#the more I realised it could actually work

[fxstpace]

the accidental one-night stand

summary: the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

⇢ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption, injuries & hospital visits ⇢ word count: 10.0k ⇢ note: this was written for the lonely hearts café collab hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you so much for letting me be a part; please check out the other authors’ fics as well. i hope you enjoy :)

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Jeon Wonwoo was not one of them.

The first thing you notice is the sunlight. It filters through the cheap blinds, casting uneven slats of light across the room. The scent of stale beer and leftover pizza lingers faintly in the air. Normally, you would’ve groaned, turned over, and buried yourself in your blanket to fend off the cruel reminder that mornings exist. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re back in your own bed, with nothing more pressing than to decide whether you should get breakfast or sleep in till noon.

The second thing you notice is the peculiar warmth of someone pressed against you. A shoulder brushes your arm; a leg, bent at an awkward angle, leans uncomfortably into your thigh. When you squint, you see a pink piece of fabric hanging off one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That’s new.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Jeon Wonwoo, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Wonwoo stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

What can you say? There is no eloquent explanation for waking up in your best friend’s bed—especially when he’s naked and you’re one hasty movement away from unraveling whatever fragile composure you’re clinging to.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Wonwoo pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

“Naked?” you supply, struggling to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you have left. “No. Thank God. I think I’m, uh, wearing your shirt, actually. But my, um, bra is hanging off of your fan.”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

There’s another long pause, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing and the hum of traffic outside. You can feel him staring at you; it takes all your willpower not to bury yourself into the mattress.

Wonwoo blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” He finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Wonwoo clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Wonwoo snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Soonyoung was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Wonwoo and Soonyoung to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Wonwoo says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Soonyoung doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

You instinctively press a hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. He remembers? All this time, you’d convinced yourself that the foggy gaps in your memory extended to him too—that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? You were convinced that the awkward morning after was borne out of shared ignorance. Evidently not.

Soonyoung snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Soonyoung’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo wants to throttle him, too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just… worried.”

“Worried?” Soonyoung echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Wonwoo’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Soonyoung. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place. 

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Soonyoung points out. “Come on, Wonwoo. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Soonyoung says defensively.

Wonwoo scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Wonwoo says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Soonyoung.

“I do.” The resignation in Wonwoo’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Wonwoo saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Soonyoung says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth. 

Wonwoo remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: You have no idea what to do next. 

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Xu Minghao sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Minghao. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Jeon Wonwoo. Minghao’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well. 

Yet here you are, because Minghao’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Minghao’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding everyone like the plague. The fact that your good mood about our finals ending lasted for, like, thirty seconds. The fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever someone mentions Wonwoo.”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Minghao drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

You glare at him, but he merely smiles at you, like he’s sitting on a cloud of smug superiority and you’re some lowlife staring up at him. He continues, “Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about your night with Wonwoo through six degrees of separation?”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Wonwoo told Soonyoung,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Jihoon, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Miyeon, who told her roommate Jihyo, who told her boyfriend Seokmin—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Minghao agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Wonwoo? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Minghao’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

You resign yourself to the sad fate of telling your friend about what happened that fateful night. “We went out to celebrate the end of the semester. There was drinking. A lot of drinking—” you hesitate, voice catching in your throat— “and then I woke up next to him.”

“Naked,” Minghao supplies.

“I was wearing a shirt!” you say a little too loudly. A few heads turn in your direction, and you lower your voice, cheeks burning. “Okay, yes, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or anything else. But nothing happened!”

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Minghao arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Minghao shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

“That’s not true,” you say, far too quickly. “That’s not… It can’t be true. If he’s liked me for years then—then remember when he had a girlfriend in our freshman year? He really liked her.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Wonwoo had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Minghao’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Wonwoo. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Minghao’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Minghao says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Minghao blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Minghao.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Xu Minghao clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Wonwoo until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Wonwoo had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Soonyoung said Minghao said you’re avoiding Wonwoo for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

Instead, you stew in mild indignation until she finally ropes you into Taco Bell plans for the afternoon, promising that the food is on her. But the second you walk in, you know it’s a trap. Sana’s sitting by the window, her expression brighter than the fluorescent lights. She waves you over. You feel like you’re walking into a very elaborate sting operation.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Jihoon’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Jihoon walks in—but he’s not alone.

Jeon Wonwoo is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Jihoon, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Wonwoo! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Wonwoo, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Jihoon takes the seat across from you, shoving Wonwoo into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Wonwoo’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Jihoon asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Jihoon ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Jeon Wonwoo.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Wonwoo shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

He doesn’t reply. You glance at him, but he’s staring down at the table, fingers tapping idly on the edge. You take a deep breath, gaze dropping back down to your hands. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” you offer tentatively—though it sounds unconvincing even as you say it.

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Soonyoung in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. You swallow hard, trying to push it down. You want to tell him that it’s not that simple, that every time you think about him, you feel like you’re standing on a cliff’s edge, terrified of falling. But the words stick to your tongue, and all you can manage is a small, “I don’t want that either.”

Wonwoo nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you focus on the napkin in your hands—or what’s left of it, at least. Your thoughts spiral. You think about the way he looked at you that morning, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he resigned himself to the fact that you wouldn’t like him back. The way everything feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something permanent and irreversible.

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it cuts through the static in your head. You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see not just the calm front he’s putting up, but the uncertainty that bleeds through—the way his fingers fidget against the table, the way his gaze flickers briefly before meeting yours again.

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, until it is immediately obliterated by Sana’s shriek as the four Baja Blasts she was balancing in her arms plummet to the floor in a tragic display of carbonation and crushed dreams. 

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Wonwoo had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Jihoon and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Wonwoo, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Wonwoo would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Changwon tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

At first, you think you imagined it, a stray sound swallowed up by the evening breeze. But when you hear it again, clearer this time, you stop dead in your tracks, your head swiveling towards the source.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Wonwoo comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, craning your neck to locate the source of the sound. Sure enough, a tiny ball of fur is clinging to a branch halfway up one of the trees, its pitiful cries echoing through the still evening air. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s a cat,” Wonwoo says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Wonwoo, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Wonwoo reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Wonwoo inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a final, determined stretch, he manages to grab the kitten by the scruff of its neck, holding it up triumphantly. It lets out one last indignant yowl before going limp in his grip, big, yellow eyes blinking up at him.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Wonwoo—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Wonwoo plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Wonwoo mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Wonwoo interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

When you drop down onto the ground next to him, waiting for Sana—who you’d called earlier—to come drive you both to the hospital, you catch a glimpse of the kitten peeking out from the bushes, its wide eyes reflecting the streetlights. You shake your head. “Ungrateful little thing.”

“Worth it,” Wonwoo says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Wonwoo to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Wonwoo leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Jihoon were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes. 

“You’re driving me to Changwon?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Jeon Wonwoo climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly. His eyebrows twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. You shift from one foot to the other under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. “What, you think women are bad drivers?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think women are bad drivers. I think you’re a—” He pauses. “Wait, that’s a trick question. You’re going to kick my ass regardless.”

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Wonwoo limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line. 

You glance at his profile—the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. It’s all so familiar, and you hate the fact that you feel like a stranger standing next to him. You know he likes you, and it’s eating you up inside, gnawing at your brain, because telling him you like him, too, would ruin everything.

Not that everything isn’t already hanging by a thread, but what if something happens that makes it impossible to fix? What if you break up, and the friendship you’ve been clinging to falls apart completely? What if everything changes even more than it already has, and you can’t stop it? What if you lose one of the most important people in your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t find your way back to him? What if, what if, what if—it’s a thought that echoes endlessly.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Wonwoo says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Wonwoo fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything after, but his jaw tightens as he leans into the passenger seat. It takes some effort—his crutches clatter against the doorframe, and he winces, trying to angle his injured foot without bumping it. You pretend not to notice his struggle, letting him preserve what little dignity he has left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Wonwoo doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

The first few kilometres pass like this—with a quietness so thick, it’s suffocating. You grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, focusing on the road ahead as though it holds the answers to all your questions.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lifts, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Wonwoo. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut. 

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, his features softening in his sleep. You glance at him more openly now, heart tugging at the sight. He looks younger like this. The lines of tension on his face have disappeared, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of his chest. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and you resist the urge to push them back up.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying. 

But it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this. The memory sneaks in, unbidden—the morning you woke up beside him, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting golden streaks across his skin; his hair mussed against the pillow; his face so close to yours. The disorientation, the rush of emotions you couldn’t name, the way your heart stuttered because of his proximity.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Wonwoo stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

When Google Maps announces the next turn, you straighten in your seat, forcing yourself to focus. The road stretches ahead, long and winding, illuminated only by the yellow glow of your headlights and the streetlights on the sides.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Wonwoo’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Wonwoo limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Wonwoo!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Wonwoo begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Wonwoo’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Wonwoo. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Wonwoo says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Wonwoo nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Wonwoo’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Wonwoo’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Wonwoo sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Wonwoo so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Wonwoo, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Wonwoo finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Wonwoo hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Wonwoo, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Wonwoo’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Wonwoo asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Wonwoo, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

You glance at him once again, dropping your hands and letting them rest on your lap. He’s resting back in his seat, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The tiniest furrow creases his brow, a sign he’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Wonwoo, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Sleep, that night, is a stubbornly elusive thing. You toss and turn, unable to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. Each time your mind refuses to quiet, you assign a new reason for your restlessness—the bed is too firm, the covers are unnaturally warm, the pillow is too lumpy. But you know, deep down, that the true culprit lies just down the hallway.

Jeon Wonwoo.

The thought of him—his silent steadiness, the way his mouth twitches up slightly when he finds something amusing, the fact that you’re in the same house as him—makes your pulse flutter in ways that you’re sure aren’t good for your heart.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The faint creak of a floorboard breaks the stillness, and your heart jumps before logic catches up. It’s an old house; it makes noises. Then, there’s another creak, a softer one, like when someone is careful and doesn’t want to disturb anyone else.

Curiosity—and the undeniable urge to see him—wins over your hesitation. You slide out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet, and pad to the door. When you open it, you nearly collide with Wonwoo in the dimly-lit hallway.

“Oh,” you whisper, pretending to be startled. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

The quiet stretches, each second feeling longer than the last. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for a long time—awkward, but unavoidable, because not being by each other’s sides isn’t an option. You fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt, glancing at him and then quickly looking away when his eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

You chew on your lip. Maybe it’s because it’s so silent that nothing seems intimidating anymore, or maybe it’s everything you’ve pushed down so far finally reaching a tipping point, or—and perhaps the most likely reason—maybe you’re just incredibly, terribly, immensely stupid, but the words spill out faster than your mind reacts.

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Soonyoung.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

“I’m not mad,” you add quickly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “I was a little confused, but—but I get why you lied. I just—” You hesitate, wringing your hands. “I feel stupid. You remember everything, and I… don’t.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Wonwoo,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Wonwoo shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, his eyes fixed on you. When he says your name, it sounds like a plea, and then, “C’mere.”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Wonwoo,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Wonwoo’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

You gasp when he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours unhurriedly, in a way that makes your knees weak even though you’re already sitting. He tilts his head, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that leaves no room for hesitation. His hand slides up to cup your jaw; his thumb brushes against your cheek. The combination of his touch and his kiss is overwhelming. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Wonwoo counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Wonwoo,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Jeon Wonwoo was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache. 

You remember the way he’d looked at you that night. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression soft in such a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into thousands of tight knots. You’d caught yourself staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, and immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He’d seemed nervous, too—words stumbling over each other like he was rushing to get them out. For one foolish, fleeting moment, you’d thought that he was going to say it.

When he told you about his girlfriend, you’d plastered on a smile and congratulated him. Still, something in your chest had sunk that day. What had you expected, really? For him to sweep you into his arms and confess that you were the one? He had always been kind, but kindness does not equate love.

Except it does, because Jeon Wonwoo had told Kwon Soonyoung that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Changwon, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

And you? When he broke up with his girlfriend, you felt… relief. His sadness wasn’t something that you wanted to enjoy. No, you hated that he was hurting. But the other part of you, the part of you that had waited for this moment without ever acknowledging it, was thrilled.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: You’ve loved Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this: 

It starts with Kwon Soonyoung. Of course it does.

When Soonyoung gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Wonwoo into picking him up, much to Xu Minghao’s glee. 

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Jeon Wonwoo’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Wonwoo’s lips are on yours.

His hands are gentle as they rest on your back, holding you closer, almost like he can’t believe this is real. The softness of his lips, the careful yet urgent way he kisses you—it’s enough to make you forget the world outside of his car, enough to make you forget about your late-night rescue mission.

It���s dizzying, intoxicating, and when he pulls back for a brief moment to catch his breath, you barely let him before you’re leaning in again, eager for more. Your hands move on their own, finding his shirt’s collar and gripping it as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You forget that you’re both in a car, in the middle of the night, on some random dark street far from home. You forget that there’s so much you’ve buried underneath layers of friendship and years of yearning. 

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Minghao posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Wonwoo,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along. 

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. The kiss isn’t frantic or urgent. It’s slow. His lips move tenderly against yours, hands slipping down to the small of your back, pressing you against him. When he pulls back this time, it’s only by a fraction.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

All at once, the confession you didn’t even realise you were dying to make slips past your lips. “I’ve liked you from the start,” you say, a little breathless, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing lightly. “I never thought I’d—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head while your hands find their way back to his shirt, tugging him close.

His lips return to yours, his kiss deeper this time, more insistent. There is no hesitation this time. The kiss spirals between soft and demanding, his teeth nipping your lower lip and your tongue sliding against his. His hands are everywhere, pressing you to him as if trying to make up for lost time, and you let him, falling into the moment with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Wonwoo’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Soonyoung’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Kwon Soonyoung the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Wonwoo, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Wonwoo’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Wonwoo says, “How crass of you, Soonyoung.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

⇢ a/n: this entire fic was inspired by two of my favourite kdramas: business proposal, and love next door. thank you to skye, @etherealyoungk, & kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic & leaving sweet comments! thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

[illbegottenfaith]

you must have just read it in my eyes (a Be More inspired fic)

Over the years, Theo realises just how much you mean to him, bit by bit (theo nott x reader)

a/n - my first Valentine's Day fic yay!!!! I have more planned (hopefullyy I'll get them all out? we'll see lol) hehe enjoy :))

tropes/warnings - literally no warnings lmao, one tiny suggestive line, fluff

word count - 1.9k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts

The first time Theo thinks you must be something more, it catches him completely off guard.

It’s on a cool September evening, just as dusk is settling on the horizon. He's at Hogsmeade, walking back to Hogwarts with his friends scattered along the path, laughing and tripping over themselves. A cold gust of wind runs through them while he adjusts his gloves (Merlin knows the cold is ruthless on his joints) when this girl, one he’s said perhaps a grand total of two words to, turns and tugs at the sleeve of his coat.

He’s too stunned to resist. For the first, but definitely not the last, time, he lets you drag him around as you wish.

You were always around—a presence that never demanded attention but was impossible to ignore. You had mutual friends, exchanged the occasional dry remark, but never anything beyond that.

But that changed on this brisk autumn evening. Without looking back, you reached behind and wordlessly pulled Theo along so he wouldn’t lag behind, all while your conversation with Ivy continued unbroken and unfettered.

It was such a small thing. Thoughtless, instinctive. You hadn’t even glanced at him.

But Theo had looked at you, and for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

After that, you became more than just a vaguely familiar face in Theo’s life. Bit by bit, you began to take shape in his mind as he learnt more about you. You had a younger sister. You didn’t care for wet weather. You twisted your ankles on an alarmingly regular basis. Like him, you took Arithmancy, but, unlike him, you actually enjoyed it. It was an ordinary evening in the common room when you set a cup of tea down in front of him, unannounced, unacknowledged. As aggressively nonchalant as he tried to appear, you couldn’t help but notice him pulling out his hair for the better part of the last hour over whatever assignment he was working on.

Theo looked up from his Arithmancy quiz, gaze flicking from the cup to your face. But you were too busy looking at his parchment, brow furrowed as you silently mouthed the words along while reading them.

After a few seconds of silence, you extended an arm, tapping on one of the questions.

“Not quite right.”

Theo reread the question and, sure enough, he was a little off. By the time he looked up again to thank you, you were already settling into the chair across from him, casually stirring your own drink. He watched you curiously.

“Like telling people they’re wrong, do you?”

“When it’s you? Sure.”

He didn’t react to it immediately. If anything, he was amazed at how your voice could soften the blow of the snidest of remarks. Instead, he studied you, cool and unreadable as ever.

You sighed, adjusting your position as you poured your attention back into your crossword. “You’re staring,” you noted, not looking up, when he showed no signs of looking away any time soon.

“Am I?” His voice was even, measured. He took a slow sip, testing the tea. The smirk slid right off of his face. Two sugars, no milk. It was perfect.

He could have asked how you knew. Could have pointed out that he’d never mentioned it, that you must have noticed all on your own. But he didn’t.

Because he had been watching you, too.

Theo had heard it all before. A name spoken in a certain tone. A pause just long enough to say what they wouldn’t dare to outright. A muttered, “once a Nott, always a Nott,” just loud enough to reach his ears.

There was nothing new in the way they spoke about him—nothing particularly creative, nothing worth the effort of a response. He had learned long ago that silence was the easiest way to make those kinf of people uncomfortable.

But before he could decide whether this was another moment best left ignored, your voice cut through the conversation.

“And yet,” you said, tone light, almost unnervingly idle, “you've spent the better part of the evening trying to impress him. Almost like you care what a Nott thinks of you.”

The silence that followed was immediate, the shift in the air unmistakable. The words were clean. Precise. Lethal in a way that left no room for retaliation.

Someone shuffled their feet. Another cleared their throat awkwardly. Theo didn’t turn, didn’t look at you, but he could feel the weight of the moment settle between them, thick and suffocating. He could see the scathing look of derision he knew he'd find in your eyes, the one you saved for people like them.

You didn’t linger - you never saw the need to stretch out a moment that had already served its purpose. You had already moved on, making some offhand remark to a friend as if the exchange hadn’t quieted the common room.

Theo exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edges of his otherwise impassive expression. Merlin knows he didn't know how to put it into words. But for some reason, he didn't have to. Not when it came to you.

Later, when you were walking back to the common room, he let his knuckles brush yours as you turned the corner.

You didn’t acknowledge it. You didn’t have to.

Theo was not a sentimental man. But when he looked at you, he found himself memorizing things he had no business noticing. The way you tilted your head when you were listening. The ink smudges beneath your fingernails. The way you had mastered the art of dozing at breakfast when you thought no one was paying attention to you.

He found himself slowing down just to see you huff and drag him along more often. Only now, he had figured out the next best thing to do was to then immediately pick up the pace and lengthen his stride, all while you hurled breathless obscenities at him as you struggled to keep up, still attached to his sleeve.

Little things, small enough to be forgettable. But never to him.

Perhaps that was why, on this particular evening, he found himself more attuned to the details than ever - the rustle of your coat as you walked beside him, the fleeting half-smile that played at your lips as you took in the sights around you.

The sky had deepened into a cool, wintery dusk, the last traces of daylight sinking beneath the horizon. The air smelt crisply of pine. Hogsmeade, bathed in the golden glow of streetlamps and shop windows, buzzed with its usual evening crowd. Students loitered outside Honeydukes and couples drifted toward Madam Puddifoot’s. There was a honeyed air of anticipation, something quiet yet tangible, threaded through the brisk February breeze.

You and Theo had spent the afternoon in their usual way—wandering from shop to shop, falling into conversation that meandered just as aimlessly. You had tugged on his sleeve, as always, urging him along when he lingered too long in the bookshop or took his time finishing his butterbeer. He had walked a little too fast, just to hear you sigh in amused exasperation before catching up.

As you made your way back to the castle, Theo lagging abysmally behind, you turned. But this time, something was different. Looking at Theo, hair mussed by the wind, eyes glittering as they caught the light of the dim, flickering street lamps, you were struck by the sudden realisation that not once had Theo tried to stop you. In between the teasing and heartrending cups of tea, something had shifted without either of you knowing.

It was a subtle change. Almost unnoticeable.

You hesitated before reaching for his sleeve.

Just for a moment. Just long enough for him to catch the flicker of uncertainty before you masked it.

Theo felt the difference immediately. You had always done this absentmindedly, effortlessly. But now - now there was a pause. A consideration.

The cobblestone streets stretched ahead, illuminated by warm pools of lantern light. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, at the soft wool of your scarf tucked high against your jaw, at the way your breath curled in the cold air. You weren't looking at him, but he could see the faintest crease in your brow, like you had noticed the change, too.

He didn’t say anything.

But for the first time, when you tugged on his sleeve, he resisted—just for a second. Just enough to let you notice.

You glanced up to meet his gaze and you looked like you wanted to berate him for making you feel things he had no right to make you feel.

You didn’t pull away.

The restaurant is warm, its golden light spilling onto the pavement through fogged-up windows. Inside, glasses clink softly, laughter hums beneath the gentle murmur of conversation, and candlelight flickers against polished wood. It’s a quiet sort of place, intimate without being stifling, refined yet comfortably worn.

Theo lingers outside.

His hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat, shoulders squared against the chilly evening air, but he doesn’t make a move to step inside. Not yet. Instead, he watches.

Through the window, he finds you easily. You’re seated by the far wall, absentmindedly running your finger along the rim of your glass. The candle at your table casts a soft glow across your features, and you look—content. Not impatient, not waiting. Just at ease in your own company.

It doesn’t surprise him. It never has. You were always like that, more than happy in your own company. It’s something he's admired from the start. It's something he loves now.

And still, even with that quiet self-assurance, as though you cannot help yourself, you glance toward the door, briefly. You look for him.

Theo exhales, a slow, measured thing, before finally pushing the door open.

The shift is immediate. The warmth of the restaurant wraps around him, the scent of spiced wine and something faintly floral hanging in the air. His footsteps are steady as he makes his way to you, and as though you've felt his presence, there’s already a knowing smile playing at your lips as he reaches the table.

“You’re late,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself.

Theo slides into his seat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I can't help it. It's cold out.”

You huff a small laugh, picking up your glass. He watches as you take a slow sip of your drink, utterly at ease beneath the weight of his attention.

“I can think of a few ways to keep you warm,” you remark idly as you set your glass down.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Oh?”

There’s a glint in your eyes, but you don’t elaborate, only tilting your head in that absent way he’s long since memorised. It’s teasing, but it’s also something else - something unspoken, something that lingers between you, quiet and unassuming.

His fingers brush against the inside of his coat pocket. The small box is still there, tucked away safely. The weight of it is steady, familiar.

There it lingers at his lips, unbidden and unsaid.

Darling, please. Let it be more.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Shutter 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Peter and Pipsqueak.

Summary: a community class brings together all sorts.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The community centre is a good place to waste time. After a particularly brutal break-up, it was Peter's only distraction. His only solace. He couldn't stay in that apartment he shared with MJ and working as a freelancer couldn't keep him busy if there's nothing going on.

It got even better when she showed up. Most of his students are seniors, looking for the same thing as him, a way to keep busy. She's younger but enthusiastic. While the others come once or twice a month, she's there every week.

That day, she walks in with Betsy. She always finds one of her classmates before she even gets there. She has her camera bag over her shoulder as she adjusts her thick-lensed glasses. They magnetize her irises and make the rest of her look even smaller. That's no great feat as she's tiny all over.

He welcomes each student as he always does, a smile, or a wave, a hello, or how are you. It's a bit awkward to teach people older than even his aunt, but it's more of a club than a class. There's a few new tag alongs; Jeffrey and Edith.

He goes over the focus for the week. There's lot of birds around and he asked them all to get some good snaps before migration season. There's a bit of technical difficulties as he helps them get their prints on the overhead or upload to the cloud from their SD cards. He always has to account for their varied skillset.

His attention strays from the blue jays and the cardinals to her. She sits with her legs twisted together, her eyes set on the large screen. Her glasses reflect the tint. When it comes her turn, she presents a hummingbird she proudly explains was lured to her balcony by her honey feeder. She adds that it's also against the rules but she doesn't care. She giggles and takes her seat again.

When the meeting comes to an end, the elders bluster about the traffic or bingo. It's only two in the afternoon but some are even on the way to dinner. As he waits for them to filter out, he shuts down his laptop.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Parker," the warbly voice startles him. She stands across from him sheepishly. He almost laughs. No one calls him mister. "Um, I was hoping you could help me but if you're busy."

He's almost breathless. He's talked to her before. He talks to everyone but she's shier around the men in the class, even him.

"No, I don't have anywhere to be. What's going on?" He forces out, wondering if he sounds as nervous as he feels.

"Erm, okay," she moves her camera bag to the front of her. "I found this old camera at the thrift shop but um, I don't want to break it. I wanted to start using it..."

She pulls out the camera with the strap attached. He tilts his head as he examines it. He reaches for the compact device.

"May I?" He asks.

"Please," she hands it over. "I don't know if it's any good. It was ten bucks but... if it doesn't work I thought it would be a good ornament."

"Holy," he turns it over, "it's a Leica. That's... you know these go for a good penny on eBay. I restored a few myself..."

"Really?" She leans in and he almost loses feeling in his fingers. She's so close but doesn't seem to realise. Being so small, she probably doesn't think about it.

"Oh, sure," he plays with the shutter button. "I could have a look over and see if it's still in good condition. Do you mind if... I take it home?"

"Yeah, that would be--" she reaches for her bag again and finds her small blue wallet inside. "I could pay you--"

"What? No," he waves her off. "It's fun to me."

"Right, um..."

"I could have it done in like a day or two," he can barely hear himself over the thumping of his heart. Is he really going to ask? "Maybe we could meet up?"

"Oh, sure. I could... I could do that," she widens her eyes and they look even bigger.

"Okay... uh, maybe we could exchange numbers?"

"That sounds good," she bounces on her soles. "Let me just..." she takes out her phone in its butterfly case, "what's yours? I'll send you a message."

He recites the numbers, his tongue sticking as he focus on getting every digit right. She smiles and taps the screen triumphantly.

"There, uh, okay, you hold onto that," she sticks up a spindly finger, "and I will wait patiently for your phone call!"

"Sure, cool, yeah," he stammers, fighting his own excitement. He takes out his phone. "I'll save your number now."

"Have a good one, Mr. Parker," she gives a little hop. "I gotta go get my train."

'Guess who just got her number!'

She flits out right as he says "you two" missing the "sweetheart" at the end. He stares at the door then slowly peeks down at his phone. He adds her to his contacts then flips over to the discord chat. He smirks as he keys in his message.

A rolling eye emoji comes from Bucky and Thor sends a celebrating one. Curtis gives a thumb up and several others see the message.

'Did you get it or steal it?' Jake snarks.

Peter sneers and blacks the screen. He's not arguing with those idiots again. They're just jealous.

[gold-onthe-inside]

pair programming - part ii

navigator

who? spencer reid (s3) x analyst!reader summary: what happens after your roommate and better half is shot on the doorstep of your building by her date. turns out, you're support network seems to have more nodes that you'd thought. content warnings: reference to guns + gunshot injury, surgery, blood word count: 2.1k a/n: realised after writing this that reader has more interactions with everyone on the team than she does with penelope oops

Spencer handed you a cup of tea, sitting down beside you in the hospital waiting room, the rest of the team milling around, waiting for news on Penelope’s surgery. You hadn’t said a word about what happened, the team relying on a police officer and a paramedic’s account while you sat there in catatonic shock, blood staining your white shirt, your hoodie doing more work in hiding it. You could still feel the blood on your hands, stained from pressing down on Penelope’s gunshot wound.

Spencer didn’t know what to do or say, just pressing the warm beverage into your hands, Emily and JJ murmuring in the corner.

“Has anyone told Morgan yet?”

“He isn’t answering the phone.”

“Is she?”

“Still in shock. Hasn’t said a word.”

“And Penelope?”

“All we know is a gunshot wound to the chest, and that they’re operating now.”

Spencer’s eyes are still on you, a shell of yourself, unable to reconcile the person he sees with the person he knows. He knows you deal with threats far greater than the ones they do — they’ve just come back from arresting a cannibal, you prevent military secrets getting out and uncover espionage attempts. But it’s from the safety of a digital interface, the day to day of it so mundane that it makes him want to pull his eyeballs out. Your job doesn’t get you shot. Technically, Penelope’s job shouldn’t have gotten her shot either.

No-one was paying attention to him, or to you, which is why he’s on his knees in front of you, aligning his gaze with yours, and does one of the few things he knows how to do; explaining. He put the tea down on the floor, taking hold of your hands, your eyes distant, your fingers cold. If he couldn’t do anything for Penelope, maybe there was something he could do for you.

“When the brain experiences trauma it has an affect on the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system.” He said the words quietly, a distraction technique to bring your focus to something, even if it was nothing. “The physiological response is a fight or flight response. When your brain is unable to process the situation, it freezes in an effort to protect your mind and body. You might feel numb, or cry, or rage. You might just sit there, emotionally unable to move. You might dissociate, and feel like nothing around you is real, or that it‘s actually happening to someone else.” He squeezed your hands, hoping for a response. It felt like you weren’t even there.

“I can’t imagine how scared you must be, and I’m not going to try and tell you that everything will be okay, because it may not-,” and he hated saying the words, they felt like a lie in his mouth, but it was the truth “-but whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.”

“I can’t lose her,” you whispered. Thank god, Spencer thought as he looked at you again, and while he knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would make it all better, he also knew that the fact that you were finally verbal was probably a positive. You hadn’t said a word in hours.

“I know,” he said quietly. The team still milled around, waiting, the hospital buzzing with activity, but he felt like the words were just his and yours, the intimacy of the two of you cocooned away from the world.

"I don't..." You struggled to get the words out. "She's all I have." He watched as the tears welled in your eyes, watched as they fell down your cheeks. He wanted to reach out, to brush them away, and he hesitated, wondering what he possibly could do to comfort you.

Instead he pulled you towards him, wrapping you in his arms, a hug, and hoped that he wasn’t being too forward, and you crushed yourself against his chest, hugging him back. He ran a hand up and down your back as he held you to him, his cheek against the side of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he didn’t know if he was apologising for Penelope’s injuries, or the fact that he couldn’t save her, or that he hadn’t been there, or because there was nothing he could do to make it better. He was just sorry.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to background check this guy?” you asked, offering Penelope your eyeliner as she finished curling her hair and she rolled her eyes.

“God, you sound like Derek,” she retorted spitefully and you frowned. It was unlike her to be say his name with such anger, when it was usually said with love, fondness, occasional lust, and just in an overall dreamy fashion. A part of you had always wondered if there was more to their relationship than just platonic friendship.

“Alright,” you replied, letting it go. Penelope was a grown woman, she could make her own decisions… and was also equally capable of running a background check as, if not more, thorough as you would have. You tried not to look at the mess that your shared bathroom had turned into, make-up supplied and jewellery scattered over the counter, leaving her to do her thing. “And I better not get a text saying you’re bringing him upstairs,” you called out as you leave.

“This is just wrong,” you murmured, looking at Penelope’s pale, all but lifeless body, tubes running from her nose and arms, wires strapped to her chest, the suite silent but for the steady beep of the heart monitor. You still hadn’t moved from the foot of the bed, willing yourself not to cry. You were not going to be one of those family members who couldn’t get a grip of themselves. You especially refused to become a blubbering mess in front of her co-workers.

“I know,” Spencer said softly, wanting to take your hand again, but holding himself back. He still never knew where he stood with you. Hell, he didn’t know how to process what was going on for him — the only thing he knew he had to do was stabilise you, never mind himself.

You finally manage to put one step in front of the other, going towards Penelope and Spencer could see your hand shaking as you gingerly took hers, the way you blinked back tears, almost refusing to breathe because you were convinced the only thing that would come out would be a sob. Spencer swallowed, moving to draw the curtains over the windows, closing the doors so it was only the three of you in the room, and kept his back turned as you finally gave in to the squeezing grip your lungs had on your heart, sinking into the chair as you cried, gripping the hand that wouldn’t squeeze back.

You started awake when you felt a large hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently, and it’s Aaron standing over you. “Sorry,” you mustered, wiping away dried tear tracks and he simply pulled up a chair beside you.

“I know it’s been a long night,” he said softly, leaning on his knees, looking at you kindly. “But we need your help.” He watches you nod, taking in a deep breath.

“Anything,” you said, a lot calmer now.

“We need to get some kind of identification on this guy,” Aaron told you, his voice measured and even and a part of you was jealous you couldn’t be as calm as he was, and partly angry that he could be this calm with Penelope this way.

“She said his name was Colby,” you said, remembering the joke you had made when she told you.

“Like the cheese?” you asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically and she scoffed.

“Do not ruin this for me,” she retorted, pointing her laptop charger at you like a wand. “He’s cute and he actually likes me. Do you even remember the last time I’ve been asked out?”

“That doesn’t mean you should go out with anyone who asks,” you replied. “I mean, what kind of person doesn’t turn on auto-save?” It earns you a glare from her and you quieten, turning back to your book.

You shook your head, trying to focus on your screen, set up right beside Penelope, refusing to leave her side even as she slept, and neither did Derek or Spencer, the former practically breathing down your neck. You glanced up at Spencer, a plea in your eyes to get him off your back, and he makes a pitiful attempt of asking Derek if he wants to go get a coffee with him, which he denies and so Spencer shrugged, so you let out a breath, focusing on what you were doing.

“There’s nothing on a James Colby Baylor,” you said, sounding tired, running a hand through your hair, then settling it back on your keyboard.

“If he knew Penelope was FBI, then maybe he used a pseudonym,” Spencer offered, his hands in his pockets, standing across from you. “Try using the same combination of letters, JCB.”

“I’m gonna need more parameters than just three letters,” you retorted, looking up at him.

“Check anyone who rented a white sedan in the last 24 hours,” Derek said, still leaning over you and you desperately wanted to hit the both of them. Repeatedly. Instead, you check car rentals across the city matching the description, matching the restaurant that they had gone to, adding your facial recognition program to look for blonde men with blue eyes. “Plus some kind of job in the justice department. Try law enforcement, former military, stuff like that,” Derek added. “He knew enough to use legal terms, but not enough to know city attorneys don’t try criminal cases. Law school dropout, failed the bar exam—”

“Jason Clark Battle,” you told him, pulling up the picture of him and you swallowed. That was him. The guy you’d seen run away from the front of your building after you heard the gunshot. Your hands curled into fists, oblivious to Derek calling Aaron about it, charging out the door. Spencer didn’t particularly want to leave either of you, but he muttered a quick, ‘Be right back’ before disappearing.

You handed Derek a mug of coffee while Penelope slept in her own bed, the door left open in case she needed either of them. He’s set up on your couch, a blanket and pillows, his gun set on the coffee table, a single light left on so he can read the file. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” he asked you and you shrugged, taking a seat on the corner of the coffee table.

“He shot her on the doorstep, Morgan,” you said quietly. “If I hadn’t been at home…”

Morgan placed his hand on your knee, warm and comforting, and even though you had made fun of him being here, calling him Penelope’s ‘guard dog’, deep down, you were glad he was here. “There’s a lot that went wrong that night,” he said smoothly, his voice low. “Don’t eat at yourself worrying about how it could have been worse.”

You huffed a little. “You mean like you’ve been doing?” you asked, looking at him pointedly and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“You sure you aren’t a profiler?” he asked, noticing the slight hint of a smile on your face as you shrug.

“I guess we’re both wired the same way,” you said, instead of the retort you had lined up in your head. “Protecting the people we care about, blaming ourselves when they get hurt.” You glanced at Penelope’s room, her open door. “She’s all I have, Morgan.” And maybe it’s the late night, the anxiety coursing through your body, the thing that makes it impossible to sleep, that starts in your head and works its way to your chest, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “She’s everything. My emergency contact, my medical proxy… Hell, if I died tomorrow, everything I own goes to her. She’s my family. If I lose her, I have no-one.”

Derek lets a beat pass, watching you, and you can tell he knows something you don’t, because he said, “You have people. Even if you can’t see them.” You frowned a little as he went back to his file, clearly unwilling to say more, and you’ve never been one to push into personal space. Instead, you go back to your room, left with his cryptic words.

[downbadumu]

one more hit

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ content summary: explicit/ graphic descriptions of sex, porn without plot, caleb x fem!reader, unrealistic depictions of sex, hard and rough sex, one (1) mention of spit, inappropriate use of evol, dildo use (to fuck reader’s mouth and a gag), light dom/sub undertones, reader is a pain slut, spanking, squirting, vaginal fingering, beginning stages of vaginal fisting, under-negotiated kinks (the rough sex, spanking, and fisting), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight humiliation kink?, idk I think y’all might have a size kink too, reader is also a minx (too horny for her own good), not beta read because i have work tomorrow, nickname used: baby, princess

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ word count: 2612

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ shanna’s notes: i just think that getting fisted by caleb would fix me

Your jaw was sore, spit gathering and soaking the bedsheet beneath you. You’d try to say something or even garble a complaint if it weren’t for the fact that you’re scared you might choke and puke on the fucking dildo (suspiciously familiar and perfectly snug) in your mouth. It was so deep and perfect down your throat; you feel like you’re feeling it in your stomach. Your mind was running; oh, if you knew being a brat and running your mouth was going to make Caleb glare at you sharply then throw you over his shoulder then you would’ve done it much sooner.

Sure, being cute and obedient had its perks. You adore the way how feral Caleb gets when you’re sweet and how he can’t help but manhandle you like a fuck doll. But this, silent and angry Caleb, was so much too. You were still being a smart ass when he grabbed you, challenging him and calling him names you knew would rile him the fuck up; which was what lead him to fuck your mouth with a clear dildo, he seemingly pulled out of nowhere, for nearly thirty minutes.

Caleb in all his pristine uniformed glory had torn your clothes off of you, leaving you in nothing but your flimsy panties and forced your pussy on his boot, every time you sneakily tried to grind your achy clit on it, he’d roughly shoved the dildo and his boot into you. It made you damn near lose your mind; you’ve always known you were pain slut, but the harsh glint in his eyes when he realised too made you grind even harder against his boot so he’d jam it further up your pussy.

Caleb then dragged you by the hair so you’d stand. He remained dead silent and stoic, face unreadable, but you could tell how insanely horny his was just by look in his eyes. You managed a wry smirk, a challenge, there was no way he’d think he could just mouth fuck the attitude out of you with a dildo (that you’re sure after taking it, that he customed modelled to be the exact replica of his cock). With all the brattiness you could still muster, you spit on him.

He didn’t say anything nor does he bother to wipe your spit that landed on his neck and collar of his uniform away, he just stuffed the dildo back into your throat and threw you onto his lap as he sat on the bed. A familiar unnatural hum in the air crackled in your ear, you thought you’d be pinned onto the bed but Caleb had a better idea. You gagged. Not enough to hurt, just enough to choke a little. He had quite literally stuck the fucking dildo in your mouth.

The anticipation was killing you, seriously. You were so fucking horny; you might actually kill yourself if you didn’t get to come soon. In this position, the upper half of your body behind him and on the bed, pussy positioned nicely on his knees, your own almost touching the floor; you prayed that he was going to absolutely spank the soul out of you. You tried to turn back and glare at Caleb, but his grip was tight on your waist. You were only successful at squirming a little before he applied extra strength on you to force you to be still, and you can’t lie, not even to yourself that that didn’t make you wetter than you already were. You swore to yourself, one of these days you were going to find a way to get him to fuck you standing up, or against the wall, or even better against his floor to ceiling window. God, fuck, if he didn’t do anything in the next minute you were going to find a way to suffocate yourself.

You forced yourself to relax so Caleb’s grip would too, then once it did, you’d wiggle your ass temptingly to at least get one (hopefully hard) smack in there. Enough to sting when you sit, you pleaded to Caleb’s mind hoping he’d somehow hear your telepathically. But Caleb, oh sweet loving Caleb, has always been the one to spoil and indulge your rotten desires. While you were busy plotting, the millisecond you let your guard down to relax he landed a hard hit on the top of your ass. You jolted and almost screamed, with pleasure and joy, because holy fucking shit that was glorious. Your body was tense again, you didn’t expect him to actually spank you, you honestly didn’t think he’d be capable. But that warm sting on your ass was real, it was real and fuck maybe you’re more of a pain slut than you thought.

You tried to relax again, it was the only way you could relay to Caleb now that this was ok, because if you were good then he’d know for sure. So, you steadied yourself by taking a deep breath and laid pliantly, back arching ever so slightly. You almost didn’t catch Caleb’s soft hum because it was quickly overpowered by the loud smacks of his hands on your ass; you counted four hard spanks in swift succession. Gag reflex be damned, you’re relaxed and accustomed to it by now, you can’t help the moan that was muffled by the thick stupid fucking dildo in your mouth, your praises and pleas nothing but garbled nonsense.

Caleb forced you to relax this time, his hand hot and firm on where your ass was throbbing. You took another deep breath, briefly you wondered if you’d be lucky enough to get your pussy and clit spanked too but then another idea popped up in your head. You moved discreetly, as if you were trying to get more comfortable, you focused on making your movements to be docile so you (or any part of you) could feel how hard Caleb was in his stupidly hot uniform pants.

He knew you too well, however, and readjusted you. “What’s gotten into you, huh? It’s like you want your punishment to last longer.”

His voice was rough, it sent a shiver down your spine. You think you drooled at the sound of his voice but you’re too wound up to know anymore. “Please,” you tried to tell him, half egging him on but mostly it was to beg him to do something, anything.

Another spank landed on you, this one on your upper thigh. Fuck, that was good, it was like Caleb doesn’t want you to be sitting after either. Before you had time to breathe or enjoy the sting, Caleb smacked your ass and thigh so hard and rapidly your lost count. It might’ve been six, might’ve been twelve, your mind starting to fill with clouds as he rubbed more redness onto use. You felt him shamelessly fondle you, or maybe he was giving you massages, trying to condition you to like his spanks more, maybe? Who cares, you were having the time of your life.

Smack, smack, smack. When his hand left the hot skin of your ass on that last hit, your body lifts itself to follow, you were begging for more. Your hands were going numb from laying your upper half on it, you were so delirious from pleasure you weren’t sure how long you’ve been over Caleb’s lap anymore.

He was gently spreading your legs apart as he massaged you. “I’m not sure if I can even call it a punishment anymore, not with how fucking soaked you are.”

You moaned softly, acknowledging him or pleading for more. Just a bit more and you’ll-

Smack!

Caleb’s aim was precise. Right on the entrance of your trembling hole. It felt different. Like his strength was controlled and calculated perfectly. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a choked scream clawed its way out your mouth, and you squirt all over the floor.

You must’ve blacked out for a second or two because your next coherent thought or understanding was Caleb’s warm hand rubbing up and down your ass and thighs. He was cooing something, tone gentle but strained. You tried to swallow around the dildo, too accustomed to the feel of it, only to realise that it had been taken out of your mouth already. A tiny wave of disappoint washes through you, but it’s alright, it’s nice to be able to close your mouth.

“Baby,” you heard Caleb. You still chose to lay still, enjoying what’s left of your orgasm. Your head was pleasantly cloudy, nothing but the warm buzz of post orgasmic bliss. You think Caleb must’ve been praising you and now probably wants to know if you’re ok. Of course you were. You’ve just had the best orgasm of your life week!

You croaked something after a bit, voice so hoarse you don’t recognise it. You weren’t tired enough to sleep just yet, but if you continued to ignore Caleb then he’d likely put you into a more comfortable position before he went to run a bath for you. You knew he’d understand, though, he always knew you better than yourself anyways. Caleb chuckled, rubbing your lower half with so much gentleness that you already forgot that he was capable of. Knowing how horny you were you probably just begged him for more. You feel Caleb shift, only slightly so he could press a kiss on the top of your ass. At this point, though, you could barely even feel it anymore. You sighed in pleasure.

“You didn’t think you’d get away with your punishment that easy, did you?” You thought you heard him say or something on that line.

Because you brain short circuited when he bit harshly into your flesh. Your body jolted and jerked, trying to get away but Caleb’s hold on you was firm. “Caleb!”

When he had his fill he gives you a chaste peck, and not a second longer for you to breathe. As soon as his lips left your too warm skin, a heavy spank landed on your pussy. The moan you let out was pornographic even to your ears, some spanking shouldn’t be making you this wet, you thought. But it did, and you couldn’t decide to be ashamed or hornier that you just came from getting spanked.

“Did it feel that good?” Caleb asked, as if having read your mind. “From getting you slutty ass spanked?”

Smack!

God, even just the sound of your skin being slapped was doing things to you. “Uh-huh,” you forced out, albeit sounding way dreamier than you expected.

“Wanna talk about how you wet my pants and the floor when I spanked your cute cunt?” Caleb cooed.

If you were just an ounce more sober you’d have cursed at him and threatened to was his filthy mouth with your peach scented shampoo, but your thoughts were flooded with Caleb’s husky voice, his smell on his bed, his rough uniform, how hard the muscles of his thigh were, his almost suffocating grip on you, Caleb’s sweet touches after giving you some amounts of spanks in too quick succession, the length and size of his hands and how you could feel it on both of your tender ass cheeks, how he Caleb Caleb Caleb Caleb Caleb.

Caleb slapped where the end of your ass meets the beginning of your thigh. Fuck. You think you might’ve come again when he firmly slides three of his gloved fingers into your weeping cunt. Had he been wearing gloves this entire time? His movements were slow and methodical like he has every nook and cranny of your pussy memorised, like his fingers belonged in there; rubbing and prodding, moving hard enough that you feel him but not enough for you to derive any real pleasure. Caleb, Caleb!

“Baby, can you feel that? We didn’t have to start with two fingers with how much slicking,” he laughed darkly.

You see stars in the back of your eyes when he growled, you were just so impossibly tight and wet around his fingers. It’s not your fault! You just didn’t know if this was good or if it’d be better if the damn glove was off, but God, fuck, did the leather felt fun in your cunt. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb finger fucked your pussy in earnest, as if he wanted you to hear just how much noise you were making. A shock like electricity runs through you when you felt yourself getting tighter when Caleb, Caleb slipped another finger into you; a depraved sob rips through you and you grip onto his sheets like it was the only thing keeping you conscious.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Caleb asked, tone concerned. “You’ve been calling me over and over, what do you need, hm?”

Oh, oh, oh, oh, fuck! Caleb started to lightly thrust into you, now you could really feel all four of his fingers. You thrash in his grip, the sensation was so familiar but so foreign, you should be scared but the thought of his huge hand being completely inside you forced another orgasm out of you. Your legs shook as the pleasure wracks through you.

“Is your princess cunny feeling that good, baby? You sound so pretty, like you’re having so much fun.”

“Caleb, please, please, Caleb, please!” You begged but you don’t even know for what.

Caleb doesn’t let you ride out your orgasm, he started to thrust his hand in a more rhythmic pace, one that drove you crazy if you were on his cock. “Stay still, ‘kay?” He muttered, and the hum of gravity shifting around you buzzed quietly in the back of your mind.

A pressure weighed you down, your lack of ability to move sent you into deeper into your orgasmic spiral. With other arm now free, Caleb lets you feel its journey to down from your waist to your pussy. You screamed as he grinded his thumb into your clit, a watery jumble of pleas or his name. Your body was simultaneously trying to get away and slog his hands further into you.

Caleb didn’t need any other cue, he watched in wicked fascination as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, only far enough to be able to tuck his thumb into his palm. You whined pathetically but it shoots straight into his cock. He hushed you, rubbing your clit the way you liked while he slid his hands back into your weeping cunt. Caleb wasn’t fazed at all when your slick gushed out harder than it did before. Now, this, was the best orgasm of your week.

He entertained the idea in his head to slowly curl his fingers and tucking them into a fist to make it wider, but another time, it’s something you two should talk about, anyway. Preferably while he crowds you against something, forcing you to spill and recount right now. The humiliation on your face contrasting the lust swimming in your eyes.

Caleb released the gravity on you and you all but collapse further into the bed. You probably were too drunk on your pleasure to realise how much you’ve tensed up. “Caleb,” you said weakly, though it didn’t sound coherent. He gently lifts you off his sticky leg so that you were could lay more comfortably.

He took of his glove and sat back down near you to press a loving kiss into your hair. “You did so good, baby.”

You turn your head to him, eyes watery and full of hearts. “More,” you pleaded.

You almost miss the feral grin that spreads across Caleb’s lip when you flicked your eyes down to eye his still hard cock.

[stitched-mouth]

Meet The Fives

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy.

Pairing: Other Five x Female! Reader x Brisket Five

Format: Long NSFW fic.

Summary: After losing your husband in the time travel subway, you meet several different Fives. Two of them, stand out to you.

Warnings: SMUT! NSFW! Seriously, this is some of the filthiest shit ever written. I finally got to write something with a stuck kink, something I love. It’s very consensual but stuck fantasies always need a CNC warning. Cheating, Angst (?), Cum eating, Spit roasting, Vaginal sex, Oral sex (male receiving), lots of grammar mistakes don’t be mad 🙏

Writing Time: 3 hours.

Word Count: over 3,500

A/N:

PLEASE READ MY NOTES BEFORE READING MY STORY, THIS ONE IS ACTUALLY IMPORTANT

Thank you to everyone that encouraged me to post this; @ifellinto-fantasy @voteforevilthoughts @fartsquelch7 I really hope you guys enjoy and stick around for a possible part two

You can skip straight to the smut, it’s sectioned off and highlighted.

I’ve had an idea to write a stuck smut fic with two Fives for ages now, so happy I finally did so. But this work isn’t perfect, like always I put a lot of into setting up the story and the smut and ending slightly suffered. I forget sometimes that I don’t need to give a backstory to all my stories, I’m sorry.

The backstory also might not make a lot of sense to everyone but I explained as well as could and even if there is a massive plot hole in this fic, please pretend like you don’t see it 🙏

But I’m still happy with the way this came out and I hope you will too.

But also some explanations, there’s a huge inconsistency with how long five worked for the commission, he is 13 years old when he jumped forward to the apocalypse and spends 45 years there and 58 years old when he jumps to 2019. But every source online confirms he worked for the commission for 4-5 years before he jumped to 2019… meaning he actually spent 40 or 41 years in the apocalypse and was 52 when he started working for the Commission. This is why in one line of this I mention that Five was 52 years old while working for the Commission. Feel free to correct me if you know something I don’t.

And the reader loves Bailey’s Hot Chocolate because I do.

Please enjoy!

—

It wasn’t such a great time for you, you had been wondering around the disconcerting train station. Your husband, Five, had brought you and Lila with him by accident due to his familiar but different and uncontrollable power and the bad part is you had been standing on the platform staring at the confusing map too long to notice your husband and your sister-in-law stepping onto a train.

It had left without you. And Five’s attempt to blink off the train when he realised you weren’t going to make it on was futile.

You tried your best not to panic, this wouldn’t be like the last time Five time travelled, right? He’d be back to any minute now, all you had to do was wait, right?

Yeah well you waited hours before deciding to step onto another train, it left from the same platform so it had to take you to him, right? You’re not right very often here.

You stepped onto the train and tried your best to navigate, but honestly, nothing made sense to you here. You had a very strong feeling the train maps were created by another Five in his own made up language, you just had to hope your Five would figure it out and find you.

You had so much time on the platform to remind how you had met Five while you both worked at the Commission as partners. You were only 20 years old but well-known as the Commission’s best assassin, hence why you were partnered up. You had been trained to kill since you were a pre teen and loved it, but you loved Five more than anything else. When you met Five, he was 52 years old, making Five very wary around you and avoiding you and his feelings for you until it was too much. You both finally hooked up after 2 years of working together and clumsily but intensely flirting, you called him your hot stuff and he called you Princess, he was hot and you certainly behaved like a Princess. He brought you back to 2019 with him and you had unofficially married right before the first end of the World. Legally doing so after Allison reset the Universe and living and again working together at the CIA.

You stepped off the train slowly and cautiously, when you deemed it safe you began calling for your husband. No response and nobody was in sight. You were about to step back onto the train when you noticed your husband, well he looked like your husband, walk past the train.

You suddenly felt extreme relief and joy as you ran after him, “Five! Hot Stuff!”

He kept walking so you continued chasing him and grew furious when you realised he could definitely hear you but not stopping, “Old man! Fuckface!”

You suddenly stood in front of ‘Max’s Delicatessen’

You looked around, bewildered and confused. Five quickly made his way inside but turned to look at you first and wink. The wink unsettled you. Something so Five and usually so comforting, now ate your stomach left and it feeling uneasy. That was not your husband.

You didn’t feel completely unsafe, but more intrigued instead. So you slowly entered the Deli and looked around, maybe 50 different Fives all enjoying themselves with coffee and deli meats. A few of them looked back at you in shock and or horror. The Deli became slow and quiet.

“Oi, Hot stuff!”

A Five was gesturing for you to join him, the same one you followed. You slowly moved over to his table.

“She’s mine, boys.”

Nearly all the Fives sighed sadly and continued with themselves. You raised an eyebrow at the Five now in front of you, “I’m definitely not yours.”

“Aw, was hoping I could convince you.” He smirked, “Please sit, Hot Stuff.”

You sat down and decided to mess with him, “I knew you wasn’t him. My Daddy usually calls me Princess.”

This Five choked on his coffee and you grinned, just as another Five dressed as a waiter, delivered you a Bailey’s Hot Chocolate. You were confused how he knew what you wanted before you had even ordered but you were even more confused with how he stared at you nervously. You had only once seen fear in your husband’s eyes and you had both fought the end of the World 3 times and worked as assassins together, it terrified you to see your Five or any Five scared. Especially of you.

They both quickly collected themselves, waiter Five left the table and the Five sitting opposite you dapped his face with his napkin before looking back at you.

“Well, I could call you Princess if you prefer. But only if you call me Daddy.”

“No thanks, I’m looking for my husband.” You sighed.

“Well, if he’s not in here, I haven’t seen him. He’s likely lost… with Lila.”

You raised an eyebrow, “How do you know he’s with Lila?”

“Because he’s not the first Five to get stuck down here with a Lila and cheat on his beautiful wife.”

“Cheat? You must be mistaken, my Five and I—“

“I’m really sorry Princess, but I am definitely not mistaken. If your Five isn’t here it’s because he’s not welcome, there’s a strict no cheating on your perfect wife ever but especially not with your brother’s wife policy here. Unless the World is actively ending, then we make an exception. Any of us, would reach out to help another one of us if lost, unless we spot them with a Lila.”

You glared at him, very offended. But the longer you stared into his eyes, you could see his sadness and pain. Your gaze soften but you still didn’t believe him.

“Maybe… maybe one or two Five would do that but mine wouldn’t.”

“Look, I would never do that and I’m disgusted some versions of me would. But as soon as one of us comes here with a Lila, it happens, it’s pre determined. And getting stuck down here, it’s our punishment… at least we leave them alone as punishment.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“I don’t expect you too. I don’t doubt you love him and that he loves you too, but… I don’t know, I don’t know why any Five would betray their wives. But none of us are perfect and some are just totally undeserving of you.”

“Where’s your me?”

“Dead. Like most of you, sadly. You don’t tend you survive on your own down here… I didn’t come with a Lila, I came here with only my wife and… after years trapped here, she didn’t see a way out so… yeah.”

He trailed off and looked down, nearly in tears. His wife killed herself. You carefully took his hand, this may not be your Five but this sure was one of him. And you were haven’t trouble disconnecting him from the feelings you still had for your husband.

He sniffed his brewing tears away and looked back at you.

“But anyways, I found this Deli afterwards. A lot of us here, wondered in one day or was found by another one of us and was brought here. One of us could get you home if you wanted but we wouldn’t want to let you go especially if your timeline is ending, which it likely is.”

You sighed and gently rubbed his hand.

“Five… if my husband doesn’t want me anymore, I’d rather… find another Five who wouldn’t betray me.”

He gave you a small smile, “Look around and take your pick, Princess.”

You looked around at all the Fives in the room, all of them just as handsome as your husband but no familiar feeling. Expect the Five currently in front of you.

“Maybe I’ll pick after finishing this.”

You picked up your now lukewarm Baileys Hot Chocolate and began gulping it down. After the day you’ve had, you needed to get drunk, hopefully it would be easy since you hadn’t eaten yet and if these amazing Bailey Hot Chocolate kept coming and you kept chugging them. Five chuckled a bit before sipping on his own coffee. You quickly waved the same waiter Five for another, he promptly brought you another as well as some of your favourite snacks.

“So is the lovely young lady staying?”

You could still hear the nervous tone in his voice but it was more friendly now. You smiled at him and nodded.

“Wonderful, let me know if you need anything else.”

“Oh I will. Get me another one of these but hold the hot chocolate this time.”

You gave him a naughty grin as you looked at him up and down and quickly smacked his ass, he blushed and hurried off to help another Five. The Five in front of you chuckled again.

“What? I can pick anyone of you, right? That makes sexual harassing Five service works ok, right?”

“You are right. That’s Brisket Five, he wrecks shit.”

“Yeah hopefully he’ll be wrecking my pussy soon.”

Five choked on his coffee again but then laughed hard.

“Are you drunk already, darling?”

“Trying to be.”

He nodded understanding why.

“Hey! Brisket Five, scotch!”

A few hours later you and your new Five were drunk as skunks. The pain of losing your husband had been forgotten, you had a new Five that already loved you and wouldn’t betray you. And if that didn’t work, you still had many choices to repair your broken heart. You didn’t know if you were going to go back to you and Five’s family but you had all the time you wanted to decide, considering time was technically stopped in train stations and Deli.

It was closing time and Brisket Five was shooing all the drunk Fives out, including you. He still blushed and stuttered around you, telling you that this Five must be a lot younger than the other. You asked and found that mentally he was only 35, he was one of the few Five’s that didn’t get stuck in an apocalypse and instead grew up with his siblings. But he wasn’t as lucky as he seemed, growing up with his siblings and never working for the Commission meant he never met his you.

You and your new Five giggled and stumbled as you stepped out of the Deli, you drunkenly shhhed Five and he shhhed you back making you both laugh loudly. The moment suddenly became serious as you gazed into each other’s eyes and eventually began kissing.

His tongue was ferocious, you could feel had touch starved he was, much like your original Five. Your tongues danced sloppy but it was so intense and intoxicating you could feel your vagina open and burn with need. You strongly considered turning around and bending over for him right where you was but he suddenly broke away.

“Shit, I forgot my jacket.”

You rolled your eyes and began peeking in through the windows for Brisket Five, nobody was in sight and the lights had been turned off, except for one around the corner of the Deli, it looked like the kitchen.

“Can you blink inside?”

Five shook his head, no.

“Well didn’t you say it would only be closed for 2 hours? Because they are trying to be 24/7?”

“My map is in it.”

You sighed and made your way to the kitchen window and knocked gently, the window was unlocked and slowly creeped open the more you pushed on it. You poked your head inside and saw no one, you sighed again about to look back at Five but you felt touch your back gently.

“Please, let me help you inside and you can get it for me?”

“Ok.”

—-/// SMUT ///—-

You agreed seeing the task as easy, you maybe drunk but you’re still a cold blooded killer, you can break into a Deli easily and grab a coat. And even if you got caught, you’re you, any Five would let you off freely.

You crawled inside and pressed both your hands on the low kitchen counter in front of you, accidentally knocking over a pan you didn’t notice. You gritted your teeth as the pan hit the floor and made a loud bang noise.

“Pull me back! Pull me back!”

Five heard your whisper yelling and began trying pull you backwards by your hips, but you was stuck and all he did was pull your jeans halfway down.

‘Fuck’, you thought. You were definitely way too drunk for this.

You heard some shuffling in another room and in stepped Brisket Five.

“Hi…”

“I already told you, we’re closed Darling.”

“I know, I’m sorry but—“

“No no no babygirl, you can’t just break in and enter. Especially not so poorly.”

He walked over to you and was now face to face with his crotch. It gets better, you could hear the Five behind you groan with need and begin pulling off your jeans and panties all the way down. Your eyes widen with shock and lust as you heard him spit into his hand and then feel him slowly enter you.

Your burning cunt accepting him easily and you gasped with excitement.

“Um, I.. I’m sorry… let me make it up.. to you..”

Brisket Five was beyond shocked with your suddenly breathy horny voice and even more shocked when you began pulling his belt, pants and boxers off. You stared into his eyes as you licked up and down his dick before taking it fully into your mouth.

He groaned as you began moving your head back and forth, just as the other Five fucked you slowly but so deeply. Your cunt tighten as you took Brisket Five down your throat and Five moaned loudly, he grabbed your hips and increased his pace.

So you increased your pace, moving your mouth up and down faster on the younger Five’s cock. He sighed in pleasure and gently put his hand into your hair and moved your head back and forth. You was Heaven, being spit roasted by two Fives’ was your ultimate wet dream. And both of being so touch starved and whipped for you meant they were more than happy to take anything you gave them.

As you slurped down one Five’s dick and got pounded by another, you decided to never fucking leave.

You felt yourself nearing your release, so you threw your hips back, forcing Five to go deeper and pound your walls harder. Brisket Five’s large cock was nearly suffocating you, just how you liked it. You sucked like your life depended on it, only feeling desperation to have all of them both. You came and whined around Brisket Five as you did so.

Seeing you orgasm and stare so intently at him as you did so made him lose it.

“Fuck!”

Brisket Five suddenly ripped his soaking dick from your throat and with all his might began pulling you through the window, Five though, held onto you as tightly as he could. You let the two Fives fight over you, too drunk and pussy whipped to do anything. Brisket Five won and he pulled into him then stood up carefully and looked out the window at Five.

“You coming in?”

Five suddenly blinked inside.

“You, you asshole…”

“Sorry Princess, I knew you’d bend over me but Brisket Five needed some action too.”

He grabbed the back of your head and pushed you onto your knees and forced his dick down your throat. You choked slightly at first but Five throat fucked you through it, ignoring the tears running down your red puffed out cheeks and burning throat.

Brisket Five stood and watched for a second while jerking himself off before deciding to get on his knees behind you and enter your pussy. He moaned loudly and eagerly began fucking you.

The two seemed desperate and hellbent on using your holes as much as they could, sexual frustration had taken them over completely and they were blood thirsty, well in this case pussy thirsty.

After what felt like an eternity of being on your knees begging for more, Brisket Five cried as he came inside you. You came again at the same time. Five took slightly longer to enjoy your mouth but eventually pulled out and came onto your face. You moaned as he did so, relieved from your second orgasm and the ability to breathe again. His hot wet semen spoiled your face and you smiled up at him.

The Fives looked down at their work proudly. Brisket Five helped you slowly to your feet and you moaned again quickly as you felt his cum drip out of you, you began shamelessly scooping it up in your hands and licking it off your fingers and licking at the corners of your mouth for Five’s cum.

Brisket Five’s face flushed and he stuttered out, “I’ll get you a towel.”

He scurried off, almost tripping as he tried to fix his trousers as he walked.

You smiled and looked at Five, who was also fixing his trousers, he noticed you looking at him and he suddenly kissed you deeply. Your holes felt so used and your heart felt so loved and in love.

Yeah, you was never leaving.

[zenithangelic]

Hai could I get fo4 complete reaction to the sole survivor being very big on giving praise? Like they're constantly complementing the companions but not in an overbearing way :) thank uuu

FO4 Companions reacting to the Sole Survivor's praise:

Cait

At first, she’s incredibly suspicious. Compliments? From someone who doesn’t want anything? She’s waiting for the catch.

Once she realises it’s genuine, she gets flustered and awkward, brushing off praise with a “Yeah, yeah, don’t go getting soft on me.” But she starts subtly craving it.

Eventually, she starts preening a bit when she hears it, standing a little taller. “Damn right I’m good at this,” she’ll say, with a small but proud smile.

Codsworth

Absolutely adores it. He lives to serve, and knowing Sole appreciates him fills him with robotic joy.

“Oh, you are too kind! I do try my best, of course!” He starts adding a little flourish when serving them tea, trying to impress them.

Might even get a little smug when others don’t get as much praise. “Ah, not everyone can be as meticulous as yours truly!”

Curie

Delighted and fascinated by Sole’s positivity, especially when directed at her scientific skills.

“Oh! You really think my work is amazing? That is… oh, you make me blush!” She absorbs every word like a sponge, eager to impress them further.

Over time, she starts paying the praise forward, complimenting others in the group in an adorable, awkward way: “Yes, Cait, you… hit that man so well! Such force!”

Paladin Danse

Completely unsure of how to process it at first. Praise was always tied to performance in the Brotherhood, not simple appreciation.

Starts standing up straighter, subtly shifting into parade rest every time he is praised. “That’s… good to hear, soldier.”

He may not say it, but it means something to him. Eventually, he starts seeking approval in small ways, hoping to get an extra “Outstanding work” when he pulls off something impressive.

Deacon

Smug as hell about it at first. “Oh, stop it, you charmer, you’ll make a spy blush.”

But deep down? It gets to him. Compliments aren’t something he gets often—especially not genuine ones.

He starts responding more sincerely over time, quietly muttering, “Y’know, you’re not too bad yourself.” That’s Deacon for I’m touched beyond words.

Dogmeat

Is a dog. Therefore, absolutely loves the praise and thrives on it.

Tail-wagging intensifies with every “Good boy!” until he’s practically vibrating.

Starts bringing the Sole Survivor even more random junk from the wasteland, tail wagging proudly as he receives his due recognition.

Gage

At first? Suspicious as hell. Compliments in Nuka-World usually meant someone wanted something.

Eventually, he starts accepting them at face value, though he plays it cool: “Yeah, well, I am pretty damn good at what I do.”

But if he ever hears a genuine “I trust you,” that’s it. That’s the moment he realises he’s actually loyal to them, no strings attached.

John Hancock

Drinks it up like the finest chems. “Oh, you really do know how to sweet-talk a ghoul.”

Starts playfully fishing for them. “I dunno, was that a badass move or the most badass move?”

But after a while, he stops playing—he just enjoys hearing them say nice things. It reminds him that he’s worth appreciating.

Robert MacCready

At first? Incredibly awkward. “Uh… thanks? I guess?” He’s not used to compliments that aren’t sarcastic.

Eventually, he starts mumbling a quiet “Thanks” and actually appreciating it. He never realised how much he craved validation.

If they ever tell him he’s a great dad? That’s it. He’s done. Might actually tear up.

Nick Valentine

Smirks at first, taking it in stride. “Careful, kid. A fella might start thinkin’ you like having him around.”

But deep down? It means a hell of a lot. People don’t usually appreciate him as more than an old synth detective.

Eventually, he starts throwing it right back. “Well, you’re not half bad yourself, partner.” And from him, that’s high praise.

Piper Wright

Blushes furiously at first, brushing it off. “Pfft, come on, you’re making me sound cooler than I am.”

Eventually, though? She starts believing it. Starts walking with a bit more confidence, feeling like she is as capable as they say she is.

She starts writing about them in a new way—not just as a legend, but as a genuinely good person.

Preston Garvey

Blinks the first time they compliment him, looking genuinely surprised. “You really mean that?”

He’s so used to being the one lifting everyone else up—it takes him a while to accept that someone wants to do the same for him.

Eventually, he starts smiling more. “Thanks, General. That means a lot.” And it really, really does.

Strong

Confused at first. Why is human saying nice things? What is this strange behavior?

Eventually, decides it is a human battle custom and accepts it. “YES. STRONG IS GOOD SMASHER.”

Might even start attempting his own version of praise: “HUMAN… IS GOOD TOO. NOT AS STRONG AS STRONG. BUT GOOD.”

X6-88

Is initially just... silent. He doesn’t know how to react. Compliments aren’t part of his programming.

Eventually, he just nods at them. “Noted.” But his tone softens over time.

He never outright asks for it, but if they ever stop praising him? He might just subtly start working harder for it.

Ada

Initially confused but appreciative. “That is… unexpected. Most humans do not take the time to compliment machines.”

Over time, she begins to recognise it as genuine appreciation and responds in kind. “Your leadership is commendable. I am… grateful to be part of this.”

Though she may not have emotions like a human, her tone becomes just a touch warmer when speaking to Sole, like she’s learning what it means to feel valued.

Automatron

Default programmed response: “Thank you for your feedback.”

But if they keep it up, the bot might start adapting its speech patterns. “Analysis: Positive reinforcement detected. Conclusion: You are… kind.”

If modified with a personality matrix, the bot might get cocky. “Yes, yes, I am the pinnacle of engineering excellence. Carry on, human.”

Old Longfellow

Grumbles about it at first. “Damn fool, ain't no need to butter me up. Just doin’ what I always done.”

But over time, he starts getting used to it. Starts looking forward to Sole’s words, even if he won’t admit it.

The real moment of breakthrough? When he finally mutters, “Heh. Y’ain’t so bad yourself, kid.” That’s Longfellow for I respect the hell outta you.

Porter Gage

At first? Suspicious as hell. Compliments? That ain't how the real world works. “Yeah, yeah, what angle you workin’, boss?”

But once he realises Sole is just… like that, he starts soaking it in. “Damn. Not used to hearin’ that kinda thing. Feels… nice, I guess.”

Eventually, he starts giving them a nod of approval in return. “Gotta say, boss—you got a way of makin’ folks wanna follow ya. Guess I picked the right side after all.”

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[ameliasmiscmonsters]

The Asexual Incubus: Demon x Reader

TWs: Aphobia but not from Incubus, if there's anymore that I missed, please tell me in comments/dms!!

The night the Incubus approached you, had been a tough one. You were out on a date. The first one in a few months. 

This was not because of your lack of trying to find someone to be with, it’s just that there was one, tiny thing that stopped all of your potential partners from seeing you: you were Asexual. 

You’d known since you were a teenager, realised that as you got older, you were completely indifferent to things like sleeping with other people. A lot of your university friends were all about going out and having one-night stands with people they met in clubs.

You were never attracted to that idea. What plagued your mind whenever you thought about sleeping with strangers was the potential for STIs, creepy weirdos who might believe that their… ‘partner’ for the evening may even want something more.

The whole concept of being with someone like that made chills go down your spine. Not chills of fear, just chills of ‘ew, that’s gross.’

But, when you come out to anyone who expressed an interest in seeing you, they always wound up either ignoring your messages from that point onwards or telling you they weren’t interested in a sexless relationship.

Of course, you didn’t mind when people were upfront with you. You appreciated their honesty. It was just the ones who ignored you that hurt.

And that night, you just decided that you were no longer just going to tell the people on your dating apps you were ace. You were just fed up with the rejection, fed up with being ignored, unmatched or blocked.

When you actually secured and went on the date, you would tell them. It’s not like it would be something that you could hide forever. 

But it turned out that keeping that to yourself, caused more damage than you had expected. 

Your date for that evening was a good-looking guy, friendly and open to talk about anything you wanted to. And the date was going great. 

But just as he was about to pay for the meal at the restaurant, pulling out his wallet, a few condoms fell out of his pocket.

Feeling embarrassed, he picked up the silvery packets and apologized to you, saying that he didn’t want you to feel obligated to use condoms for their intended purpose after the date.

And you felt that was the perfect time to tell him. And once you had, the man’s face had fallen.

He’d kept his disappointment in until you guys were clear of the restaurant. And after that, he told you he didn’t think this was going to work out, and asked why didn’t you tell him.

You didn’t know how to tell him you how hurt by how much rejection you’d gotten. In your head, you now realised it sounded so… shallow, so desperate. 

Your date had compared it to a prospective partner not telling their date about having children or some other enormous responsibility like that. 

And so you returned home, removed your makeup and flopped into bed. The tears in your eyes made your ceiling blurry as you stared up at it.

As a storm thundered outside, an aesthetically attractive person slowly appeared in your vision, hanging above you like a kind of spectre. 

Your mind was torturing you, you thought. The manifestation of your guilt had come to haunt you.

The manifestation spoke. “Hello.”

Your tears evaporated as its voice rumbled through your chest and you reached out to touch it, unsure if what you were seeing was real. When your hand met soft skin, you had shrieked and scrambled to the other side of the bed.

Fearing a break in, you practically flew out of bed and rushed to your bedroom door. But before you could even pass through the threshold, the door slammed shut and the faint click of the lock signified there was no way out.

You swerved on your heel, back against your closed door as the intruder held their hands up, “hey, hey! You’re okay. I’m not here to hurt you!”

Lightning flashed outside, and you saw the figure in full. Its skin was deep purple, eyes black with yellow iris’. Its clothes were skimpy. A fishnet crop top adorned their top half, exposing their flat but well-toned chest, while black ripped jeans and black boots engulfed their lower half. 

All that you could have probably coped with, if it were for the purple arrow headed tail that swished and flicked in a menacing manner, matched with huge purple wings folded against their back.

You were about to let out a scream when the figure shushed you. “Don’t scream, please, I’m begging you!” They held a sharp nailed finger to their pinkish lips.

With your back pressed against the back of the bedroom door, your mouth hung open; But no sound came out. 

After a moment, they tucked a strand of loose hair behind their pointed ears. “Okay, we’re calm and cool, yeah?” They stepped back toward your bed. “(Y/N), you don’t have to fear me.”

Your eyes widened. “H-How’d you know my name?”

The figure bit their lip, black fanged teeth denting their bottom lip. “I… was watching your date.” They said. “Well, ‘watching’ I was feeding off that guy you were with.”

“’Feeding off him’?” You repeated, eyebrows furrowing. 

They nodded and gestured to the bed. “I can explain, but I’d like it if you were comfortable first, alright? You can come back to the bed, and I’ll go to the bottom of the bed frame, okay?”

When you gave no indication of agreement, the figure slowly made their way to the edge of the bed, allowing you to have a free passage back.

You narrowed your eyes at them, but they gestured again, “really. I want to talk this out properly.”

Your eyes darting up and down the figure, you scrambled for your bed and pressed your back against the headboard. 

The figure’s stature relaxed slightly. They squatted down, peering through the footboards’ metal supports as they watched you, like a cat curious about its prospective prey.

Since sitting on the bed, your heart rate had slowed and your mind had become clear of fear. 

It allowed you to truly think about what was going on here. While this creature took on a very human-looking shape, it clearly wasn’t of human descent. 

Your eyes darted over to your bedroom window, and found it locked, exactly how you’d left it earlier that evening. “How did you get in here?” You asked, finally. 

“Um…” the figure looked away from you, eyes darting around the room. “I… came through the wall.”

��’Through the wall’?” You repeated in disbelief. “W-What are you then?”

“Ah, well,” the Figure stood again and leaned on the edge of your bed frame. “That’s… that’s where it becomes tricky.”

“Tricky.” You stated flatly. “What the heck does that mean?!”

“Well, you see,” the creature pointed at itself. “I’m–and I don’t want you to get freaked out when I say this–an Incubus.”

You opened your mouth, wanting to say something back, but found there was nothing to say. Instead, a question arose: “Why are you here then?” You flung your arm at your window. “Why not go back to that guy I was on a date with?”

The Incubus drew a sharp breath between their teeth. “Ah because… he didn’t exactly taste good—you really dodged a bullet there by the way, he was a chain-smoker,” the demon snorted, “ironic that he gets on you not being upfront about being ace and then has the audacity to not mention that he’s a smoker.”

When they realised you didn’t see the humour in it, their smile fell and they cleared their throat. “Anyway, I didn’t want to feed off of him anymore because… well… you’re like me.” They pressed their clawed hand to their chest.

You furrowed your eyebrows at them.

They clarified. “Asexual.”

Your face became deadpan. “You?” You asked. “An Incubus. Asexual?”

Their cheeks burned pink as they replied, “yes! I am.” They crossed their arms and paced up and down your room, tail swishing angrily. “I was made an Incubus, but the big man downstairs,” they rang their hands mockingly. “Says that I have to fulfil my duty and steal as much energy from the sexually depraved as possible. But since I’m not into that, I’ve had to find other ways of doing this.” 

They gestured to the window, as if your date was standing just outside, the prime specimen for your shared comparisons. “Take your date, for example. The way I was feeding off his energy was by sucking it out of him while he slept.”

At your confused expression, they explained, “all we need to do is use skin to skin contact. I’d just put my hand on his face and y’know.” 

You fought the urge to say ‘no, no I don’t ‘know’’. After all, it’s not like you’re a demon expert. 

“Anyway, then when you came out to him, I had an idea!” The Incubus said brightly. “Since we’re both not into that weird sex stuff, how about we form a contract?”

“A contract?” You asked.

“Yeah!” They snapped their fingers and a scroll of parchment appeared. They snatched it from the air and came around the bed, sitting beside you. 

They held it out to you, “so, we would sign a contract that explicitly stated that you would simply be a means of providing me with energy and there would be a clause that said that no sex is supposed to happen, no one is obliged to do anything like that and if that clause is broken, the contract ends!”

As your eyes scanned the very curly hand writing on the parchment, you asked, “what do I get out of it?”

The Incubus was silent for a moment before they hummed and tapped their clawed finger on their chin. “I’m not sure. What do you want?”

Your head whipped around to look at them as they tilted their head at you curiously. “Wait, you mean I can ask for anything?”

They nodded. “Why not? I mean, I’m going to be taking your energy. I might as well give you something back.” They shrugged. “Name it and it’ll be yours.”

You thought for a moment. The idea of fame and riches swirled through your mind. An image of you on a beach, somewhere in the Canary Islands, also swam past you, completely relaxed and chilled out, without a care in the world.

But no, none of those things were what you wanted. They were nice in theory, but you didn’t want to make a snap decision and then regret it. 

“Alright,” you said, finally. “I’ll tell you what, Incubus. I’ll let you have my energy, but in exchange, you will allow me to ask you for anything for what I’m going to let you do.”

“Wait, really?!” Their tail swished excitedly. “You mean it?”

You nodded. A second later, a quill and ink pot had appeared out of thin air.

The Demon hurriedly scratched their name onto the bottom of the parchment and then held them out to you. “All you have to do is sign and we’ll be good to go!”

Taking the quill from them, your hand hovered over the blank underlined space at the bottom of the page. Were you really going to do this?

You looked the Incubus over. Interestingly, you didn’t think that they looked all that dangerous. And while that’s not a sign to telling whether or not a person has good intentions… they certainly seemed harmless enough.

That and if they wanted to, they could have just taken your energy without asking you; But they approached you instead. 

So, if that’s any sign of what kind of character you were going to get involved with, you supposed you were in quite safe hands. 

And with that, you signed your name at the bottom of the contract.

The moment you took the quill off the parchment, the contract snapped into a roll and vanished with a pop and a puff of black smoke. 

“Thank you for doing business with me!” The Incubus smiled at you.

Now, whenever you returned home from work, the Incubus was always waiting for you. Sometimes they’d be at the door, standing there like an obedient puppy, or they would lounge about on your sofa, a packet of some black charred crisps open in their lap. 

Sometimes, they’d offer you some crisps, but their charcoal-like appearance turned you off from accepting them.

“What even are they? I thought you only needed human energy to survive.” 

“Oh, so,” the Incubus picked up the crisps packet and showed it to you. “These are actually here to make sure I can keep a physical appearance. Without these, I’d just be a mist of energy and not the good-looking Incubus you see before you.” They gestured to themself and popped another crisp into their mouth. “But other than that, I don’t actually get any kind of energy from them, so our contract is still valid.”

One thing that wasn’t mentioned in the contract, was the Incubus also making themselves a kind of housekeeper?

When you’d get to your bedroom, you would sometimes find your bedsheets changed or your desk neatly arranged if you’d left it in a state before leaving for work.

When you’d tried to tell them it wasn’t necessary for them to do, they simply waved a clawed hand at you. “It’ll affect your flavour if you don’t take care of yourself, so just let me help you out, alright? I know it’s not in the contract, but it’s better if you taste good, y’know?”

A few nights after your contract began, you came back a little later than you normally would. There was a storm, and the trains were delayed by a few hours, so you had been living off of fast food for the past few days.

And that night, when the Incubus leaned in close to you, placed their hand on top of yours, they grimaced in disgust. Both of you were sitting on the sofa, watching a random cop show on TV.

“What?” You asked them, frowning.

“… Why do you taste greasy?”

You let out a laugh at that, “’greasy’? Is that really how I taste? That’s a little rude, y’know.”

“No! It’s that you don’t normally taste greasy!” They retorted, annoyed at your reaction. “What have you been eating recently?”

“Well, I’ve been having the burgers from that fast food place outside the train station for dinner.” You explained, “but it’s not like I eat there every meal, only dinner.”

At the incubus's repulsed reaction, your eyes widened. “Don’t tell me it affects the taste that much.”

“You’d be surprised.” They grumbled. “Okay, here’s an idea.” They pointed at you, “in the similar way I clean the house, how about I make you dinner every night as well?”

“What? No, I can’t ask you to do that.” You protested. “It’s not fair to ask that of you.”

“Look, it’s either I make you dinner, or I starve, alright? And don’t forget that we have a contract.” With a snap of their fingers, the parchment appears. “So, let me make you something healthy rather than that gross, deep fried bullshit you humans call ‘food.’”

And so they made you dinner every night. While you would have to wait a little longer to eat, you were grateful to smell and taste whatever it was they had made for you that night. 

Beef wellington, freshly made salads and stir frys or any other homemade dish was always set on the table and ready for you to down once you got home. 

You found it adorable how the Demon would watch anxiously as you would take a bite out of whatever they’d made for you that night, leaning forward on your kitchen table to ask you what you thought of the meal, how it tasted and if there was anything that they could improve on.

When you told them that their dishes were great, they’d always sigh in relief, hanging their head over the table. “Thank goodness, sometimes I get worried that I’ve seasoned it completely incorrectly. I have little experience with cooking.”

Gradually, you found it comforting to know that there would be someone at home to come greet you when you came home.

It was nice to have dinner freshly made and on the table, to have the Incubus you’d made the contract with smile and chatter with you as you ate about what they did that day, or discuss what kind of cool TV show they thought that you both ought to binge.

Some days, you’d catch yourself marvelling at them as they cleaned up after themselves in the kitchen.

There was something calming about watching them do the most mundane tasks that normally, you would have found dull watch.

But they somehow made it interesting. Maybe it was how they would hum to themselves an unknown tune as you watched them mop up the floors, or perhaps it was how they hung around on your sofa as they stuffed their face with those charcoal looking crisps.

When you realised what was going on, you didn’t know what to do. It’s not like you could tell the Incubus how you felt—feeding off your energy is one thing, but having the other person you’re in an infernal contract with confess their feelings for you?

Surely that violated the terms and conditions, didn’t it? Should you even tell them you have feelings for them? Ignoring the contract, surely there’s no way they felt the same way about you.

After all, they only took care of you because they said that it made your energy taste better. 

You were probably just food to them.

So, you kept your feelings to yourself.

But that became harder and harder to do with time. 

One night, when the Incubus went to take your hand as they normally do, they recoiled. Dropped your hand like it was some kind of spider.

They narrowed their eyes at your hand as you raised an eyebrow at them. “Everything okay?”

“You haven’t been sneaking sweets or anything, have you?” They frowned.

“No?” You said, uncertainly. “Why’d you ask?” You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had something sweet to eat, apparently, tasty treats like cakes, chocolate and sweets all made you taste bad too—“Sweet, but not in a good way… um, I think you’d call them ‘artificial sweeteners’?”—so you’d refrained from them.

“Because you taste sweet.” They shrugged and took your hand again. “But… not in a bad way.”

You pulled your hand from their grasp. “You don’t have to eat from me if I don’t taste good.” 

They shook their head, “I never said I didn’t want to. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

The pair of you went back to watching TV, watching as the Detective on the cop show spoke to the Commissioner, a scowl plastered on his face.

From the corner of your eye, you caught he Demon’s eyes darting over at you… And was that a small smirk on their lips?

“You alright?” You asked, pausing the show. “You keep on looking at me weirdly.”

Turning to face the Incubus, you realised they had the strangest grin on their face. “Yeah.” They said, still grinning. “All well.”

When you didn’t turn the show back on, they leaned on their free hand. “You have a crush, don’t you? People always taste sweeter when they have feelings for someone.”

You swore your heart stopped in your chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do.” They said, their tail swishing in the air deviously. “How many humans I’ve fed on who have had this same sweet taste would surprise you. There’s no need to be ashamed of it.”

When you didn’t answer them, they pressed on. “So, who are they?” They shoulder barged you. “C’mon, there’s no need to be shy.”

“I don’t have a crush on anyone.” You said, stiffly. Right now, all you wanted to do was to move away from them.

Not because you weren’t enjoying their touch or their company—or even their prying—it was because the last thing you wanted to do was to tell them how you felt without reading the contract first. 

You enjoyed having them around, and if your developing feelings broke the contract, then you would be devastated to see them go.

The Incubus raised an eyebrow. “I will not judge you—I’ve been around for centuries. Is it one of your friends? A guy at work?”

“There is no guy at work.” You said, a little more harshly than you had intended.

The Demon flinched. Their grin and raised eyebrows fell. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I was just teasing.”

Guilt gnawed at you. Sighing, you asked. “Can I see the contract?”

“Uh, sure?” The Incubus snapped their clawed fingers, and the rolled parchment poofed into existence. 

You took it from the air and unfurled it. Skimming the contract, you found no clause or sign that said that you couldn’t ask this Incubus out. 

“Everything in order?” They asked, peeking over the top of the contract.

“Yes.” You allowed it to roll closed and placed it by your side. Pursing your lips, you looked the Incubus over, wondering how best to phrase this. 

While it shocked you that you were going to do this right now, at that very moment, there seemed like no better time than the present. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you let out a slow exhale. Alright, well here goes nothing: “You remember when you said I could think of something in exchange for you feeding off of me?”

The Incubus sat up a little straighter but nodded. 

“Well…” you held your breath, “in exchange for my energy, I’d like to take you out.” You paused, gauging their reaction. “On a date.”

You’d never seen their demeanour change so quickly. Their cheeks burned pink, their eyes widened and their whole figure froze like a statue. 

For a moment, they said nothing. 

Then, “you’re joking with me, aren’t you?” They stammered, a sad smile spreading on their lips. “You’re screwing with me, right?”

You shook your head, “no! I’m not why would I would do that to you?”

They pursed their lips, their eyes filling with red tears. “… You’d be surprised how often people have told me that to just... make fun of me.” They didn’t finish their sentence, but you knew what they meant. 

“I would never do that to you,” you told them as the tears slid down their cheeks. “Never. I couldn’t do that to you, your way too nice to me.” 

They chortled, wiping their cheeks. “And you really mean it?” 

“Yes! I mean it. I want to take you out somewhere!” You said, earnestly. “So… would you let me?”

After a second, they nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

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[natashaslesbian]

Another Mother | Part Five

Summary: Scarlett remains confused at your standoffish behaviour and you and your dad have an important heart to heart

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings/Content: Screaming / Hitting / Mentions of death / Graveyard scene

—————————————————————————

“Hi mama” you whispered into the open air, you sighed deeply before you continued. “Dad and I moved in with Scarlett a few weeks ago, I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you he’s engaged to the actual black widow, but he is. Dads been busy with work that’s why he’s not come lately” you said as you lent forward to remove a fallen leaf. “And I guess I should apologise too, since it’s been over week since I last came. The truth is, I don’t want you to be mad at me mom, because Scarlett…she’s been so good to me. And I’ve been horrid to her. I guess you’d be angry at me for that too” you murmured. “She’s so kind mama, but I just hate that she’s not you. I’d pick you over her a million times but I know that you’re gone. I don’t know how to stop hating her, I need you mom. I need you to tell me it’s ok, that it’s ok for me to accept her. Because I want to so badly, I just don’t wanna let you down” you cried as you fell forwards, wrapping your arms around your mothers headstone.

Since returning to school after your sickness, you’d spent hardly any time at ‘home’. At the weekend you’d go out with your friends and after school most days you went to sit with your mom. Your dad had been allowing you some leeway since your mom’s passing, he understood that you needed time to heal. When you were in the house, you confined yourself to your bedroom and ignored your fathers pleas to join him and Scarlett for dinner. The blonde tried not to show her disappointment, she thought after last week the two of you had made some process. “Hey kiddo” your dad said as you finally returned home “you’re later than usual, did you get a detention or something?” He asked. Colin was always trying to joke around with you, you wished he would take things more seriously. “Nope. Just lost track of time” you huffed as you grabbed a snack from the fridge. “Oh y/n we’re making pasta, you wanna join us?” Scarlett shyly asked after standing awkwardly in the corner for most of the conversation. “I’m good” you said coldly, already heading upstairs to your bedroom.

The blondes shoulders dropped in disappointment, it had been almost a week of you ignoring her. “Hey, relax sweetheart” Colin said as he came to massage his fiancés shoulders “it’s just teenagery stuff” he sighed. “No” Scarlett said as she pushed Colin’s arms away “no it’s more than that” she said. “Do you want me to talk to her?” Your dad asked “I don’t know CJ. I don’t wanna smother her” Scarlett frowned. “I know, I just hate seeing you like this, and her too” Colin said “leave it to me” he smiled. The blonde reluctantly let her fiancé wander up the staircase to your bedroom, she was glad he was going to talk to you she just hoped it wouldn’t make things worse. Colin climbed the stairs carefully as to not alert you to his presence, deep down he was unsure how to approach the situation.

“Knock knock kiddo” Colin said as she slowly opened your door, without an invitation. “Get out!” You shouted when you realised your dad had appeared. You scurried around on your bed, trying to hide your disheveled state. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on?” Your father asked, alarmed by the state of your bedroom and the tears streaming down your face. “Get out dad!” You cried attempting to push past Colin. “Woah y/n, hey, hey, calm down!” Your dad said, using his arms to block your sudden flailing fists. “I hate you! I hate you!” You yelled. “Colin? Y/n?” Scarlett called as she came climbing up the staircase, unsettled by the shouting she could hear. “Y/n stop it!” Your dad shouted grabbing hold of your wrists. You pulled away sharply and almost fell backwards as you retracted your arms. The blonde appeared behind Colin, just in time to watch as you swung a right hook into his jaw. “Y/n!” Scarlett yelped, covering her mouth in shock. Time stood still as your dad scattered backwards, your eyes darted between him and the woman in the doorframe. “I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry” you whimpered, holding your hands up in surrender as you slid past the pair and headed towards the front door.

“My mom hasn’t seen her either” Colin sighed, placing his phone back on the table. “Colin you need to keep the peas on your chin” Scarlett said as she picked up the frozen vegetables one again. Her fiancé pushed them away for tenth time “I don’t care about my jaw right now Scarlett I need to find y/n, she’s been gone for three hours and no one has seen her. It’s getting dark” Colin mumbled. The blonde pulled up a chair next to her partner “why did she hit you?” She delicately asked. “I don’t know” your dad sighed “I walked in and she was crying, she just flipped out on me” he said. “Has she ever done that before?” Scarlett questioned, running her fingers through the small curls on Colin’s neck. “No” he mumbled. “Try to think babe, has anything been bothering her? Anyone? Where’s her favourite place? Would she go somewhere she doesn’t know or stick to familiar places?” The blonde said, listing off possible ideas as to where you could be. “Oh my god” Your dad said, cutting Scarlett off from her questioning “her favourite place” he sighed.

The car rolled to a slow stop, the headlights illuminating the tress before it. Colin rushed to unbuckle his seatbelt, only pausing when Scarlett didn’t move. He gave her a questioning look, one that didn’t need words. “You go, I’ll be here” she said, encouraging him to approach. Your dad was silent as he climbed out of the car, as to not startle you. And even though the leaves crunched beneath his feet, you didn’t notice him until he spoke up behind you. “I bet your mom is surprised that you’re here this late” he said softly. You jumped slightly at his presence but kept your eyes glued to your mom’s headstone. “I bet she’s surprised that you turned up for one” you bit back. Colin found a dry patch of grass next to you and sat down “I’m sorry” he whispered “I-It’s not easy coming here” your dad mumbled. “It’s not supposed to be easy” you said coldly. “I know, but I’m trying okay” Colin sniffled. You snapped your head towards your father, alarmed at his emotional state, you’d never seen him cry before.

“I don’t wanna remember her this way, I wanna remember her as the gorgeous woman I fell in love with at that bar on fifth street. I wanna remember the colour of her eyes and the way her hair would fall out of her ponytail after a long day at work. I wanna remember the joy in her face when she found out she was pregnant and the way she caressed her belly, because she knew she was caressing you” Colin said, looking at you with tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t wanna remember you with her like this either. I wanna be able to cherish the nights I got home and the two of you were waiting up for me in bed, but you had already fallen asleep across her chest. I wanna remember the thousands of memories we spent together not the eternity she’ll be here” your dad sobbed. You didn’t know what to do, did you hug him? Should you speak? “I didn’t think you missed her that much” you whispered. “You never…cried, you never even looked sad that she was gone. You didn’t even cry at the funeral” you whimpered.

“You needed me to be strong. I didn’t want you to see me like that” Colin sobbed. You threw yourself into your dad’s arms as he cried out into the night sky. All this time you thought he was fine, that he was ok with your mom not being there. “Dad, look at me” you said, holding Colin’s stubbled chin “you don’t have to be strong anymore, let me be strong for you, we can be strong for each other” you cried. “I love you y/n” Colin sniffled “and I love your mom so much” he said. “And now you love Scarlett” you softly smiled. “I do, I love her so much, but I could never love her more than you. So if you want me to end things with Scarlett then I will. Just say the words” your dad said, finally gathering back some composure. “I don’t want that” you whispered “I just need mom to tell me it’s okay to accept her, and now she has” you smiled.

Colin looked perplexed until his eyes glanced towards your mothers headstone. Sat atop the stone was a beautiful Robin, quite in its presence but in no hurry to leave. “Oh my god” your dad exclaimed quietly. “Her favourite bird” you muttered. “Hi Marie” Colin sniffled. The two of you sat curled up for a few minutes until eventually the Robin flew gently above both your heads. You followed the bird in its path and watched as it set itself down on the car roof, just above Scarlett. “You wanna go home?” Colin asked you. “Yeah” you smiled. The blonde stepped out of the car as you returned to the vehicle, she was taken by surprise as you ran into her arms. “I’m sorry” you whispered. “I know, it’s okay” Scarlett said, tightening her hold on you. Your dad wrapped his arms around the two of you and that little Robin, your mom, flew off into the night. She knew her family was going to be okay.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Finally part five is here! I’m sorry it’s been so long!

- Astara Bell

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[Taglist]

@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo / @tobiaslut / @nev-valkyriesdottir / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904 / @strange-night-owl / @acciowriting / @hatergirl-69 / @lovelyy-moonlight / @escapereality4music / @jizzuo308 ? / @imjustvibingsworld / @ciaoooooo111 / @fxckmiup / @natbelovasblog

[secondwatchers]

Ohhh I have a purecacao prompt: Pure Vanilla and Dark Cacao are enjoying a scenic walk, but Vanilla can’t see the beautiful sights (maybe he forgot his staff back home), so Cacao describes it to him while they walk..

A Change Of Scenery

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Dark Cacao Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie's schedules finally lined up, and they went for a walk for the first time in ages. One of the beautiful forests in the Vanilla Kingdom is a wonderful place for this!

Unfortunately, their luck was working against them; Pure Vanilla's staff wasn't available. Whatever would they do..?

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Dark Cacao Cookie and his lover, Pure Vanilla Cookie, had been walking through one of the forests in the Vanilla Kingdom for an hour or two when Dark Cacao began to notice something strange.

Pure Vanilla’s hand was firmly around Dark Cacao’s wrist; not in a hurtful way, but.. in a mildly anxious way. It took the stoic king a minute or two to realise what was happening.

“My dear…” Dark Cacao began slowly, “Where is your staff?”

“Ah.. you caught me, Cao. The eye needed repairing.. something that hurts tremendously if it’s done while I am bonded to it.” Pure Vanilla shot him a shaky smile, his mismatching eyes unfocused. As selfish as it was, Dark Cacao was pleased to be looking at his husband’s eyes again - every time that damned staff was near, his beautiful eyes would be closed.

“Why did you accompany me here if the sight is lost to you..?” Dark Cacao said, his voice barely more than a low mutter.

“You are so busy… I feared a chance for a walk might be far in the future if I didn’t grab this chance,” Pure Vanilla said apologetically. “I can retake this path when it is fixed, so I know what I’ve missed.”

“Hm,” Dark Cacao grunted.

They remained silent for a few minutes, before the swordsman began to speak again.

“A river to your left.. a soda river, I believe. Sugar carps swim in it, trying to go against the stream,” Dark Cacao said.

“Pardon me?” Pure Vanilla looked towards the sound of his voice, raising his eyebrows.

“We’re about to cross the river on a stone bridge.. moss is growing in the openings between the bricks. A frog just jumped into the river from the left edge.. it saw a libelle.”

Pure Vanilla’s smile widened slightly when he realised what Dark Cacao was doing and he hummed softly, a quiet invitation to continue.

“Trees.. a lot of them. They look like spruce trees to me, but the leaves are so light.. we don’t have those in the Dark Cacao Kingdom. You’ll have to tell me when you regain your sight,” Dark Cacao murmured. “There’s moss covering the forest floor, a lot of it. Flowers are blooming from the moss, yellow ones.. you’d like them.”

This went on for about an hour. Dark Cacao hadn’t spoken this much and decades, and his vocal chords were starting to become a little sore… when his voice turned from its usual low and gruff tone to an actual hoarse one, Pure Vanilla squeezed Dark Cacao’s gloved hand with a small smile.

“Thank you,” Pure Vanilla murmured. “Truly.”

Dark Cacao lowered his head with a quiet hum, hiding the slight flush that had crawled up his neck. Despite the fact the healer was technically blind, Dark Cacao always felt like he could see right through him.

Finally, the moss turned into grass and the trees into hedges; they had reached the end of the forest and were entering one of the villages in the Vanilla Kingdom.

Dark Cacao moved to pull his hand out of Pure Vanilla’s grasp, but a small squeeze made him reconsider.. whatever, who really cared. Dark Cacao’s face felt hot and he hated it.

“Your Majesty!”

Crunchy Chip Cookie.

The witches truly did hate Dark Cacao, then.

“Sire! Lady Hollyberry has been looking for you, you’re late to the Counsel!” Crunchy Chip exclaimed, obnoxiously loud.

“Ah.. I’m certain she’ll forgive us,” Pure Vanilla said, smiling kindly.

He hadn’t noticed yet.

“Lead the way, Crunchy Chip,” Dark Cacao commanded, his voice a low grumble.

He hadn’t noticed yet.

“Aye, m’lord!” Crunchy Chip saluted.

Suddenly, the Commander’s yellow eyes fell on the painfully obvious connection between the two rulers. They were holding hands. Holding hands, and the warrior-king looked like an eleven-year-old girl with her first boyfriend.

He noticed.

“Not a word,” Dark Cacao mouthed in silence, earning him a slightly nervous nod from the commander.

Crunchy Chip turned on his heel and led the two royals out of the forest - his pace was just a little bit faster than it was before.

Caramel Arrow needed to see this.

[radicalrascals]

Rafa clings to Tisha's hand like she's the last solid thing in a world made of smoke. Without her, he'd probably just float off into the void. Again. He leans down, murmurs, "I'll take the 'or something' any day," then brushes a kiss against her cheek. But the smirk is quick to follow. "You're still trying to sell me on this not-Christ-mas gathering, huh? Because, if anything, I'm feeling even less convinced now." He’s teasing. Mostly.

Still, when he glances over at Nick and Hari, something in his expression softens, like a man catching sight of a memory he doesn't quite hate. "Nico will love it", Rafael concedes. Because Nick is a family person, even if the family in question consists of an often-missing brother and whatever scraps he manages to stitch together. Sucks for him. But hey, at least now there's an escape plan.

Nick leans into the kiss which wrests a sigh to fall from his parted lips. "I wasn't planning to. I'll give Renato a call and catch Rafa at dinner, which is more than I had of him on most Christmases. I'm actually really excited. To spend Christmas with you, of course, but also to meet the rest of your family."

He then steps in from the cold, holding the door open for Hari. It is only then that he realises just how frozen he was when the sting in his fingers starts to fade. He doesn’t linger, though, and heads straight for the kitchen, pours coffee beans into the grinder, and works the handle like a man with a mission. When he emerges again, the smell of freshly ground coffee trailing after him, his whole face lights up. "Cafezinho?," he asks, simple and bright, as if that word alone could stitch warmth back into all of them.

And for Rafa it definitely does just that. "Oh yes, please. I'm an icicle."

Tisha laughs and pulls away from him to stub out what’s left of her cigarette on the sole of her boot. “I need to get you some wool socks or something.” Which is about a mile off from what she’d usually suggest to warm him up, but she doesn’t think either of their brothers would appreciate that. “Hari, don’t forget what he just said about-”

“Silver, yup. On it.” Hari holds out his hand, and Tisha passes him his phone. “Didn’t know that was a real thing. Narrowly avoided a really unpleasant Christmas dinner with mom's good cutlery.” He shoots off a couple of texts, and then looks up with a bit of trepidation. “You two did actually want to come, right? I don’t want to pressure you, if-”

Tisha rolls her eyes and grabs Rafa’s hand, pulling him towards the door. “Well, I’m pressuring them.” She waits until they’re inside to add, “I’m actually pressuring Nick, mostly. My folks are going to lose it. I mean, they'll definitely like you too, but my other brothers will be making fun of us all night. They'll be gentler with Nick.” in a low voice.

Hari tucks his phone into his back pocket and shakes his head. “Ignore her, please." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to Nick's temple. "I want you there, but I don't want to keep you away from your family if you were thinking of traveling." Having said that, his phone has already started buzzing in his pocket - which makes him think that their new additions to the holidays have hit the group chat.

[nalooksthrough]

vicky being devs mom is so interesting?? do u have anything more on that topic perhaps

Okay so here is how it went down.

Vicky being the money grabber she is, wanted to bag herself a rich man. Classic gold-digger move. She spotted Dale, an up and coming tech mongal and a Dimmadome. She saw dollar signs. So she went to talk to him. Vicky doesn't remember any of the names of kids that were in the sweatshop. And Dale had changed so much that she didn't recognised him. Same can't be said about Dale. He recognised her immediately, he was so angry. But he decided to play along. Make her think she's won, then crush her under his metaphorical boot.

So they started dating. Dale love bombing her. Trying to make her fall for him. And it worked, she was head over heels. That's when the abuse started. He made her question everything. He put her self worth into the dirt. Stringing along her with promises marriage when in reality. He was never going to marry her.

The whole time keeping relationship a secret. Saying what they had was special. And the world doesn't have to know for their love to be real.

She got herself pregnant thinking that it secure her a marriage or at the very least a place in the Dimmadome family. Even when she is love obsessed, she is still very much money oriented. He acted all nice to her when she was pregnant. Saying how happy he was that they were going to be a family. Once the baby was born, he took them and deleted her number.

When she confronted him in person. He said that he didn't know her. That she was just some obsessed lunatic. He convinced everyone else of this 'fact' too. She attacked him, got arrested. And now she's rotting a institution. It was all a sick and twisted revenge plot. And he got the two things he wanted out of it. Her locked up, and a heir to the Dimmadome fortune.

[somegrumpynerd]

Does anyone else hc that Nightmare can like, absorb his tentacles back into his body sometimes? Like the way Stitch does with his extra arms?

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[lunarharp]

What led to this (orufrey comic, cw an uncomfortable/creepy scene)

[lokh]

ive been thinking about this but. i think shuro understands laios' character pretty well, but he doesn't value his strengths or interests (monster knowledge). in the DVD extra where laios imagines what would have happened if they'd been on better terms, shuro STILL leaves because he thinks his chances are better with a trained crew (which....... is likely to be true but. look at how he ended up anyway lmao). meanwhile kabru recognises that while the party isnt particularly strong, the reason they get so far in the first place is BECAUSE of what laios knows about monsters. shuro seems aware that laios knows about monsters or has an interest in them, but views this as frivolous and a waste of time and doesn't seem to realise how much this knowledge carried them in the first place