveliest and kindest woman he’d ever met.

“Where’s Sam?” Spencer turned just as Y/N slid back into the chair beside him, a comforting hand coming to rest on his knee. 

“Some bullshit from the office that her idiot partner can’t handle.” Anita raised her eyebrows at Spencer, and he nodded minutely. She shifted her gaze back to Y/N with a grin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t scare him too much.”

…

“Easy.” Spencer steadied Y/N with a hand on her waist as they made the way up the stairs to his apartment. 

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I just— really can’t drink like I used to.” She clutched a little at the railing, and he held his breath until they were at the top of the stairs. 

He slipped an arm back around her waist as they crossed to his apartment door, fumbling with his keys and fighting back a shiver as she snuggled close and ran her hand low over his tummy. 

“Can’t believe I’m tipsy from a couple margaritas.”

“To be fair, you had four,” he chuckled, turning the key and pushing open the door. 

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But I used to be able to have a whole pitcher and be totally fine.”

“A pitcher?” Spencer laughed as he locked the door and turned to face her. “I can’t even have one without being completely incapacitated.”

She ran her hands up from his waistband, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck. “Mmm, so you’re a lightweight.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to her hips. 

“Just one more sweet thing to love about you, sugar.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face at the endearment, the way that North Carolina dripped syrupy and thick over every syllable. She pulled him down to meet her in a sweet kiss, quickly deepening it as he dug his fingers into the softness of her hips. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging lightly and holding him close. 

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers and catch his breath. She laced their fingers together and leaned on him while she kicked off her shoes. He toed his own off and then allowed her to lead him toward his bedroom. 

She sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap, bringing her hands up to tangle in his curls once again. 

Before she could lean in for another kiss, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teased, ghosting her lips over his.

“Ha, ha.” Part of him wanted to bring up Owen, but she was so happy and warm and comfortable in this moment. He didn’t want to ruin this night of celebration. He didn’t want to ruin this day that had been so full of love. They had plenty of time to discuss Owen. 

He wrapped his arms around her middle. “You’ve met Penelope. I’ve met Anita. Now that the school year is over… we could tell Michael.”

She pulled back, and the smile she gave him could only be described as radiant, and he knew he made the right decision. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

…

A week later, the pair of them were strolling up the sidewalk to the LaMontagne house. Will and JJ were long overdue for a date night, and Spencer had jumped at the opportunity for the two of them to babysit. When they reached the door, Spencer rang the bell and Y/N waited slightly behind him. 

They could hear the joy from behind the door before it even opened, Michael’s high pitched giggle and Will’s booming laugh. Spencer was already leaning down in preparation, and Michael absolutely launched into his arms as soon as the door swung open. Spencer clocked the moment that Michael spotted her, purely because he practically squealed and squirmed right out of Spencer’s grip. 

“I knew it!” Michael cried. 

He wrapped himself around Y/N’s legs and squeezed tightly, and she rubbed a hand over his hair with a bewildered smile. Michael broke away to turn back to Will with a grin. “I told you.”

“You did, buddy.” Will gave Spencer a lopsided smile as Michael tugged Y/N forward by the hand. “Michael had an… inklin’ that uncle Spencer might be friends with Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Not friends, Daddy,” Michael said exasperatedly. “He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry.” Will held his hands up in apology as he stepped aside to let them all in the door. “Michael had a feelin’ that uncle Spencer might be Ms. Y/L/N’s boyfriend.”

Y/N’s cheeks had turned a very pretty shade of pink. “What— um, what made you think that?” 

Michael waited patiently for her to take off her shoes. “Well firstly, he started picking me up all the time, which was nice but weird. And then he wouldn’t stop asking about you. It was kind of annoying.” Spencer made a choking sound, and Will stifled a laugh. 

“You guys wear the same shoes, and you both love Halloween and tea and reading. I knew you’d like him if he could be a guest reader.” As he led her into the living room, Michael continued, “Oh, and you wore his purple scarf. He doesn’t let anyone wear the purple scarf.”

Spencer vividly remembered that morning— she’d slept over after a midweek date night in April. The temperatures in DC had plummeted overnight, and the outfit she’d brought left her woefully under-dressed for the chilly spring day. He’d wrapped her up in the soft, purple scarf without a second thought. 

She caught his eye with a shrug, and Will tried not to look too smug. Spencer watched her be dragged further into the house, turning to Will with a sheepish smile.

“Well, guess I can’t take all the credit,” Will decided. “Who knew we had a mini matchmaker this whole time?”

Spencer huffed out a laugh as Michael pulled Y/N into the playroom. “This is the best,” Michael sighed. “Now we can play restaurant forever.”

…

Spencer pulled his legs up in the tiny chair, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to watch the scene in front of him unfold. Usually on nights like this, Michael ran him ragged with demands for magic tricks, story time, and playing pretend. Tonight, he’d actually been able to catch up with middle school (middle school!) Henry, because Michael was totally and completely enthralled by Y/N. 

She was helping with the last of the setup for the “restaurant,” organizing Michael’s menus and straightening his clip-on tie. Of course he’d seen her with kids before. But something about being in this playroom— one that he’d spent so many hours in, watching two of his favorite kids grow up— had him feeling warm from head to toe. 

Henry had bounded down the stairs at the news that uncle Spencer was dating his former kindergarten teacher. He hadn’t realized that she’d taught Henry, too, although with the timeline of her teaching career he should have put two and two together. The generally reserved middle schooler had positively beamed when she gasped out, “Gosh, I always forget how tall you’ve gotten!”

And now three of his absolute favorite humans were in one room, and he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Hen!” Michael called. 

Henry turned from his spot in the chair across from Spencer. “What?”

“You’re the chef,” Michael informed him. 

Y/N tilted her head. “I thought I was the chef?”

“No, no, no.” Michael pushed her toward the kid-sized table. “You and uncle Spencer are on a fancy date.”

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stood from the chair, pulling it out for her like a perfect gentleman. She beamed at him and gave him a wink. “Thank you, sir.”

She dropped lightly into the chair across from Spencer and laughed a little at his folded limbs. “You look very comfortable.” 

He laughed and stretched his legs out straight. “The picture of comfort, really. These chairs were clearly designed with six foot men in mind.”

“I’m sorry I’m so under-dressed for our fancy dinner date,” she teased, dropping her chin into her hand. 

“You look stunning, as always.” He gestured to the messy braid Michael had folded her hair into. “I especially love what you’re doing with your hair.”

She sucked in a dramatic breath, bringing up her hand to pat lightly at her hair. “You’re making me blush, doctor.” She peeked behind her and then lowered her voice. “I’m probably going to cry when I try to brush the rats out.” 

He looked at her sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I think I’ve got a wide tooth comb, and I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at detangling Michael’s handiwork.”

Before she could respond, Michael made his way to the table, holding a dish towel over his arm. “Good evening, sir, madam.” 

“Good evening,” they chorused, with barely suppressed grins. 

“Compliments of the chef.” Michael held out his hand to reveal two slightly smushed strawberries.

“Oh, wow,” Y/N said, eyes wide and gesturing to Spencer. “Honey, do you want to—”

Spencer waved his hand, eyeing the berries warily. “No, no, please, help yourself.”

Y/N held back a smile and accepted the strawberries, holding them carefully in her hand and turning her attention back to Michael. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful appetizer. Could we hear the specials?”

That helped Michael remember the menus, and he pulled them from his pocket and cleared his throat. He handed them the construction paper menus. “Our specials tonight are roasted octopus and a steak tartar.”

From the kitchen, Henry mumbled, “Tartare.” 

“Tartare. Steak tartare is our special,” Michael corrected. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m that adventurous. Maybe my boyfriend is though,” Y/N told a grinning Michael. “What do you recommend for a picky eater?”

“My favorite is the chicken nuggets.”

“Well then, sign me up. One order of chicken nuggets.” Y/N handed him the menu. 

Spencer was still perusing the menu for Le Chateau LaMontagne. He smiled at Michael’s handwriting, but particularly at the places where he could tell Y/N had helped. “Everything looks delicious,” he finally decided, “but, you know... I think I’m also going to have the nuggets.”

…

When the boys were finally in bed, Spencer and Y/N settled down in the living room to untangle the mess of her hair. She sat on the floor in between his legs as he gently pulled each braid strand free. He smiled at the way she arched up into his touch, shivering when his fingers brushed over her neck. 

“You’re lucky,” he remarked, laying the last braid strand back into its original place. “Michael seems to have gotten a little better at braiding.”

She leaned her head back into his hands. “You detangled the whole thing?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold him against her, trying to deepen the kiss before laughing at the awkward angle and giving up. 

He sat up as she stood and moved to the couch, snuggling up close to him and tucking herself under his arm. “I’m very lucky,” she agreed. “For many reasons.”

Her hand drifted to rest on his tummy, her fingers immediately tracing little shapes over the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And tired, too.”

“Hmm?” 

He leaned his cheek against her head. “When you get tired, you, um— you start drawing on my stomach.” 

Her finger paused. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She shifted to raise her head to look at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve just— noticed.”

She smiled a little sleepily. “You know I love all of you. But I— well, I don’t know, really. I just like your tummy.” She gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s just— nice and comfy and perfect for resting on.” 

He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward to press their mouths together. She drew his bottom lip in between her own, sucking a little and then giving it a quick peck before pulling back and stifling a yawn into his chest. “Man, I am tired.” She snuggled back into him and resumed her tummy tracing. “What, um— what else have you noticed?”

He rubbed his hand down her arm and pulled her impossibly closer. “You like to play with my hair.”

“Mmmm, guilty as charged.”

He smiled at the sleep creeping into her voice. “I like it, too.” He ran his fingers up to her shoulder, and then back down to the crook of her arm, soothing her closer to sleep. “Hmmmm. You always have at least one point of contact on my body at all times. It’s usually your hands, but sometimes it’s your head or even your toes— like when you tuck them under my leg.”

“Ugh— I’m sorry. Clingy and putting my feet on you,” she mumbled.

She might have been joking, but Anita’s words were replaying in his head. He couldn’t change what had happened in the past. He couldn’t go back and prevent her from being hurt by someone else. But he could be different in every way. He could be open and honest and vulnerable with her like he’d promised. 

“I’m not sorry. I love all of you,” he murmured, pulling her in closer and repeating her words back to her. 

“Even my feet?” 

He could also show her that there was absolutely nothing that he didn’t love about her. “Especially your feet.”

She huffed a sigh into his chest. “Y’got a foot thing I don’t know about?”

He laughed a little at that. “Only for yours. They’re very cute feet.”

“You’re weird,” she muttered, but she hugged him tighter when she said it.

“You love it.”

Her fingers on his tummy had come to rest comfortably just above his waistband, and he knew she was on the very edge of sleep. “Mmhm. Love you.”

He thought of all the little moments over the past few months.

Doesn’t live up to expectations? Sorry for overstepping. Are we dating? Sorry for being clingy. Sorry for taking so long to tell you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “So much.”

———

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[barnibumblr]

Coffee Run - Part One

Pairing: Ina x Bea

Summary: Tensions are high after Bea is paired with Poppy on a project.

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, but mostly fluff!

Word count: 2045

Tagging: @ikingsley @kaitlynliaofanxx @kwaj115 @sheepmomther-personal @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @domakir @veenast @hellyeah90sbaby

***

“How do I look?”, Bea asked, walking into the common area like it was her own personal catwalk. Arms in the air, the brunette paused ahead of the kitchen island, adding a twirl for flair. Hiding her mouthful, Zoey threw her an exaggerated wink whilst she finished chewing her food. “Twit twoo Babe! You look pure fire!” She reached out to touch Bea, hissing and pulling her hand away at the ‘burn’.

When their laughter died down, Zoey shot a look at her watch “oh shit Bea, you’ve got five minutes to get across campus! And we both know this is a class you do not want to be late for”. Bea ran over to the door, slipping on her shoes and throwing her bag over her shoulder. The girl was right though, every minute Bea was late, was one less minute she could spend observing her beloved professor. As she stood up, Zoey was already holding the door open, half a slice of toast in the other hand. Bea rushed past, stopping to steal the toast with her teeth and leaving before her roommate could stop her.

Zoey stepped out into the corridor behind her, “yeah have my toast Bea, what’s mine is yours!” she called out across the bustling hallway. “Oh and say hi to Ms Candice for me” she added, purposely poking for a reaction. Shaking her head, Bea spun around to blow her second favourite New Yorker a kiss. Still moving with the crowd, she turned again to face the direction she was heading, trying to ignore the somersaults in her stomach as she recalled the impromptu book club reading with Ina. ‘I can’t believe I actually straddled my professor’ she taunted herself, mentally facepalming at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

Bea hurried her steps as she crossed the quad. All jokes aside, she was still desperately trying to impress Ina as her newly appointed TA and being late would not help her case. She was relieved to say the least, when she entered the lecture hall and the Professor was still unpacking her laptop.

The relief was short lived when she glanced around the room and found the only free seat was beside Chloe St James. Bea grunted under her breath, ‘great, just great’ she thought before taking her place next to the blonde. Her behind had barely touched the chair when Chloe threw her first look of disgust, “do you have to Hughes? My day was going just fine”. Bea narrowed her eyes, “it’s not exactly my first choice either Chloe, so how about we both just pretend I’m not really here?”. Along with her retort, she produced the most sarcastic and insincere smile she could summon.

“I’ve got a better idea” Chloe countered, “how about I act like you don’t exist?”. Bea paused, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, all while Chloe stared at her like she was the stupid one.

Ina cleared her throat pointedly and quiet swept across the room, immediately drawing Bea’s attention back to the front. She couldn’t help but think how incredibly sexy it was to watch Ina command the room, how easily she captured everyone’s interest and just kept it.

“Okay, so today we will be heading in a slightly different direction, a bit of a change from the last four weeks. We are going to start covering some elements of linguistic anthropology. I’ve got a short presentation to run through, you’ll have some time to note your key points, and then I would like to open the subject up to debate”.

The professor was just about to continue when a voice called out from the back, “are we going to mass debate Miss Kingsley?”. Ina rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Real smooth Craig. Tell me, how long have you been waiting to use that one?” she challenged. For a guy easily clearing 6ft, Craig almost disappeared in his chair. “Oh and it’s Professor Kingsley, thank you” she added as she launched her powerpoint.

“If everyone could please take out your textbooks and find page 356”, Ina instructed. Whilst everyone started to shuffle and organise themselves, Bea watched how Ina seemed to be searching the room. When her gaze finally settled on Bea, her eyes softened and a small smile graced her lips before she looked away. The eye contact was brief, but long enough for Bea to know Ina had just found what she was looking for.

The class were set to work after the presentation and Bea busied herself, trying her damnedest not to keep staring at the perfect specimen of a woman, currently seated on her desk at the front of the class. Bea’s swooning was cut short when she realised the sniggering she could hear was coming from beside her.

When Ina had finally agreed for Bea to be her TA, it was on the understanding that no drama would be brought into her classroom. It was for that reason Bea inhaled slowly as she turned to the blonde beside her, internally begging for patience. “Can I help you Chloe?” She asked, keeping her tone as neutral as humanly possible. The eye roll she received in reply was already pushing her to the limit, “I don’t know Farmsville, can you?”. Chloe’s tone dripped sarcasm, it took everything Bea had in her not to flip her desk there and then, instead she just calmly replied. “Chloe, if you have something to say, just come out and say it already?”.

Before Chloe could respond, Bea already regretted asking. People in the row in front started to turn their way, aware that it could go off any minute now, some with their phones at the ready.

“Well Bea, I actually wanted to ask you what perfume you were wearing?”, Chloe paused with her hand over her mouth but the brunette wasn’t about to answer. Bea clamped her jaw tightly shut, the muscles twitching in an effort to keep her cool. To make matters worse, Bea could see Ina now watching over her glasses. “Let me guess, is it pig de eurghhh? Chloe laughed excessively, looking over each shoulder to bask in the glory of her own joke.

‘Okay that was actually pretty funny’ Bea thought, taking a moment to appreciate Chloe’s attempt before correcting her. Remembering her voice, she kept it low as she spoke. “I think you meant Eau de Pig, but you know what Chloe… I’m just impressed you came up with that all by yourself!” Bea appraised.

The blonde’s eyes screwed up so tight they almost closed, Bea knew whatever was coming next would be spiteful. Thankfully Ina’s voice rang out across the classroom, “is there a problem ladies?”. Chloe plastered on a well rehearsed smile before responding. “Not now thank you professor, I was just trying to help Bea”, still facing forward her smile dropped to something resembling false pity. “It smells really bad up here, so I was just suggesting she shower more often… To wash away all the pig poo”. As she finished, she gestured at Bea, screwing her nose up.

“That’s quite enough Ms St James. I will absolutely not tolerate any attempt of bullying during my lectures, thank you” Ina reprimanded, her tone much firmer than the class had ever seen. Having Ina defend her should have been everything Bea wanted but instead she covered her face with her hand, trying to hide the embarrassment flooding her cheeks. ‘Oh great’ she thought, ‘ now everyone thinks I’m being bullied’.

Chloe sat back in her seat looking like the cat that got the cream. “See Farmsville, you don’t belong here. Belvoire is a way of life, you can’t just buy your way in and be accepted”. Bea was starting to wonder if Chloe had a point, was she in over her head? “I’m surprised Kingsley even offered you the TA position, I mean what does she even see in you? Maybe she just feels sorry for you, yeah that’s probably it”.

That was the final straw. Bea slammed her laptop closed and started to make her way towards the exit.

“Ms Hughes, is everything okay?” Ina asked, her brows furrowed in concern as Bea raced past her. Bea could only wave her away as the tears prickling her eyes threatened to fall. Ina followed her out into the hall, once she was clear of the classroom she called out to the brunette, who hadn’t even looked back. “Bea? Please stop, are you okay?”.

Ina was relieved when Bea finally halted at the end of the corridor, chasing her across campus would certainly arouse some unwanted attention. Keeping her back to the professor, Bea sighed “I just need to be alone Ina”. And with that she was gone, leaving Ina behind.

Later that afternoon, Bea was still hiding in her bed when her phone pinged.

———————————————————-

1 New Email

From: ikingsley@belvoire.edu

Afternoon Ms Hughes.

Sorry to contact you on such short notice, however I require your assistance as a matter of urgency. If you are available this evening, please could you stop by my office. My evening lecture will be finished at 19:30, so I can meet you there shortly after.

Best,

Professor Ina Kingsley

————————————————————

By the time Bea needed to leave, the campus was fairly quiet, only the odd student passing here and there. Bea wasn’t sure what she would say when she got to Ina’s office, she just knew she needed to apologise. Although she felt bad for walking away from Ina that morning, the last thing she wanted was for her to see just how much Belvoire was really affecting her.

When she arrived the door was already slightly ajar. Bea peered around it, to find the professor sitting in one of the armchairs. Ina hadn’t noticed her yet, so she took the liberty of just watching her for a moment, absorbing her beauty.

The older woman was sat back in her chair, one hand in her lap, the other propping up her chin on the arm of the chair. She seemed to be deep in thought as she stared out the office window, so Bea approached her slowly. At first Ina appeared perfectly still, but as she got closer, Bea could see her furiously jigging her leg. Ina’s aura of calm was not quite reflected from the waist down.

Despite the slow approach, Ina still startled when her visitor came into view. “Oh, Bea!” she laughed nervously, hand to her chest. Bea awkwardly returned a smile as she took the other seat, “Ina, I…” she started. Ina leant forward to listen, her elbows now resting on her knees. Opening her mouth to talk, Bea didn’t quite know where to begin or how to excuse her behaviour, instead her eyes dropped to the floor.

Sensing Bea’s discomfort, Ina knew it was time to put her plan into action. “Right” she said, standing up and straightening out her skirt. Bea watched her move across the room, waiting for the wholesome stack of quizzes she thought were coming her way. Instead Ina picked up and put on her coat.

“We’ve got a lot to get through, so I was thinking we could go grab a coffee first?” she asked, untucking her hair from the collar.

“Are you sure another date’s a good idea?” Bea questioned with a smirk. Although she was upset, she still had it in her to make the other woman blush and she got exactly the response she was going for. Ina grinned, shaking her head at the floor as the tips of her ears turned red.

Ina paused at the door, openly pondering. “I’m not sure of much when it comes to you Bea, but… What I do know is that coffee is never a bad idea”.

Regardless of how bad her day had been, Bea loved how she could bring Ina’s walls down, even if only temporarily. “You’re not really selling it to me, Ina” she teased.

“Miss Hughes, please will you allow me the pleasure of your company and join me on a brief walk to the coffee shop?”. Despite the flutter she felt in her stomach, Bea laughed at Ina’s formality. She made her way to the door, giggling again as the professor held it open with a bow.

***

[hufflepuffhollander]

off limits: tom holland one-shot

a/n | this is my submission for @chloecreatesfictions’ 1k writing challenge! i’ve never done the “brother’s best friend” trope and i def got a little too excited and carried away! real talk, this might be the cutest thing i’ve ever written

summary | as harrison osterfield’s younger sister, you’d always just seen his best friend tom as an annoying older brother. until, one day, you didn’t.

cw | tom x osterfield!reader. contains language, alcohol, recreational use of weeeed, teenage angst, sexual tension, fluff n’ stuff. 5k words.

For as long as you could remember, Tom Holland had been a stitch in your side that you could never get rid of.

Growing up as your older brother’s best friend, he was always at your house when you were children— and his favorite pastime when Harrison was boring him was to break into your room and mess with you, stealing your toys or running his hands across the piano keys when you were trying to practice in peace. No matter how many locks you put on your door just to keep Tom out, he was always able to pick them.

As you all got older, he grew to annoy you in a different way, blasting loud, grungy music through Harrison’s bedroom walls late at night or eating things out of the fridge that clearly had your name on them. Once he’d started to garner some attention as an actor, his ego skyrocketed, and somehow he became an even bigger nuisance. He dragged Harrison away from you and took him all over the world while you had to sit idly by and love your brother from a distance.

When Tom would come over now, he would talk of nothing but hollywood parties and getting drunk with the biggest a-listers when he knew you were listening. He would ignore you when he breezed past you in the hallway, and even had the audacity to go into your bedroom when you were out and smoke a blunt on your bed so your whole room smelled like a music festival when you got home; and worst of all, it was your weed.

It was sufficient to say you were Tom Holland’s least enthusiastic fan. And it was rather unfortunate, because you were a big stan of the MCU—and secretly loved getting high and watching and re-watching the spider-man movies the most. Okay, don’t make that face. They have a good storyline.

It was a regular Friday night, you were aimlessly scrolling through your phone while Harrison and Tom were getting ready to go pub hopping. Harrison always invited you, but you never took him up on his offer because you knew how flirty you got with alcohol in your system and wouldn’t dare feel that way around Tom. He was notorious for taking anything nice you said about him and rubbing it in your face for at least a week after. 

“You know you secretly love me, babe.”

You hated when he called you babe, and he knew it. But since you’d both grown up, time had done you both a favor, and there was always an air of something you couldn’t quite place your finger on whenever you interacted...the pet name just made it more interesting.

“Hey, y/n, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Harrison yelled from outside your bedroom door, and you peeked your head out to respond.

“Nah, it’s fine, Haz, go have fun. I have enough uni work to keep me busy.”

“It’s a Friday night, nerd.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and smiled. “Sorry I’m not a budding alcoholic like you, big bro.”

He laughed, blew you a kiss, and he and Tom were off.

Only about an hour later, you decided to take a break from studying and light up a joint, turning on your go-to movie for background noise- but were snapped out of your vibey trance when you heard the front door swing open, and your brother’s loud, drunk voice.

“W-why are we h-home, you div,” he slurred, as his heavy footsteps start to climb the stairs. After a long moment, you heard him collapse on his bed through your thin walls, still stammering out his words. “Thomas, I promise you, I am fineeee...”

“Mate, you’re sloshed. Go to bed.”

You decided to leave them be. This was a typical occurrence- one of the boys went too hard too early, and the other had to babysit until they made it home to pass out cold, usually on the bed, or the couch, or on a good day, the floor.

A few minutes passed while you hotboxed your room, feeling amazingly relaxed, until you saw your doorknob wriggling out of the corner of your eye. Your door was locked, so you ignored it. But the knob kept twisting and falling back in place, making the whole frame shake. After a long while of witnessing a ghost try to make its way into your room, you watched your lock turn slowly and click out of place, the door creaking opened to reveal Tom, swatting at the air when a cloud of smoke greeted him.

You snapped your laptop closed before he could hear his own voice flowing out of your speakers. “Tom, for the last time, stop picking my fucking lock!” You beamed your nearest pillow at him—which he caught before it struck him—and he threw it back, hitting you square in the face. Of course.

He flashed a cocky smile. “Why? It’s so easy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious! I could’ve been naked or something!”

He just stood in the doorframe, giving you a once-over in your thin cotton t-shirt and yoga pants, and kept that smug expression locked on his face. 

“Ew, Tom, you’re disgusting. Get out.”

He decidedly did not get out, instead closing the door behind him and hopping up next to you on your bed, the divot in your mattress leaving your bodies pressed much too close together. You were met with a strong whiff of his cologne and the gin he must’ve been drinking earlier. “I’ll take that,” he muttered as he lifted your joint out of your fingers and took a puff, sucking his breath in as his lungs filled. 

Your stomach filled with a dull fire and you narrowed your eyes. “Do you mind?”

He turned to face you and blew a big puff of smoke directly into your face, the notorious smirk making its reappearance. “Not at all, thanks for asking though.”

You groaned aloud. “What are you doing in here?” he took another draw and handed you back what was rightfully yours, smoke dissipating from his mouth as he spoke.

“Haz is pissed and I’m bored.”

You relit the bud and inhaled for a long while, figuring you’d need to be pretty intoxicated to not smack him in the face if he tried to talk again. “Well, go be bored somewhere else. I was busy.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and reached across your lap for your computer. “Doing what?” 

Oh shit. “Dude, can you not-?!” you yelped, but he had swiped it too quickly out of your grasp, and opened it up to find himself paused on your screen. You laid back on your bed so he couldn’t see your cheeks now flushed with embarrassment and grabbed your lighter from your nightstand. It was going to be a long evening.

He leaned himself over to catch your eye and had the stupidest, most prideful look plastered across his face. “Gotcha.”

You punched him in the arm as he erupted into laughter—but the anger inside you had been dulled by the weed and replaced with a childlike silliness—and you started to giggle, too. You looked up into his eyes, pupils now wildly dilated and tinted red around the edges.

“Shut up, Tom, you’re high,” you said in between chuckles.

“Yeah? Well so are you!”

You poked fun at each other for a while, suddenly in a mutually fantastic mood. You knew in the back of your mind that none of this would be happening if you hadn’t gotten stoned together, but you enjoyed the warm company anyway. 

“Well, you gotta finish it, don’t you?” he said, settling back down and fixating the computer on his lap so you could both see it.

“You really want to watch your own movie?”

“Doll, it’s my favorite thing to do.” he smiled at you.

“God, you’re the worst.” you felt some butterflies make an entrance in your chest that had never been there before.

He pressed play and cozied up on your bed, lying back against the wall with his arm lazily draped behind you. You pulled a blanket up onto your lap and had really no choice but to lean on him for support, neither of you admitting out loud that you were full on cuddling and not angry about it.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna share?” he whined, pulling at the corner of your blanket.

“Get your own,” you responded, internally high-fiving yourself for finally getting the chance to sass him back. Sure, you had your head comfortably resting on his shoulder, but that didn’t mean you were suddenly friends.

You let the movie play, the two of you blowing through the joint until it was a dwindling nub. The scene where Peter has his big kiss with MJ started, and you stifled a snigger as their lips met on the screen.

Tom had clear offense laced through his words. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged.

He sat up to look at you, eyebrows knit together in an angry pout. “Tell me.”

“I just...feel bad for Zendaya, that’s all.” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, and his eyes rolled so far back into his head you were sure they’d be stuck that way forever.

“You’re such a brat,” he started, his ego finding its old place back in his voice. “I’m an amazing kisser. She told me herself.”

You looked away from him, taking a heavy exhale. “Yeah, whatever, dude.”

He sat even more upright and paused the movie, taking hold of your shoulder to make you turn to him. “What, you don’t believe me?”

You realized then how physically close you had gotten, as you could feel the syllables of his words in his breath hitting your face. He was doing that thing boys do, when they’re thinking about kissing you but don’t- their stares going back and forth between your lips and your eyes in a not so subtle way. It freaked you out to see him that close and personal, and you whispered back exactly what you knew would irk him the most.

“Nope.”

He moved his face impossibly closer to yours, and you felt his soft lips lightly brush over your own. You weren’t sure if this was real, or just a high hallucination, but you didn’t move away. This was entirely uncharted territory.

“Tooommmm!” you heard Harrison yell out from the other side of the wall. “Where are yooouuu?! I’m so thirsty!” Tom immediately jerked his head away from you and shook himself out of the moment. You brought your hand up to your cheek and shuddered at how hot it had become- your own body was betraying you.

“God, he’s gonna be the death of me,” Tom said, shoving himself off the bed and walking out of your room, glancing back at you for a moment and then closing the door behind him. Just like that, he was gone, and you were left trapped in your own psyche wondering what the hell had just happened.

Over the course of the next week, things has become exponentially weirder between you and Tom. He seemed to be spending much more time at your house than he normally did, even sleeping a few nights there instead of driving the five minutes back to be in his own bed. One unsuspecting morning, you knocked on your bathroom door, annoyed that it had been shut for such a long time. 

“Haz, if you use up all the hot water again, I’m gonna kill you,” you said in between knocks. You were taken by surprise when it swung open, steam billowing out into the cool air.

“Whoops,” you heard a voice say, immediately realizing it wasn’t your brother. You took a step backward to see Tom emerge, wearing nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp and clinging to his forehead, and he looked like some glowing magazine model. 

“Uh, sorry,” you stammered, accidentally inhaling the yummy smell of his soap and shampoo emanating off of his skin.

He noticed you eyeing him and a sly grin appeared as he rolled his bottom lip under his teeth. “Shower’s all yours, babe,” he said, bumping your shoulder with his own as he walked away. You were stuck in place and didn’t see him glancing back at you as he wandered down the hallway. 

Another day after that, Tom and Harrison were looking for a certain record to play, but it was nowhere to be found. “It might be in y/n’s room,” Harrison said, sitting back in his lounge chair. “Wanna go grab it?”

Tom coughed. “Why do I have to get it?”

“Because I’m comfortable.”

Tom felt a mix of annoyance and nerves in his chest as he walked the short distance down the hallway to your room where the door was already cracked open. He invited himself in—excitement faltering a little when he saw you weren’t in your usual spot on your bed—and started to sift through your bookshelves.

You had been in the bathroom getting dressed after your shower, but realized you left your shirt in your closet- and seeing that Harrison’s bedroom door was still shut, you figured it was safe to run across the landing into your room without anyone seeing you. In just a bra and spandex shorts that left little to the imagination, you swiftly made your way across the hall and walked through your door that was still open a crack to see Tom kneeled down as he shuffled through your record collection.

He heard your small gasp when you entered to find him, and swiveled around to you standing only a few feet away from him in the least amount of clothing he’d ever seen on you. He abruptly stood up but didn’t move, eyes sparkling as they rolled down your body.

“What the fuck! Why are you always in my room?!” You were too shocked to think about finding something to cover yourself with, and put your hands over your face, trying not to die of embarrassment. Tom remained glued to his place on your carpet, clearly at a loss for words.

“Tom, can you leave please-”

“Right, yeah, okay, uh, bye-” he hurried out of your room, swinging the door almost shut but leaving just a crack so he could speak into it.

“...I like your shorts.”

“TOM!”

He chuckled and closed the door, and you slumped against the wall, still holding your head in your hands. What was this sudden hold he had over you? And why did you love the way that he was staring at you?

That night, you had a big paper to complete, and you were perched in your bed typing away as it got dark. In between two songs on your playlist, you heard the familiar jiggle of a doorknob. Looking up over your screen, you watched as the metal turned in its socket, and heard a soft “crushed it” as the lock undid itself. Your door opened steadily and slowly, a familiar face peeking in at you.

“Hi.”

“Oh sweet jesus,” you mumbled.

“You busy?”

“Clearly.”

“Cool.” Tom let himself into your room, shutting the door behind him and sauntering over to your bed, sitting down next to you, bouncing like a little kid and singing his words. “Whatcha doooin’?”

“Homework,” you said, continuing to type and trying your best to ignore the way the sound of his voice was waking up something electric inside of you. He leaned into your body to peer at your computer screen, pretending to be interested in whatever you were writing about. His elbow got in the way of your hands, and you had to stop typing.

“Thomas, is there something I can help you with?”

“Haz is asleep,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder like it hadn’t been a week since your almost-kiss and you hadn’t been actively avoiding bringing it up.

You felt jittery. “And?”

He gently pushed your hands away from the keyboard and closed your laptop shut, giving you a sheepish smile. “Wanna get high?”

Honestly, you did.

You turned on your lamp and turned off the overhead light, put on that record he finally found, lighting a candle and then another hand-rolled blunt. This time, Tom sat upright with you perpendicular to him, your legs swung over his lap. When he made a joke, he’d give your leg a little squeeze- and whether it was purposeful or not, you were filled with schoolgirl nerves every time it happened.

All the angsty barriers built up over years of a sibling-like rivalry had come down between the two of you as you smoked together; you suddenly found all of his bad jokes funny, and he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the cute way you scrunched your nose when you laughed. Every time you exchanged the blunt, you couldn’t help but think about how his lips had just been on it a moment before yours. The night came and went, and you ended up falling asleep wrapped in his arms as he dozed off with his chin pressed to your forehead.

You both woke up at the same time in the dead of night, unsure of how late it had gotten. Still nestled into each other, you exchanged sleepy glances and no words, taking a moment to realize the position you had put yourselves in. 

Tom grazed your jawline with the back of his hand and lifted up your chin with his thumb. You let your eyes flutter shut and he kissed you in the dark for one long, everlasting moment. He pulled back from you hesitantly, leaving you breathless. Did that really just happen?

“We...we can’t,” he whispered, his words tinged with sadness.

Your heart broke for him just hearing his voice. “Why not?”

“You’re my best friend’s little sister, y/n.”

“And you’re my brother’s best friend. So what?” you were almost upset with yourself for being so vulnerable; so visibly pining after him.

“So, you’re off limits,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Says who?” 

That prompted Tom to meet your gaze again, and this time you took initiative, moving your face to his and taking his bottom lip in between yours. He took a sharp inhale as you kissed him and seemed to let all inhibition go as he put his arms around your back and pressed you into him hard, all of his pent up feelings for you suddenly flowing out of him. He kissed you in a needy, desperate kind of way, and you loved every second of it. You ran your fingers through his hair, traced his jawline, using your hands to feel every bit of him that you couldn’t before. The strangest part of it all was how natural it felt- like you had been practicing for this very moment all your lives. 

Your record had stopped spinning a while ago, the room now filled with just the breathy noises of your kisses, your contented hums and his tiny mews when you bit his lips. You were both still barely lucid, and after countless minutes of nothing but innocent kisses, you were on the brink of falling asleep again, serotonin whisking you away into dreams. Tom sighed into you, and clasped his hand around yours.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?” you felt your heart preeminently sink in your chest; like you should’ve known this was too good to last.

“I don’t want him to wake up and find us here,” he trailed off, staring down at your intertwined fingers fiddling together.

“So that’s it?” you tried to swallow back the sudden upwell of feelings inside you.

“No, no...” his eyes filled with some type of emotional strain you’d never seen. “I- I don’t want this to be it. But I don’t want things to get...messy.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t blame him, because you understood.

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” you whispered, very not ready to let his spot next to you grow cold.

“I don’t know...”

You looked up at him doe-eyed, cooing. “Please?”

He nodded, looking away from you before he completely caved and stayed there forever. “I’ll come back.”

He pressed one last kiss onto your lips and slowly got up, reluctantly letting go of your hand as he left your room. “Goodnight, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe, finally free of demeaning sarcasm, made your heart soar. 

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The door shut and you were left alone, the stillness of your room sticking out in sharp contrast with how quickly your heart was racing.

For the next few nights, Tom spent the evenings at your house with Harrison, waiting until he fell asleep to make his way next door to you. You’d smoke together, watch his movies—and in heated moments got a little handsy—but you never went past kissing, though you both desperately wanted to. It was too risky having your brother right next door; and you knew all too well how paper thin your walls were. But in those secretive hours after solar midnight, just being able to exist next to Tom and letting him hold you, you were the happiest you could ever remember being. The second night he left your room to let you sleep, he placed a light kiss on your forehead after he stood up that made the whole thing feel a little too...real.

The next day, you walked into the kitchen and found Harrison at the fridge. You were in a great mood for obvious reasons but couldn’t let it show. “Hey, got any fun plans today?”

He turned around after shoving a handful of grapes in his mouth. “Nope, got some admin stuff to do and gonna turn in early.”

“Oh, Tom isn’t coming over?”

“No, I told him to take a night off. He’s been smothering me, y’know?” he laughed and ate a few more grapes, but then turned to you, confused. “Since when do you care if he’s coming over?”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Just want to know if I need to stay out of the way,” you faked a laugh and blinked hard, hoping he wasn’t paying too much attention to your facial expressions.

“Uh, alright then. You two are always so fuckin’ weird around each other.” He seemed to feel that was a good way to end your exchange and walked out of the kitchen, throwing a grape at you.

You rolled your eyes at your brother, but then felt the sadness bubble up upon registering that you weren’t going to see Tom tonight. But really, how long did you think you could keep this up? The feelings you were developing for him scared you, you didn’t know what to make of them; all you knew was that your days suddenly seemed much grayer without him.

Nighttime came around, and you couldn’t sleep, so you did the unthinkable and sent Tom a text. Your thumb shook as you hit send, knowing that there was now tangible evidence of the connection you’d developed, that it wasn’t just some invention of your mind.

hey, are you awake?

T: yeah, can’t sleep. you?

obviously, i just texted you.

T: shut it.

A minute passed...

T: got room for one more over there?

You smiled like an idiot at your phone.

maybe.

Less than 10 minutes later, you heard the familiar wriggle of your doorknob. You don’t know why you even bothered locking it anymore.

“Hey you,” he whispered, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“Tom, you know you could’ve just knocked and I would’ve let you in- you don’t have to keep picking the lock.”

“Old habits die hard.”

You chuckled and stood up to greet him at your door as he unexpectedly wrapped you in an amazingly tight hug. He rested his chin on top of your head and started to sway your bodies back and forth. You laid your head on his chest and said hello to his heartbeat.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it was almost hard to fall asleep without you,” he murmured, placing another one of those domestic kisses on your scalp.

“Well, now you don’t have to.” you smiled. He waddled you backwards to your bed and you sat down as your legs hit the bedframe, prompting Tom to fall onto you as you giggled into his body that was now covering your face.

“Okay, goodniiight,” he said, refusing to move. You poked at his sides making him jump, and he grabbed your waist and rolled you on top of him. You instinctively leaned down so your lips could clash together in the way you were so used to, trying hard to not confess that you’d completely fallen in love with him when you finally had the breath to speak. He pushed your hair to cascade to one side of his face, and nuzzled your nose with his own, closing his eyes and humming with a smile. “Mmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Just happy.”

You rested your sleepy head on his warm chest, and fell into a deep sleep, letting the steady drumming in his chest be a metronome to breathe to.

~

“Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.”

You woke up abruptly, the bright light of day blinding you as you tried to open your eyes to the string of expletives you’d just heard come from a familiar voice. Once you’d opened them, though, you wish you had kept them shut so you hadn’t seen who had spoken.

“Harrison?!”

He was standing in your room, peering at you with hands half covering his eyes when you realized that there was a sleeping Tom underneath you.

Your brother paced in a circle and exhaled loudly. “Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”

You nudged Tom awake with your elbow and immediately rolled off of him, trying to hide the very obvious fact that you had slept together all night. You never let him stay the full night for this exact reason, but he had been so ridiculously happy holding you in his arms that he forgot to set an alarm to wake him at the crack of dawn and leave. You sat up straight in your bed, twisting your hair in your hands, bracing yourself for the inevitable tirade.

Tom picked his head up to see Harrison standing there with his arms crossed, and flopped his head back on the pillow. “Fuck. Hey, mate.” He tried to play it off like this was the most normal thing that could happen on a Thursday morning.

“Is this why you’re always such bumbling fools around one another? You’ve been, what, fucking each other when I’m not around?” Harrison looked like he wanted to throw up at the thought.

“Haz, no, it’s not like that,” you said, but he didn’t seem convinced. “It’s just been smoking together and cuddling, really, that’s it,” you were torn between wanting to console your brother and admitting to both him and Tom that this was more to you than that. But Tom already knew that, because it was for him, too.

Tom looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m so sorry, dude-”

Harrison walked out of the room, and the two of you were left sitting in your bed, worry filling your eyes. Only a moment later, your brother reappeared in the doorway.

“Look, you idiots, I don’t care that you’re snuggling off the clock—you’re my two favorite people in the world, and to see you together, honestly, it’s about damn time,” he started, making both your and Tom’s jaws fall slightly agape. You exchanged a knowing look. Wait, is he not mad? Wait, about damn time??

“But I wish you would’ve told me so we could all hang out together. I don’t appreciate the sneaking around.” 

You cocked your head at him, sending him a loving gaze for always just wanting what’s best for you. 

“I’m just mad you aren’t including me in your hotbox sessions, really.” He laughed and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his face back to make a wild expression.

All three of you started to chuckle out of sheer awkwardness and relief.

“Come here.” Harrison held his hands out and you both gave a mutual aww as you ran into your brother’s arms, squeezing him tight.

“I love you, big bro.”

“I know. Now I’m gonna get out of here before you start kissing in front of me, or worse,” he moaned, swiftly exiting your room. “This is gonna be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen...” you heard him say to himself as he left.

You turned to Tom, still shocked at how well that had gone considering what he was assuming would happen. You swallowed the butterflies that you’d welcomed as friends and stepped back to him still sitting on the bed, putting your arms around his neck.

“And you,” you started, swinging your legs over his lap to straddle him. “I have to confess something.”

Tom placed his hands back on your hips where they rightfully belonged and smiled at you. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t mind you calling me babe anymore.” you grinned at his face drop, obviously assuming that you were going to say something else.

“Oh, and why’s that?” he prodded.

You looked up and off to the side as you squeezed his shoulders. “Maybe because I’m just a tad bit in love with you,” you trailed off, stiff as a board at what he could possibly say next.

“Well, babe,” he put emphasis on the pet name, “That’s a relief, because I was worried I might be the only one falling here.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him, kneading his soft cheeks under your thumbs, whispering exactly what you knew would get him the most.

“Nope.”

[lillian-nator]

Pre-Law Student Dad!Schlatt Fluff

This takes place during Schlatt’s first days of University (in America you have to take 4 years of Uni, and then 3 years of Law School).

Schlatt does Mock Trial in University, which is where a lot of these scenes take place.  .

Tubbo once drew on Schlatt’s beard when he was two (just coloring it like green, and blue), which was fine, he’s 2, he does shit like this, and Schlatt was really tired, so he let him. However, Schlatt did not realize that it was sharpie, so when he had Mock Trial in the morning, he had to go, with his beard colored in. 

It wasn’t an actual trial, it was just a meeting with his team, but still it was incredibly embarrassing and the professor was not happy with it. 

The professor started with, “Face tattoos are not allowed in the courtroom sir, it is very unprofessional, and it will jeopardize your case.”

The thing is, is that college Schlatt would definitely be more timid than you would expect him to be, because he is so fucking tired, and trying to figure out this whole, single-dad-at-university thing, So, he would just be like, "Sorry Sir, won't happen again." Then the professor would ask him why he did it: "Mr. Schlatt, you are going to have to explain to me why you have sharpie on your face, in the first place." Schlatt looks down, "My uh, my 2 year old drew it on my face yesterday. I didn't know it was sharpie." Schlatt can't see it, but the professor's face softens, "It's alright Schlatt, just don't let it happen again, or I will have to put you on probation." "Yes Professor, sorry again"

Tubbo goes to do it again, cause he is 2 and he doesn't know and better, and Schlatt having to explain.   "You can't do that Tubs, here, you can draw on my arm." "Why no face?" "Dadda got in trouble last time Bud, he promised it wouldn't happen again." "You get in trouble this time?" "No, the arm will be fine Tubs. Just no more face, okay?" "Okay." .

The first time Schlatt brought Tubbo into college was during a mock trial session. It was a Saturday, and Phil was home, so Wilbur couldn't watch Tubbo. He showed up, dress shirt slightly crumpled, hair ruffled, and a 2-year-old Tubbo on his hip. The professor looked him with wide eyes. "And who is this, Mr. Schlatt?" Schlatt put his head down, "My son. The guy who usually watches him during Mock can't today, and I know how you feel about missing meetings, it's just -" Schlatt gave Tubbo a stern look before meeting his professor's eyes, "He will be quiet I promise. Just let him sit in the back, he's almost 3, he knows when to stay quiet and play with his toys." The professor looks at him with sympathy, "This one time Mr. Schlatt. Warn me beforehand next time, so that I can give you a smaller script, okay?" Schlatt looks up with a grin, "Yes, professor." Before setting Tubbo down at the back of the room, and getting him set up with some coring books, and B. .

Tubbo helps Schlatt study court cases, and rules. 

I can just imagine Schlatt at the dinner table while Tubbo is eating, being like, "You want to help Dad real quick, Bud?" And Tubbo profusely nodding. Then, Schlatt explaining some court cases, and rules he has to know, so that he is prepared for the test the next day (you know how you can test your own knowledge by teaching others), even if Tubbo doesn't understand it, it gets all of Schlatt’s thoughts out on the table, and helps him organize his thoughts. [it also maybe distracts Tubbo from the fact that Schlatt wasn't eating dinner ahaha whoops, back to fluff] .

Schlatt and Wilbur made each-other friendship bracelets in Middle School, because they were nerds lol (and then they smoked weed at a party in high school, and suddenly weren’t nerds anymore. It was very funny, they were tripping over themselves hard). Schlatt and Wilbur still wear them to this day. Schlatt wears his around his wrist, and Wilbur wears his around his ankle.  Tubbo likes to grab onto the bracelet and fidgeting with it. Sometimes when he is overstimulated, or stressed, he tugs on it to get his Dad to notice. Other times, his wrist is small enough that he just shoves his hand through the space in between the bracelet and Schlatt’s wrist. It helps ground him, being tethered to Schlatt. And sometimes it’s just so that he doesn’t get lost lmao. 

[stylistiquements]

There was the silence and there were the stars | Corpse husband x reader -Among Us AU

Among us AU : There was something. Something in the silence and the harsh coldness -that only space was capable of- that turned your brain into a sarcastic and bored mess. Maybe that’s why you found yourself so interested by any sabotage pulled on the crewmates, maybe that’s what made him so interesting to witness. He was different from the rest of you. Different to an extend you were about to understand.

❚ Word count : 4.2k ❚ Warning : A bit angsty but you will get that fluffity fluff and touch starve feeling you require I promise ; swearing ❚ Note : there will be no mention of death or killing as it is basically a real life Among us, just some shenanigans. Y/C : your/color

A/N : This little thing was inspired by -⭐️ anon. It was a fun thing to write even though it took me way too long because I asked my brain “sir may I pls have the focus capacity I need” and brain said no (: so yeah, this is litteraly just me ranting n complaining about space. This is a bit angsty but as what if is way too happy for me that was a nice opportunity. I hope you won’t mind and appreciate it anyway. As always just let me know. As it’s my first time writing like a one shot thingy I’m really curious to know. Also it’s supposed to be proofread but if you find any mistake just take ur glasses off. Thanks. Enjoy the wild ride. 

You met him again. He was fixing wires while you were downloading some files on the computer. Difficulties happened regularly around here; various oddities that occurred from time to time, sometimes a few times a day. It would go from doors closing mysteriously to no electricity, you never knew which one it would be. Those inconveniences used to draw a smile on your lips, a grin you tried your best to hide from everyone else. The sound of the urging siren resounded in your head like a call, reviving the last spared spark left in your brain. At this point, you were pretty sure it was one of your crewmates’ doing, too many coincidences for any other options to be left. You didn’t mind though. The game started months ago but still amused you to this day. 

He never let a word escape his mouth. To your awareness, no one knew anything about him, no one had ever heard the sound of his voice which you could only dare to imagine since the two of you met. It felt silly, you fabricated this voice inside your head, a half-finished melody you played to keep your mind busy. It would have sounded just as an old piano would. So slightly out of tune that maybe, if you didn’t care enough or wished for it not to be true, you wouldn’t even notice. 

You called him black. It resonated with the color of his suit and the darkness that emanated from his soul. Not that he looked like a mischievous character, but rather like someone who would have been gnawed by life for years. A shade that reminded you of the bittersweet feeling 4 AM forced you to taste. Describing that presentiment was a challenge you couldn’t take. It was one of those things that had to be felt, not narrated. 

Shit.

He caught you staring again. How could you look any other way? There was something with him that appealed to you, that pulled your eyes toward his direction every time. Probably only a peak of unwarranted curiosity you couldn’t really be blamed for, probably the oh-so mysterious aura that floated so carelessly around him. He always had this way of sneaking in and out, just as if he was nothing but his own shadow. 

Yet, being near him was easy. Silence only felt comfortable when he was in your surroundings. The whole world stopped existing -and it had in fact since the first day you two met.

He had dark charcoal hair which fell so perfectly in curly strands around the two horns that crowned over his head. Paired with two ruby hued eyes, he truly was a sight for sore eyes. A wicked and breathtaking beauty, so unique it gave you the impression that he wasn’t even human. 

He used to hop in a vent after finishing his tasks. As if his true home was there; a secret hideout for him and him only. You didn’t even know it was a thing before you watched it with your own eyes. Who wouldn’t blame him. If you could have escaped that warmth deprived place too, even for 5 minutes, you would have. 

That’s why you never asked any question about it nor tried to investigate further. Being stuck in space was only a kid’s fantasy, nothing a fully conscious adult would inflict to themselves. Which, in itself, was pretty much self-explanatory about everyone’s mental condition in here.

It was also a pre-established rule, no questions. No one ever expressed it out loud, but you would have to be a fool not to guess it. Every crewmate grew accustomed to the deadly silence only space had to offer. A giant timeless hole where nothing really happened. With nothing but the smell of technology and the constant purr of engines as the only distractions left. See, living in a spaceship was no ordinary lifestyle : days and nights melted into each other until it became nothing but a groundless concept. The crewmates perceived it as comforting for some reason. You used to shrug it off, no questions. How unethical would you be to disturb their peace? 

If you had to be honest, you would probably say that you felt bad for Black. Nothing like pity, but being alone in this stark and brutal silence for this long must have been pretty life-consuming. That’s why, even though it made your cheeks and the tip of your ears flame up in a raw and unforgivable tint of pink, you always kept looking into his eyes for one more second after he noticed you. Just to be sure he knew that he wasn’t alone in this shit hole. You stared into the depth of those ruby eyes, hunting for silent answers to questions you weren’t even sure of in the first place. He never quivered, only stood motionless until his task was completed. Just locking the eye contact. After that, he always ran away as silently as he existed. Leaving your head disturbingly empty. 

Every single time. 

Something changed one day. You were about to prepare some test samples when it happened. He jumped off a vent and you followed his movements from the corner of your eyes, too distracted to remember about the task that was assigned to you. He ran to the door and proceeded to shut it. Within the last second, the one that always lasted hours, he put an index in front of his mouth. Silently asking for you not to say a word. And before the steel door could obstruct your vision completely, you noticed a smile on his lips. A smile that made the whole spaceship turn inside out, draining the blood out of your body in a painstaking, almost sore way. There you stood, intoxicated by stupefaction and trapped as a cat. 

Black mutated you into a self-depreciating joke : in here, you were only interestied in the impostor. The only one who made your day a little better was the one giving nightmares to the others. 

It was him, from the beginning. It was him and he smiled. A grin that twinkled maliciously from his lips to his eyes, wounding your heart in an insoluble way. It made every prejudice you had about him crumble : he was no longer that miserable existence you sensed he was but a quiescent sun that could radiate all around him once unleashed into the world. How did he do that? How could he be both the tunnel and the light at the end of it?

When red came to the rescue, she described you with a glare. She judged you in the not-so-pleasant way. You could always count on those glares to know their opinions about you. Because their judgment would have to be expressed one way or another. She thought you looked suspicious, with your half poured concoction into a hand and the rest of it in the other, just staring blankly into the void. You wouldn’t blame her for that. 

It stuck with you for days, filling your empty mind with the sight of a smile that could no longer be experienced. The scene shamelessly repeated itself in your mind until it became nothing but a progression of disassembled images, forcing you to taste the astonishment over and over again. The problem was, you hadn’t seen him for days. And, even though you wanted to know what happened, you couldn’t ask. That was the rule. 

What would you say anyway ? Black is the imposter and I watched him close medbay’s door ? Yeah, I don’t think so. You should have stopped him in the first place -and you would have if you weren’t just mesmerized.

So, you took each day -or night … or piece of time, whatever you wanted to call it since it was no longer existent- with composure. Forcing yourself to do any task with a meticulousness that didn’t look like you. Just to make sure your brain was busy enough not to think about it or him. Being trapped in a place and being trapped in your own mind are two different wrestles, yet in here those two intertwined perfectly. Just like the rest of it, it didn’t even make any sense : the guy smiled at you for ten seconds and here you were, an absolute clutter of questions and recollection. You were probably just too bored and he, as always, was the perfect distraction. That must have been it, right?

You walked in admin. Your heart skipped a beat before your eyes could process who stood in front of them. 

Look what the cat dragged in. 

His hair twirled flawlessly above his face, almost hiding a grimace that indicated so transparently his mind. You leaned against the door frame and crossed your arms, unabashedly watching him as he swiped his card frantically while sighting heavily every time that “bip” of failure rang. 

Eventually, he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. You tried anyway, staring at him as if he was some sort of work of art that needed to be decrypted. From the way his chest moved heavily under the pressure of the irritation to the way his glowing eyes witnessed you. This expression on his face gave him a funny look, a scowl which made the laugh that tickled your throat hard to hold back. 

“Y-you have to do it slower. Otherwise, it won’t work” you stuttered. “I guess it’s harder since …” 

You walked to him carefully, so carefully you forgot your words. Just as if he was a wild animal who could run away if scared. Making sure no step would fall out of line. He was so close, so close, maybe if you tried to catch him this time he would stop running away. 

“Since it’s not my job, right ? Is that what you were about to say ?” he asked with a low voice, a voice you would have never dared to picture for him. Not the broken tone you pictured but a melody so sweet and so unique it felt like it was made just for your ears to enjoy, taunting you to dive into his mind.

“Do you need help” ? 

“I- hum- You’re not supposed to help me, you know ?” he stuttered, visibly amused, judging by the way his eyes wrinkled under his smile. 

“Are you gonna lock me in the room once again ?” He shook his head as a chuckle escaped from his lips. “Then who cares” you finally breathed.  

Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you grabbed the card. You tried to appear unbothered, hoping so intensely for the swipe to be a first try success. That way, maybe he wouldn’t notice the way you breathed heavily under the weight of your pounding heart. But those red eyes piercing through the depth of your soul were hardly bearable for those like you who suffered from unbeknownst afflictions. 

You grew aware of his every move, the way those eyes fell on you, the perfume that emanated from his skin, the sound of his slow yet noticeable respiration.

You gave him his card back and he captured your fingers in the palm of his hand, making it impossible for you to escape his grip. Hiding those blushing cheeks from a sight that seemed to see everything was a defiance only the proudest people would be capable of. It wasn’t your case, but you counted on preserving the last sane cells left in your body. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” You whispered, avoiding any eye contact.

“I know that.”

 A simple answer that would never be enough to satisfy you. Yet, before you could review the best option of an answer, he left. Just as he always did, he walked away silently -still this time it seemed to last an eternity- while you just stood there inertly as you watched his black silhouette disappear into the endless gray hallways. 

You finally caught the breath you had been holding this whole time. Leaning over, you observed your reflection into the screen of the digital tablet as you rubbed your hands together, hoping for that strange spike of electricity that ran through your fingers to fade away quickly. A mess.

“There you are, Corpse” green said as he sat cross-legged in black’s secret place “I’ve been looking for you.”

Corpse was the name green chose for Black, feeling like it would be the most suitable image for the one who always worked in the shadow. Not the most refined nickname, yet black ironically related to that. Silent as a Corpse, he thought. A level of sarcasm that amused him and which probably led to him immediately falling in love with it. 

Corpse observed the little sprout on the top of Green’s head. It floated lightly and followed his every move. What a little freak. Just a thing deprived of any sort of self consciousness, out of this world just like he felt he was. Corpse remained fixated on it, hoping he could get as self-aware as it was. The last impromptu reunion he had with you was nothing he had planned, nothing that should have happened. He wouldn’t exactly call it a mistake and still, he had no one else but him to blame.

“Did something happened with y/c ? You seem a little flustered.” Green asked, pulling Corpse out of his overflowed mind. 

“I don’t know, I think I kinda fucked up.” He replied with a shrug. “I’ve been spotted.”

“Was it really a mistake ?”

Green was the only one who was granted with the privilege of learning how to understand Corpse. Because, deep inside, they grew up to be the same kind : the kind that didn’t belong here. Two sides of the same coin. 

Green’s social intelligence, on the other hand, Black didn’t like it that much. Thanks to that guy, he would be able to work comfortably in the darkness, where no one could see him, but it also meant that he saw clearly what was going through Corpse’s mind. Actually, it didn’t take him too long. 

What was the surprise when he realized it was you who lived rent-free in his thoughts? See, in Corpse’s eyes you were different from the others : too conscious about the reality that happened before yours eyes. It made you interesting to observe. What a delightful sight it was to watch you rolling your eyes in your crewmates’ face, to notice the serious look you had when you were focused on a task, the way your eyes sparkled every time a new sabotage was made. He wouldn’t track you, yet he would never resist a peek once your paths crossed. It happened often, more than you actually realized.

Yet, Corpse was no fool. You and him never belonged together. You were destined to a bright destiny and he was the obscurity. That’s why he was more than careful not to get too close, not to see his bare mind get burnt under the exposition of those peculiar feelings in the pit of his stomach. 

That’s why his previous reaction made no sense to him. But what could he say? You took him aback when those words were directed at him. You made his short-circuited brain unable to be sensible anymore. He just wanted to know what your touch would feel like under his fingers. Why was his skin blazing with electricity now ?

Corpse swallowed it all. From the blossoming feeling inside his body and mind to the warmth and the softness of your skin. He couldn’t feel that way. “I’m not really sure.” he finally said, as honest as he could be with himself. 

He would spend his next few days planning with Green, cornering you to a small part of his brain. You couldn’t be there, you had no right to be. The game was progressing faster than they anticipated it. It made him thrilled, accepting the challenge no one but the two of them could bear. 

However, a new unwanted seed grew into his mind. The idea that, maybe, you were only by his side in this game. That, maybe he would never be able to witness your existence in the real world.

“Have you ever noticed how weird the stars look sometimes ?” Corpse asked as he joined navigation. You jumped and your mind turned into a scattered place stuck between a task you battled to achieve and the proximity left between the two of you. Your heart beat in rhythm with his echoing, never ending footsteps. Still you had, indeed, noticed. “It’s like they’re not even real” you answered with a smile that made your voice higher. A melodic lift that betrayed your intention of ever finishing your job. 

When you finally looked at him, his lips moved into a satisfied curve. Shivers tickled your arms and your neck. Maybe because he was just standing so perfectly still in front of the glass window. So perfectly still that, among all those celestial bodies, he appeared to be the most beautiful one.  “Mind keeping me company for a bit?” Your mouth betrayed you when the question escaped your grip. But Corpse snorted faintly and shook his head.

“From all the people in here you want to spend time with me ? That’s probably not your wisest decision.” He said as he tried to muffle a high pitch laugh with a hand that covered his mouth.

See, that’s the words he had been afraid of since the first time he saw you. The words he would have to turn into derision since he knew he would have no strength to refuse. Yet, you stood there with those glimmering eyes and those eyebrows that arched in a strange manner, cutting every single inch of air out of his lungs. Even if he wanted to say no -and he should- he wouldn’t have been able to.

It was never meant to happen, not judging by your two so hostily opposed nature. Fuck that shit. Who cared about that speech when you were here and you were so beautiful?

You moved closer to him, a strenuous and slow tense that shouldn’t be disregarded. You’ve had seen the same scenery for months yet never it made you feel the same way as you did at that very moment. Because those balls of lights floating into the void shimmered in his ruby hued iris just as a dozen of fireflies would. He made your world a little blurry, narrowed to his presence at your side.

“You forgave me really easily the last time we met.” He noticed. “That’s a little sus if you asked me.”

“Well, what can I say ? You’re the only distraction I have left, so I’m not really in the position to hold grudges.” You shrugged sarcastically. 

“You’re really funny, I have to concede that” he said as his smile made its way to his eyes. 

Your brutally honest words intertwined with his chuckles and crewmates never heard the spaceship as lively as that time. That time when you got to discover who Corpse really was. A man who hid his blooming existence behind a silence.

“Why did you stay silent this whole time ?” You dared to ask before the silence fell upon the two of you, a silence that maybe you wouldn’t be able to endure this time.

“Because I never wanted to lie”

“I- ...hum- there’s really nothing I could say against that, right ?”

With every grin, every chuckle, every abrupt eye contact, your proximity kept embedding his mind a little deeper until you stole the stars’ show completely. It’s no good, you held his breath hostage when he realized he could feel the warmth stemming out of your skin. So tempted to get closer and witness it with further clearness. 

Thus, he lifted a hand that starved connection. He tried to close the gap between your two touches so prudently, so discreetly that you didn’t even notice. A touch, that would go beyond his movement, more like a proof he needed to make sure someone like you really existed in a shithole like this.  

He was so close. 

Yet, the alarm rang before he could embrace the object of his desire. “Better check that out quickly” you said with a sigh. Somehow, it felt peculiar just knowing that, this time, you were the one running away. A sense of some sort of joke played by space. As if space hadn’t done enough. When Green cut the communication, he couldn’t realize -If only he knew the double meaning of that sabotage. Ah, the irony of it all. 

“I’ll see you soon” Corpse informed you, more of a promise than a farewell and he stayed there long enough, staring numbly at his hand.

You ran until the communication room, holding this bittersweet feeling on the tip of your tongue. You tried to swallow it and almost found yourself praying that no one would arrive before you could. This way, maybe your fugue would make more sense. 

Blue was already sitting on the floor, trying to find the good frequencies. “I’m already on it.” she said on a plain, monotone voice. Of course, she fucking would be. 

Now what was left to do ? Corpse was probably already gone and-and the silence … the silence had returned. A dead, cold, cruel silence. It tested out your nerves, built up some pressure down your throat that made keeping your composure barely possible. Corpse slipped between your fingers again. The game was no longer a funny and pleasant diversion from the plain, austere daily life you had. You grew tired of that cat and mouse game. You just wanted him.

After going back to the oh-so empty navigation room, you completed your tasks. And you were finally done. You wandered around for hours, days -who knows-, searching for a purpose. 

The game was coming to an end, you could feel it. Something in the air changed, it became dryer than ever. Unbearable on your skin that ached for something you couldn’t apprehend. The crewmates were agitated, everyone kept running around day and night just to make sure the last tasks would be completed as soon as possible. New difficulties were triggered almost as soon as the last ones ended. Chaos. 

Just as if he wasn’t ready to end the game so soon, as if he didn’t want to get the hell out of this place as much as you did. From time to time, you almost found yourself eager to ignore the alarm. Taunting him one last time by neglecting his call. 

Maybe that way he would show up, maybe that way he would stay with you. Yeah, maybe that way he would stop being nothing but an ephemeral being that almost made you wonder if you finally gave up on your mind to the silence. Because at that moment he only felt like a chimera your brain created to protect you. Because you were just so fucking bored.  

You gave up on that idea, turning on the CCTV as you sighed. Just to see more colorful suits running around, trying to hold their shit together for what appeared to be the ultimate hour. Despite all the sabotages, it seemed like your number made your strength. You imagined Corpse’s face, probably piqued. A dark frown covering his pretty eyes. It made your lips twitch for a second. Who knew it would end this way ? Definitely not you. 

Yet that amused smile faded away when you heard the familiar sound of the door closing, locking you in yet another time. You rolled your eyes and turned around, unprepared to witness who locked themselves with you. His body laid against the door, guarding it as his chest moved frenetically under the weight of his rushing breath. 

“This is the end” he whispered frantically under his breath. He doesn’t look as worried as you thought he would, but it didn’t matter. You moved impulsively toward him, never stopping until he snaked a hand around your waist and slipped the other one in your back. That way, this time, there were no escape. 

He let his head rest in the hollow of your neck, soaking the divine and comforting warmth you had to offer. His warm breath on your skin sent shivers through your body which responded by squeezing him a little tighter, holding him as close to your heart as humanly possible. You could feel his, beating so fast.

“This is the end.” His whisper grounded on your skin. 

He lifted his head to dive into your eyes with the same sweet smile you offered him. The one which expressed the happiness, the relievment it felt to embrace him. 

“If it were for you, I would do it all over again.” You said, pressing your forehead against his, sharing a breath as you closed your eyes. One last attempt to memorize everything about him. You sensed his smile, so wide you didn’t even have to look at it to see. He left a trail of kisses on your cheeks and your hand wandered in his hair as a faint gasp escaped your lips.

Corpse looked back at you. And then, as his thumb drew light circles on your cheek. With glowing eyes that translated all the adoration he felt for you, he whispered “Maybe it was just meant to be”. And then, he closed the distance between the two of you, brushing your lips softly at first before capturing them completely once he was sure you felt the same way as he did. A kiss that tasted like 4AM and home. 

“I’ll find my way back to you, my love. I’ll find you in the real world.” He promised.