#this is actually messing with me because WHY is it doing that

[i1k]

gojo hates condoms ☆

not even in an ‘i can’t feel a thing’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?

he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?

sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.

so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.

he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.

and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.

“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”

“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.

“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “���i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”

“you’re the one always—”

“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.

“i swear you’re getting harder inside of—”

“imsorryiloveyoubutpleasebequietorelseyouaregoingtogetpregnant.”

it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.

he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“don’t do this to me,” he whines.

but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”

anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.

and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.

god he hates condoms.

[jedi-bird]

So, I have lived in a house where we had to hide any evidence that we lived there, a house where we hid certain things, and a house currently where I value functionality over looks. Guess which one makes me happiest and actually makes my life easier?

I also used to be a custodian (fancy word for janitor but also meant I did a lot more than clean) at a very big theme park, and the rules there were basically "people cannot know we clean". And honestly, that one I agreed with. People are stupid at theme parks. They seem to forget common sense a lot and are only focused on fun and do the weirdest shit, so cleaning up around them always made me feel like a ninja who was challenged with being faster than they were.

Trash cans were hidden in plain sight. They were enclosed in decorative cases but were also placed so you never really had to go more than 20 to 30 feet to find one. And recycling cans were always next to them. We wiped them down constantly and should swap them out occasionally to fully scrub them out (the liners were switched out much more often and fully scrubbed and cleaned). The recycling was sorted out in the back by us, wearing puncture proof gloves up to our elbows, long plastic aprons, and face shields. I laugh every time Hell's Kitchen uses recycling day as a punishment because that was a daily chore for me and I loved it. And yes, half our recycling wasn't meant to go in those cans which is why we had to do it.

Cleaning supplies are kept behind the scenes away from the public. We would bring out what we needed as needed except for heavy equipment or things with cords unless an area was closed off. Why? Because the number of times I would be trying to clean things like vomit of the floors, while other workers were blocking it off, only to have people come barging in to stand right in the mess to ask me (the one wearing multiple gloves and wiping up what was essentially a biohazard) to take their picture. Yeah. I didn't get paid enough for that.

Restrooms were cleaned in plain sight without closing them, so you learned to just quietly fit in and not make eye contact (unless you felt like a showdown, which honestly was fun with certain people). You learned to dart quickly when a stall opened and block it off with the cart. You learned to have eyes in the back of your head so that you could stop people from picking things up off your cart. We were taught the safest ways to mop (one hand always on the top of the handle as a cap, because it was better to punch someone accidentally then to jam a wooden stake in their eye).

Most people never noticed us unless we stopped doing our jobs. So please thank you janitors because you'd be miserable without them.

That being said, at home I operate very differently. There is a small trash can in every room. Sometimes two. Each one of open and next to where my partner works or sits (I keep one next to me when I craft a well but that one moves around a bit). I wish I had room for a bigger one in the bathroom, but I don't so I just have to change it more often.

Cleaning supplies get stored by use. Daily items like paper towels, sanitizing wipes, and other frequently used items (depends on the room) are kept close at hand. In the bathroom, that's on a narrow shelf along the wall; kitchen is between the stove and the table in front of a cabinet; living room next to the front door. Supplies for deep cleaning are kept slightly out of sight. Not because I don't want people to know we live here but for safety reasons. Being raised by my grandparents, I'm very big on keeping walkways clear and surfaces to steady yourself with. So those are organized into carrying baskets by type of clean up and kept in the upstairs cabinet for the upstairs and on a shelf at the back of the kitchen for downstairs. Brooms and mops are hung on hooks from the walls behind the back door downstairs and in the cabinet upstairs (yes, I have double the supplies, because I'm more likely to clean if I don't have to keep going back and forth for things). There is a recycling can on each floor because it's easier and I refuse to sort trash here.

There is a sort of table near the front door for partner's things because they need them to be visible, and all their snacks and frequently used items are organized by use in open shelving. Our house in messy and that's okay; I'm in the process of making it an organized mess that we both can live with. But yeah, you know we live here and keep it functional. It's not revolutionary to keep trash cans in the open or bowls on tables for keys or tables by doors. It's just one person's version of normal and helpful. Honesty, just play around with storage ideas and see what works best for you in terms of use and happiness (and don't think you need to spend a lot of money, most of my things are repurposed in the beginning while I test things and sometimes never change).

On one hand, it's great to see people learn how to unfuck their living spaces. On the other hand, that stuff like "frequently used articles should be stored near where they're used" and "trash receptacles should be placed near activities that generate trash" are being received as radical ideas points to a serious knowledge transmission problem.

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Savanaclaw

Go here for other dorms

Leona Kingscholar

You find Leona sprawled out under his favorite tree, one arm draped over his eyes, looking about two seconds away from a nap.

Typical.

You take a deep breath, shoving down every ounce of nervousness, and step closer, holding out the neatly wrapped box. “Here.”

Leona cracks one eye open, lazily glancing at the chocolates like you just handed him an average Tuesday. With a low hum, he takes them, rolling the box in his hand with a raised brow.

“Hm? What’s this for?”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you think it’s for?”

He stretches, completely unbothered, as if he gets gifted chocolates all the time (which, okay, maybe he does, but that’s not the point right now).

“Dunno," he drawls, clearly messing with you. "You bribing me for something?”

Your eye twitches. “Leona.”

He huffs a laugh, finally looking at you, amusement flickering in his gaze. And then you say it.

"Happy Valentine’s Day."

And oh.

It’s like you hit him with a truck.

His smirk falters for half a second, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the box. His pupils dilate—a barely-there shift, but you catch it.

He goes quiet. Not his usual lazy, I-don't-care quiet, but the kind that comes when he’s actually processing something.

Then, so smoothly it almost throws you off, he leans back, a slow, pleased grin spreading across his face.

"…Took you long enough," he murmurs, sounding downright smug.

Your heart does a stupid flip. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Leona ignores you, already sitting up properly, one arm resting lazily over his knee. "Pick a nice place for dinner tonight," he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. "On me, of course."

You blink. "What?"

He taps the box. "These chocolates. They’re from you. To me." He tilts his head, all sharp confidence and warmth. "That makes us partners now, doesn’t it?"

Your brain short-circuits. “I—wait, what—"

"Better choose somewhere good," he continues, completely unbothered by your struggling. "I’m not wasting our first date on cheap takeout."

Your heart is going through it.

Leona smirks. "Oh? What’s with that look?"

You swear you see his tail flick just slightly, the only sign of how incredibly pleased he is.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "You’re doing this on purpose."

He chuckles, leaning in just close enough to murmur, "Yeah, yeah. You still like me, though."

…You’re doomed.

Ruggie Bucchi

You barely get the chance to say anything before Ruggie spots the chocolates in your hands. His sharp eyes flicker to the heart-shaped box, and he immediately grins.

“Oooh, what’s this?” He leans in slightly, tail swishing with interest. “Someone confess to ya?”

You blink. “Huh? No.”

He tilts his head, playful and curious. “Oh? Then, uh… you gonna keep it?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

His grin widens. “Because if ya don’t want it, I can, y’know… dispose of it for ya.”

You snort. “Ruggie, you just wanna eat it.”

“Duh.” He laughs, not even bothering to deny it. “Be a shame to waste good chocolate, right?”

Typical Ruggie.

You shake your head, amused, before finally shoving the box toward him. “Good thing it’s for you, then.”

Ruggie pauses.

It’s subtle, the way his ears perk up, the way his tail stiffens mid-swing. His grip on the box is light at first, almost hesitant, like he’s making sure he heard you right.

“For me?” His voice comes out softer, almost cautious.

You nod, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. “Yeah. I like you. So, you know… Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For the first time, Ruggie looks completely, utterly stunned.

His mouth parts slightly, blinking up at you like his brain just hit a temporary loading screen. And honestly? He looks adorable.

Then—just as quickly as the surprise hit—he recovers.

Ruggie grins, his usual confidence flickering back into place as he shifts the box under one arm. “Well, well. Ain’t this a nice surprise?”

You raise a brow. “You okay there?”

“Pfft. ‘Course I am!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Then—softer, warmer, but still undeniably Ruggie— “I like you too, y’know.”

Your heart stumbles.

He notices, obviously, because his grin turns downright cheeky. “Heh. Look at you, getting all flustered."

“Oh, shut up.”

He just laughs again, effortlessly slipping his fingers through yours, tugging you along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon, let’s go. Can’t let all this romantic energy go to waste, right?”

And just like that—you’re dragged along.

Jack Howl

Jack is not the kind of guy who gets flustered easily. He’s tough, level-headed, always the first to brush things off with that no-nonsense attitude of his.

Which is why seeing him completely short-circuit is so incredibly satisfying.

You hold out the chocolates, your heart hammering as you say, “These are for you. I like you, Jack. Happy Valentine’s.”

His ears shoot straight up. His tail freezes mid-sway. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but—nothing.

No words. No sound. Just pure, stunned silence.

You wait.

And wait.

Jack still says nothing.

But his tail? His tail is betraying him completely.

It explodes into motion, wagging so fast that you swear he’s about to lift off like a helicopter. NASA is calling. He’s about to reach orbit.

“…Jack?” you prompt, biting back a smile.

He blinks rapidly, as if rebooting, and finally—finally—manages to form words.

“I—” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed, voice a little strained. “I like you too.”

Your heart skips.

Jack rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side like he’s gathering his courage. “Are you, uh… free tonight?”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

He shifts awkwardly. The tail is still going. “Because I wanna take you on a date.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I’d like that.”

Jack nods, determined, as if locking this in before fate can take it away. “Good. I’ll—I’ll plan something nice.”

You have never seen him this flustered. It is absolutely adorable.

And judging by the way his tail refuses to stop wagging, you’re pretty sure he’s never been this happy, either.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[atlabeth]

something about her

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you’re reminded why you’re really here while spencer does some unwanted self reflection.

a/n: things have been a little too fun and fluffy around these parts so i had to fix it. it’s easy to forget you’re still dealing w a stalker when you’re busy living in denial <3 enjoy the mess! this whole thing is in spencer's pov bc this all got soooo far away from me

title from the song by stephen sanchez

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): things start to ramp up! stalking, anxiety, lowkey panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, r almost has a panic attack, alcohol/mentions of alcoholism, the usual. but more bonding!!

Spencer can’t sleep. 

He’s tried every trick in the book. Counting sheep, counting to one hundred, counting to one hundred backwards, going through the alphabet, going through the alphabet backwards, methods with actual scientific research backing them—none of it works. He’s stared at the ceiling for most of the night. 

He feels like a hypocrite most of all, preaching the importance of adequate sleep when he’ll be lucky to get five hours. But it looks like you barely sleep as is. He probably should keep preaching to you. 

There’s a myriad of reasons to explain it. His hyperactive brain has been responsible for many restless nights. He’s still in unfamiliar territory, and he hasn’t gotten used to sleeping on this bed yet. Lest he forget, he’s your first and only line of protection here from your stalker. That’s enough to keep anyone awake, even FBI. 

But then there’s also… you in general. 

Spencer can’t say he tries not to think about you, because this past week it’s felt like the only thing he’s thought about. 

It’s practically impossible, even before you were shoved into this house together. You have a way of tunneling your way into a person’s mind and refusing to leave—especially his. 

Again, it’s easy enough to pass off. You’re the only ones here, and the time you’re not spending alone you’re spending with each other. Your only choice beyond isolation is to talk to Spencer, and it seems you’re slowly moving past preferring it over him. 

But he doesn’t think he can just pass this off.

He can’t get your smile out of his head. Your moments of levity are so few and far between that it makes them shine bright as the sun. Spencer has learned he loves how you look when you’re happy. He just wishes it wasn’t such a rarity.

Gideon’s lecture rings in his ears. He really had two jobs—keep you safe, and don’t fall for you. Hopefully he only fails the one. 

It’s not like he has to worry about it, though. You might not hate him as much anymore, but you still don’t really like him. As much as it bums him out, it’s for the best. It means that in a week or two, when the team has caught the unsub and all this is over, you can both go your separate ways and you’ll never have to see Spencer again. 

That bums him out even more, though. 

He lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. JJ, Elle, now you—Morgan would say he really knew how to pick ‘em. Girls who didn’t like him back. 

Just then his phone rings, jolting him out what could have been a convincing play for sleep if not for his thoughts, and he groans a little. Spencer fumbles around for it without lifting his head from the pillow, only turning slightly so he can flick it open and place it against his ear. 

“Gideon, why are you calling this early?” he mumbles. 

“I hope you’re treating her well.”

The gravelly voice through the speaker is a shock, and Spencer doesn’t really process it. His brain still hasn’t turned on. 

“Gideon?” he asks again. 

“I know you ran away. Trying to protect her like you have any right.” 

His blood goes cold as the words finally register. 

This is their unsub. This— this is your stalker. 

“What do you want?” he asks, unable to keep the sharp edge out of his words. 

“You’ve hurt her the same way he has,” the voice continues. “He’s ruined our lives and you don’t care.”

Spencer’s mind is simultaneously blank and running wild. He knows he should try to profile him or talk to him to get something out of him but— but all he feels is anger. 

“What do you want?” he repeats, louder this time. 

“Think about your priorities, Agent Reid. I’ll be watching.” 

The disconnected tone blares in his ear before he can say anything else, and Spencer stares down at his phone in confused annoyance. 

What kind of bullshit game is this guy trying to play with you? 

First he stalks you for a month—possibly months— then sends pictures of you to your door, then forces you into hiding and now he’s just mocking you like this? 

If Gideon is the goal, this bastard is doing a great job of dragging you along. 

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat all of a sudden. You. 

He grabs his gun off his bedside table then lunges to the door with all the athleticism of a newborn baby giraffe, nearly tripping in his haste to get out into the hallway. He slams your door open once he gets to your room, and the relief that floods through his body when you shoot up from your previously sleeping position is almost dangerous. 

“Spencer?” you grumble, still completely out of it as you rub your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

You’re alive. You’re okay. You’re still here. 

He opens his mouth to respond, still kind of out of breath, when his phone rings again. Spencer takes it out and is already pressing it to his ear. 

“What the hell do you want from her?” he barks. The absolute nerve of your stalker to call back—

“Reid, it’s me.”

It’s Gideon’s voice that comes out of the speaker this time, and Spencer feels the wave of red hot rage boiling in his stomach crash against a wall of confusion. 

“I—” He swallows deeply, his eyes flicking over to your befuddled expression momentarily before he feels himself flush bright red and look away. “I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.” 

“You got a call?”

His blood runs cold. “You mean you got one too?”

Gideon curses and he hears him move around. Pacing in his bedroom, if Spencer knew anything about him. “Tell me my daughter is safe.”

“She— she is,” he stammers. “I’m with her right now.”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on?” You’re sitting up now, much more aware than you were fifteen seconds ago. “Why do you have your gun— why are you talking to my dad?”

“Do a perimeter check,” Gideon demands. “If he’s there—”

“I know.” Spencer looks back at you and sighs. “You should talk to her.”

“I know,” Gideon echoes. “Let her stay on the line with me while you figure things out.”

He nods and takes the phone from his ear. “Gideon wants to talk with you.”

You’re standing up now, a dumbfounded expression on your face. “Hold on, you still haven’t answered me! What is going on?”

“I got a call from our guy,” he says. Your eyes widen and he can see your chest still. His heart clenches at the sight. “Gideon did too.”

“What?” you breathe. “Wh— what did he want?”

“To scare you.” Spencer holds up his gun. “Can you hide in the closet while I do a perimeter check?”

You scoff. Your demeanor is still shaken, but the fire is more prominent. He’s started to admire that about you. “Spencer, I am not hiding in the closet.”

“Then lock yourself in the bathroom again!” he exclaims. He doesn’t mean for the outburst, but he can’t help it. “Just— I can’t focus if I’m worried about you, and right now the only thing I can think of is how worried I am about you, so I need to know you’re safe while I do this.”

You stare at him, and Spencer stares right back, if a little frantic. He feels his chest rise and fall from the force, a stark contrast to your still body—similar to the panic he knows is in his eyes to the steely cool of yours. 

“I’m not letting you potentially face an insane stalker by yourself,” you finally say. 

Spencer huffs. “I am an FBI agent. I’ve faced worse things than insane stalkers.”

“We’ve been together this whole time,” you insist. “We— we can do this together too.” 

He looks at you again—he can tell you’re not going to move on this. Spencer eventually sighs and holds the phone back up to his ear. 

“I’m assuming you heard that?” 

“Let her go with you,” Gideon says. “It’s riskier for her to be on her own than outside with you. But stay on the line, and stay alert. Nothing can happen to her—do you understand?” 

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he says. “I meant what I said.” 

“...Good.” 

Spencer holds the phone out to you again, and your lip curls. 

“I’m not—” 

“Come on,” he interrupts, gesturing with his head into the hallway. 

Your annoyance melts into acknowledgement when you realize he’s not blowing you off again, and you nod as you take the phone. Spencer wraps both hands around his gun as he starts moving, you matching his pace as you follow him. 

“Yeah, Dad,” he hears you say behind him. “I’m here.” 

This is what he meant by you needing to stay behind. He’s worried about you more than anything, yes, but he also can’t help but listen. Spencer has very keen ears, to everyone’s simultaneous disdain and appreciation on the team—it makes him a very good asset in the field, but also a very good asset when it comes time for office gossip. 

“No, nothing’s happened yet. Yes— yes, I’m okay, I promise. Spencer’s done an annoyingly good job of keeping me safe.” 

Once Spencer reaches the door, he peers through the peephole to make sure their unsub isn’t embarrassingly obvious. It’s clear, and he turns to face you and raises a hand, then places his finger on his lips. 

“Uh— I have to go dark for a sec,” you say. “We’re checking the perimeter. Don’t worry, I’ll scream if anyone tries to kill me. Be back soon.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and nod at Spencer, and he holds his breath before he opens the door. 

The frigid air hits both of you at once, and he hears then sees your sharp exhale of breath. It’s been a while since either of you have been outside, but it’s good to know he hasn’t been missing superb weather. 

“Stay close and stay quiet,” Spencer whispers. “I’m your only line of defense out here.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some remark, but you merely nod in response. Spencer hopes he hides the shock he feels before he turns away and starts walking. 

Dawn isn’t for a few more hours—the only real light source is the moon high in the night sky. It doesn't exactly help his nerves to be doing all this in the dark, but part of him is almost thankful to be doing this. Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with you or any of the emotions you stir inside of him or the sleepless nights you cause because he can’t stop thinking of you—but he knows how to do his job, and he knows how to do it damn well. 

He just wishes it didn’t have to come with the unfortunate side effect of you being in immense danger. 

But Spencer does his best to push those thoughts to the back of his mind—right now, he has to have one focus. 

And he does. The two of you stick close to the side of the house, his eyes darting all over as he tries to dig out any details, any possible sign that the unsub was here. The ground is still a thin layer of mud from the storm last night, so it should be easy to find footprints. Spencer’s Converse aren’t doing a great job at keeping him upright—slipping in front of you is too embarrassing for him to even think about. 

All of a sudden, he stops, his arm shooting out in front of you. You don’t realize it for a second and you run into him, your hand wrapping around his arm on instinct to steady yourself. If he wasn’t so shocked at what he was looking at, he would have been bright red over it. 

“What the h—” 

“Footprints,” he whispers.  “Th— they’re almost gone, but—” 

“He was here?” you interrupt. Fear spikes in your voice and your grip tightens on his arm. 

“Last night, maybe.” Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, how he feels—he’s not going to make you feel worse. “The rain probably washed most of them away.” 

“Spencer—”

“I am surprised these are still here, though,” he continues. “The rainfall was really heavy. I wouldn’t expect them to stay in mud like this—” 

“Spencer, look where we are!” you exclaim, gesturing hard with your other hand. He realizes that you’ve let go of his arm by now, but he pushes it out of his head and looks. 

“The window to your room,” he says. The blinds are closed and the lock is in place—he’s made sure every night—but there are small enough gaps between the shutters. 

“He was watching us last night!” Your breathing is starting to come heavier and faster now. “We talked about all that shit and he was just here watching and we didn’t even fucking know!” 

You’re on the edge of hyperventilating. Spencer has got to get you down or else you’re going to have a full blown panic attack out here. 

“Hey, hey— look at me.” He says your name and that, if anything else, gets you to listen and meet his eyes. They’re filled with an unbridled fear he hasn’t seen in you until now. “Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of this. He’s not here.” 

“He was watching us—” 

“And we’ll figure out what to do next. But you have to stay calm. You can’t let him win.” 

You’re still harried, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes dart all around. Spencer says your name softly, tucks his gun into its holster, then takes your hands in his, hoping that it gives you something to focus that isn’t the rest of this. 

“Just look at me,” he says softly. 

You suck in another shaky breath, but you’re not as frantic as before. You at least look him in the eye, and you don’t wrench your hands out of his grasp. Progress, if nothing else. 

“Breathe with me.” 

You nod—still panicked, but better. Spencer breathes in deep and you do the same, following as he counts up and down with his fingers. It takes a few rounds, but eventually, he’s gotten you off the edge. 

Spencer says your name again, just as soft as before. You’re still breathing slowly in and out. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Better,” you murmur. “I—” 

You’re interrupted by the phone you both forgot was in your hand, Gideon’s voice muddled as it comes from the receiver. You rip your hands out of Spencer’s as you come back into yourself, shaking your head and blinking a few times while you take a few steps away from him. 

“I’m here, Dad,” you say. “We— we’re okay. No, nothing happened.” 

Spencer blinks too. He looks down at his hands, then glances at you, then shakes his head. He walks back over to the footprint and crouches down, trying to keep his mind clear. He commits every detail he can to memory, doing his best to ignore the conversation with your dad in the background. 

Well, he tunes in a little. He can’t help it—he wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“We found a footprint outside my room,” you’re saying. “Spencer thinks it’s your guy. I have no idea. Yes, we are. You don’t have to be so pushy.” You sigh and he feels your gaze on him. “Spencer, we have to finish this up. Dad wants us back inside.” 

He clears his throat as he nods a few times. “Let me get a picture of this first.” 

You hand him the phone and Spencer snaps some photos from a few different angles, hoping forensics will be able to get anything out of it. He hears Gideon’s voice again and he holds it to his ear once more. 

“Gideon?” 

“Reid, get her back inside,” he says. “We can’t take any unnecessary risks.” 

“We haven’t finished securing the perimeter,” he says. 

“Then finish it and get back inside!” he exclaims. “You have proof that he was there—” 

“We don’t know it’s him,” Spencer interrupts. 

“We know there was somebody there!” Gideon shoots back. “I’m not risking her, and from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to either.” 

Spencer feels his cheeks warm as he looks back at you, and he pulls his gun back out of its holster. “Come on. We have to finish this up.” 

“That’s what I said,” you mutter, but you follow him without further protest. 

The rest of the check goes by quickly without any other distractions or surprises, and soon enough you’re back inside. While Spencer chats with Gideon, updating him in a calmer manner on everything with the phone call and the footprint, you’re ruffling through the cabinets. 

Eventually, he sees you pull out a bottle of clear liquid from the corner of his eye. He frowns and realizes that it’s vodka. 

“It’s 4:29 in the morning,” Spencer says, cutting off Gideon almost absentmindedly as you pop the bottle open. 

“And we found out that this place isn’t nearly as safe as anyone thought,” you respond sharply. “I think that warrants some drinking.” 

“That means that you should have a clear mind,” he says. “Alcohol impairs your brain’s communication pathways, as well as your judgment and coordination.” 

“I’ve gotten drunk before, genius,” you mutter as you search for a glass. You end up choosing a the mug you used for coffee the other morning then start pouring. “Enough to know it’s what I need right now.” 

“It can also cause mood swings,” Spencer says. “I think that’s the last thing you need right now.”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to look back at him as you finish pouring a concerning amount of liquor into the mug. 

“What is going on over there?” Gideon asks. Spencer remembers he’s holding the phone and he puts it back to his ear. 

“I think your daughter is an alcoholic,” he comments. 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you say sharply. “I just can’t focus on all this right now.” 

“It’s best if she gets some sleep,” Gideon says. “All of this is likely terrifying to her, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.” 

Spencer’s mind flashes back to your near panic attack—your wide eyes full of fear and harried breathing that only made you hyperventilate more when you realized you couldn’t control it. It’s too easy to think of you as some untouchable being from the way you interact with him, bothered by nothing and no one. 

The mask cracks on rare occasion. It makes you seem frighteningly real. 

“You’re right,” Spencer nods. You sip your drink without flinching. He doesn’t think he can even call it a drink if it’s just straight liquor. “We could all use some sleep.” 

“Just make sure she’s safe,” he says. “Make sure the whole place is secure. We’re not—” 

“Taking risks,” he finishes. “Believe me, I know.” 

Gideon is silent for a second, and Spencer takes the time to look at you. The bags under your eyes are even more prominent, and there’s a haunted glint in your eyes as you stare at the wall. You shiver ever so slightly, the outside chill still lingering on your skin. You’ve got pajama pants on but just a plain tee. You didn’t have time to put a sweatshirt on before he pulled you outside in the mania of it all. 

You really are beautiful—but you’re so damn tired. 

Spencer realizes that all he wants to do is give you some respite. 

“I’ll call you back later, then,” Gideon says. “To check in.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s throat bobs as he averts his eyes from you. “Get some rest too, Gideon.” 

The other end hangs up without a response. Spencer stares down at the phone for a few seconds then sighs before he tucks it back into his pocket. 

“What’d he want?” you ask. 

“I can’t believe you’re drinking vodka out of a coffee mug at four in the morning.”

You frown. “You don’t get to judge me.” 

“It’s not good for you.” 

“None of this is good for me,” you enunciate. “What did my dad want?”

“I’m serious,” Spencer continues. “Drinking on an empty stomach can lead to low blood sugar— drinking at this hour is going to completely disrupt your circadian rhythm.” 

“You know what else has disrupted my circadian rhythm?” you ask mockingly. “Being here. Having a stalker. Finding out that said stalker was also here, watching us. I think that’s a little worse for me than the alcohol.” 

Spencer stares at you, and as you’re prone to do, you stare back. Eventually, he shakes his head and looks away, deciding to quit while he’s ahead. 

“He wants you to get some sleep,” he says. “Wants us both to.” 

You scoff and shake your head, downing much more vodka than you should in one go. Again, you don’t flinch—for a schoolteacher, you handle your liquor very well. “Like I’d get to sleep after this.” 

“It’s important,” Spencer insists. “You’ve gotten— what? Three hours of sleep?” 

“Well, all this excitement has woken me up,” you say. 

“Well, I’m tired,” Spencer says. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He starts to walk to his room, figuring that you need time to cool off, when—

“Wait.” 

Your voice is oddly strangled, and Spencer stops in his tracks. 

“I—” you stop and sigh, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“Our rooms are close to each other,” he says. “I’ll be able to hear if you yell.” 

You rub your eyes as you let out another haggard sigh. “I can’t stand to be in that room, Spencer. Not knowing that— that he was right there.” 

Spencer can’t look away from you. Your eyes glint with tears you’re trying to hold back, but you’re laid bare in a way he knows you hate. 

You’re being pushed to your limits against your will, and it kills him that he can’t do anything to help you. Honestly, sometimes he feels useless being stuck here while the rest of the team is out there actively working to help you. All he can do is stand around here and annoy you. 

Except you want him there. For the first time since all of this has started, you want him there. 

It’s the only thing he can do for you right now. How can he refuse? 

“Okay,” he says softly, and he nods. “Okay. We can share my room tonight.” 

The tension in your shoulders fades ever so slightly, and you—thankfully—set the mug down. “Keep your gun close.” 

“I’m not sure you want me shooting when I’m sleep deprived,” Spencer says. 

Your lips twitch just so, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat. He can’t help it. 

He should have known he was in too deep the moment he stepped into this house with you. 

-

“Very cozy,” you say. 

“It’s the same as your room,” Spencer responds. 

You shrug. “It’s messy. Makes it feel like home.” 

He feels his face flush. “I haven’t really been focused on keeping things clean.” 

“Relax.” You sit down on the bed. “I’m not judging you.” 

“Good.” Spencer glances at you as he moves his bag off of your side of the bed. “Because that would be very rude after the generosity I’ve shown you.” 

You laugh and Spencer finds himself smiling at the sound of it. He’s glad he’s turned away, and he’s glad he manages to push it away by the time he’s turned back around. 

You’re wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants now, and it’s strange to see you look so… soft. Every part of you is so sharp, some of it jagged—sometimes you harden around him, sometimes you mellow. He’s a bit tired of the back and forth. 

Maybe that’s what makes him speak up. 

“I’m tired of us always being at odds.” 

Your eyebrows rise and you look at him. “Really?” 

Spencer nods, his will bolstered. “Really. We have a nice talk one night, and I feel like we’ve had a breakthrough, and then you go back to hating me the next morning. I’m— I’m sick of it.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some mocking comment like you always do, making fun of him for wanting more than what little you give him. But instead, you lay back against the pillows and shrug. 

“Okay.” 

He blinks. “Really?” 

“Really,” you nod. “I’m too tired to want to fight right now.” 

“You’re the one that always tries to fight me.” 

“Aren’t you fighting me right now?” 

Spencer shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

You chuckle. “Still fighting.” 

He stares at you. As usual, you stare back, but this time you can’t fully bite back your smile. For some reason, that gets Spencer to break. He smiles too, and he settles down on the bed next to you. There’s a pillow buffer between you, but it’s still a lot closer than he’s used to. 

Well, he did hold your hands earlier, but that’s because he was bringing you down from a panic attack. That doesn’t mean anything. 

“What a day,” he mutters. 

“And it hasn’t even started yet,” you muse. “I don’t know how you do this kind of shit every day.” 

“I’m not really the target of any of this,” he says. “I usually stay behind the scenes. I’m good with geographical profiles, not chasing down unsubs.” 

You look over at him. “You haven’t really talked about anything you do for the BAU.” 

Spencer shrugs. “I thought it would be a sore subject.” 

You pause. “You’re… probably right.” 

“I figured.” He chuckles, then glances over at you. “But you already know enough about me. You said you would talk about your job. Teaching, and your kids, and all that.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “You actually care?”

Spencer gives you a look. “I thought we were past that part in our friendship.”

“We’re not friends.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but you go on anyway. “I’m a highschool teacher in Fairfax. You know Mount Vernon High?” 

Spencer nods. “I know the name of every high school in Virginia.” 

“Of course you do,” you huff. “But that’s besides the point. I did my student teacher hours there, and they offered me a full time position. I took it, so I guess I’ve been there since senior year.” You purse your lips. “It’s a little depressing when you look at it like that.” 

“Then don’t look at it like that,” he say. “You said you loved your job.” 

“I do!” You smile again, a bit lighter this time. “My teachers were a huge part of my life, especially in high school.” The lightness fades some, but he notices how you try to hide it. “If I could help even one kid the same way my teachers helped me, then I would have done something with my life.” 

“That’s very noble of you,” Spencer says. “I don’t think I ever would have guessed you were a teacher.” 

“Oh, please,” you say. “You’re a profiler. You’d figure it out.” 

“You wouldn’t know I work with the FBI at first glance.” 

“Well, I’m not a profiler. Besides,” you tip a shoulder, “I have the ulterior motive of wanting to introduce kids to the wonders of physics.” 

Spencer’s eyes light up. “You’re a physics teacher?” 

“I teach a load of science classes, but I carry the banner for AP physics.” You huff a laugh. “You’re probably the only one that doesn’t sound lame to.” 

“I love physics!” he exclaims. “I’ve got a PhD in engineering, remember?” 

You smile— no, you actually grin at him, and he can’t believe he finally broke through the barrier with science. 

“Trust me, I’d love to talk physics with you, boy genius, but—” you’re interrupted with a yawn, and Spencer resists the urge to do the same— “but I think I’m actually about to fall asleep.”  

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh. He realizes that he’s relaxed while you’ve been talking, limbs looser and fully laying back against the pillows. 

“This was actually part of my master plan to get you to rest,” he says. “Talking science always works with the team.” 

He sees you smile out of his peripherals as you lay fully down, can feel every shift of your body against the mattress while you try to find a good position. 

“It wasn’t you,” you say. “It was the vodka.” 

 “Of course,” he agrees. 

Silence falls over the room as the two of you settle in. You take off your sweatshirt, a slight shiver running through you once you’re back in your tank top. Spencer removes his glasses, and he blinks a few times to adjust to the blurriness.

The bed is big enough for you to both have your own space,, and you’re both careful to keep your backs to each other. The silence is comfortable despite the previous animosity. Maybe all it really did take was for him to start talking science. 

Eventually, though—

“Thank you, Spencer.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I— I know you don’t like me. So it means a lot that you still do all this for me.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, taking your words in. The mingled sounds of your breathing are really the only things filling the room, and he can feel your weight against the mattress. It’s all oddly intimate. 

“You’re wrong.” He’s almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I do like you.” 

Your shock shows through the silence. Spencer takes his chance. 

“You’re going through something no one should ever have to experience, and you’re doing it with someone you think stole your life from you.” Spencer shifts ever so slightly. His hands feel inexplicably clammy. “It was unfair of me to take Gideon’s side so often.” 

“Still.” Your words are muffled as you speak half into the mattress. “We have more important things to worry about. It was unfair of me to spend so much time giving you shit. You— you didn’t even know I existed until a month ago.” 

“But now I do.” He pauses. “And I’m glad I do. So you can start looking forward instead of always looking back.” 

Again, silence. It lasts so long Spencer wonders if you’ve fallen asleep. Your breathing is thankfully steady (a side of him is always focused on your breathing just to make sure) and you don’t shift much, so he wouldn’t be surprised. You were exhausted—

“Spencer?” 

His eyes open. He didn’t even realize they had closed. You sound half-asleep, your voice nothing more than a whisper. He wishes more than anything he knew what was going through your mind right now. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

His heart stutters so blatantly he’s sure you can hear it. Spencer honestly doesn’t know what to say—his mouth is so dry he doesn’t know if he can say anything. 

Spencer thought you hated him. You thought Spencer hated you. 

It’s ironic. 

“Me too,” he eventually manages. 

But there’s no response. You must’ve already fallen asleep again, just conscious enough to say a few words. The rude awakening mixed with the fear and alcohol couldn’t have done you much good. 

Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat and closes his eyes again, trying not to focus on you. It’s practically impossible. 

He’s glad, at least, that you’re able to sleep. You deserve to rest more than anyone. 

Eventually, the sound of your breathing lulls Spencer to sleep. 

You were the one thing he didn’t have on his list.

[luvst4rc0r3]

Loser!Jinx x Reader Headcanons

Jinx wasn’t just a loser—she was the loser. The kind who sat in the back of the class doodling in her notebook instead of taking notes, who always had a random bruise from doing something stupid, and who somehow had a negative GPA but could explain the entire plot of an obscure 90s anime no one had ever heard of.

She wasn’t exactly hated at school, but she was weird, loud, and unpredictable, which made people avoid her. Except for Vi, who was always yelling at her to “Get your shit together, Powder,” and Sevika, who only tolerated her because Vi forced her to.

Then there was you.

The first time Jinx saw you, she short-circuited. She was just trying to make it through another miserable day of Algebra when you walked into the classroom, and suddenly, math didn’t exist anymore. All she could think was:

“Oh no.”

You were effortlessly cool—new to school, good at everything Jinx wasn’t, and way out of her league. But you were nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that made Jinx go home and kick her feet while screaming into her pillow because why would you ever talk to her unless you were planning to ruin her life?

- The first time you talk to her, it’s because you sit next to her in Algebra.

You: “Hey, do you have a pencil?”

Jinx, panicking: “Wh—uh—I—yeah—no—I mean—” (frantically digs through her backpack, pulls out a crayon).

You: “…Thanks?”

Jinx: “Yeah! Totally! I only use crayons, actually. Pencils are a government conspiracy.”

You: “Oh? Tell me more.”

She thinks you’re messing with her. But you don’t laugh. You actually listen. And when she rants about whatever nonsense is currently living rent-free in her head, you just nod along like she’s making sense.

She falls in love immediately.

- Jinx is the type of loser who spends all her time online, plays obscure indie games, and has a concerning amount of conspiracy theories about random things (like why the school vending machine is always out of strawberry soda).

- She is hopelessly, painfully, pathetically in love with you. Like, full-blown kicking her feet and giggling into her pillow kind of crush. She doesn’t even try to be normal about it.

- If you so much as glance in her direction, her brain short-circuits. Immediate blue screen of death. Malfunctioning Jinx noises.

- She swears she’s being subtle, but the entire school knows she’s down horrendously bad for you. Like, it’s embarrassing. Vi has tried to stage an intervention. Sevika has bet money on how long it’ll take before she faints in front of you.

- If you actually talk to her? Oh, she’s done for. Stammering, tripping over her words, probably dropping whatever she’s holding. You could ask her the simplest question, and she’d be like:

You: “Hey, do you have a pencil?”

Jinx, sweating bullets: “Uh—uh—uh—uh—I—pen—yes—no—I mean—I do? Maybe? What’s a pencil?”

- She definitely stalks your social media. She has your entire posting schedule memorized, knows all your interests, and tries to bring them up in conversation to impress you—but it just makes her sound insane.

Jinx: “Soooo… I heard you like frogs.”

You: “What?”

Jinx: “Uh. Frogs. Y’know. Ribbit.”

- If you compliment her, even as a joke, she will take it to her grave. Like, you could say, “Hey, cool jacket,” and she’ll wear that same jacket every day for a month straight.

- One time you called her cute. She has not recovered.

- She tries to act cool around you, but she’s the type of loser who fumbles everything. Drops her phone. Walks into doors. Trips over air. It’s a miracle she hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

- If you so much as smile at her, she’s writing about it in her diary like it’s the most life-changing event to ever happen.

“FEBRUARY 8TH, 2025. 3:47 PM. Y/N SMILED AT ME. I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW.”

or

“February 8th, 2025. 3:47 PM. Y/N TOUCHED MY ARM. I CAN NEVER WASH IT AGAIN.”

- Jinx, in her head, planning out all the ways she could confess to you: Writing you a love letter? Making a mixtape? A grand, romantic gesture?

- Jinx, in reality: “I like your face.”

- If you start liking her back? Oh, she’s doomed. Malfunctioning. Exploding. Game over.

People still don’t understand how you two work, but at this point, it doesn’t even matter. You and Jinx are in your own little world, and honestly? It’s kind of perfect.

- You keep hanging out with her. At first, just in class, but then at lunch, after school, texting late at night. She stops feeling like a loser when she’s with you. She starts hoping.

- The first time you realize you like her back, it’s because of something dumb.

You’re at lunch, sitting with her, Vi, and Sevika. Jinx, being a disaster, spills her drink all over herself. Instead of being embarrassed, she just goes, “Guess I’m drinking it the hard way.”

And something about the way she owns her weirdness makes your heart do a stupid little flip.

- The first time you flirt with her, she malfunctions.

- The first time she realizes you like her back, it breaks her brain.

It happens after school. You’re both walking home together when you grab her hand, lacing your fingers through hers like it’s nothing.

She nearly trips over her own feet. You just laugh and squeeze her hand tighter.

Oh no, she thinks. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She’s never going to recover from this.

(She doesn’t want to.)

Random Cute Couple Things:

- Jinx is the kind of girlfriend who will 100% steal your clothes.

Not just hoodies—everything. She once showed up wearing your jacket, your socks, and your backpack, and when you pointed it out, she just went, “Yeah, and?”

The worst part? She looks stupidly cute in your clothes, so you can’t even be mad.

(You started “accidentally” leaving extra hoodies at her place just so she’d always have one of yours to wear.)

- She gets insanely clingy when she’s sleepy.

Jinx isn’t really a cuddler during the day—she’s always bouncing off the walls, getting into trouble, dragging you into her weird ideas. But the second she gets tired?

Good luck getting up.

She’ll wrap herself around you like a human koala, mumbling something about how “you’re warm and smell good” and refusing to let go.

(You’ve accepted your fate. You live here now.)

- She makes the dumbest bets just to get kisses.

• “Bet you can’t solve this riddle. If you lose, I get a kiss.

• “If I make this paper ball into the trash can, you have to kiss me.”

• “Okay, rock-paper-scissors, best out of three—winner gets a kiss.”

You caught on pretty quickly and just started kissing her before she could suggest a bet. It completely breaks her brain every time.

(She still tries, though.)

- She doodles all over your stuff.

If you lend Jinx a pen, it’s over—your notebooks, your arms, even your homework will be covered in little scribbles.

Sometimes they’re just random sketches. Other times, you’ll find little hearts with your name inside them.

(She denies drawing them. But the blush on her face says otherwise.)

- She absolutely loves when you play with her hair.

She pretends she doesn’t care at first—shrugs it off, acts like it’s whatever. But the second you start running your fingers through her hair, she literally melts.

(If you braid it, she’ll leave it in all day, even if it looks ridiculous.)

- She’s always touching you.

• Holding your hand? Obviously.

• Leaning against you when you’re sitting together? Yup.

• Linking pinkies just because she can? Of course.

It’s like she needs to be physically connected to you at all times.

(If you ever pull away too soon, she’ll dramatically gasp and go, “What, you don’t love me anymore?!”)

- She makes up the dumbest excuses just to hang out with you.

“Babe, I need your help with something.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno, I just wanted to see you.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

I love Jinx

I want sleep

[reikitwo2]

For me it was my sister catching me in her underwear. She asked me how long have you being doing this? Since I was 8 is my reply. Why? Because I want to be like you Sis. You are so beautiful, your new breasts are sexy. Wearing your bra makes it easier to pretend to be you. She gave me a big hug. Told me to sit on the edge of her bed and she put makeup on me. She told me to put the bra back on. I did the straps up as if I was actually a girl. My Sis smiled. She got out a pair of pink panties and told me to put them on. She stopped me half way and looked closely at my penis. She told me it was very small. I told her I sit to me so I don't make a mess. Finish getting dressed. I pulled up the panties and she handed me a yellow dress. I put it on and saw a pretty girl looking back. Sis said she will take to Mom about bringing you up as a girl. If she agrees I will teach you about being a girl. But you must promise to do everything I tell you. I agreed whole heartedly. Sis went to speak to Mom. I was called into the kitchen. Mom looked at me and asked ''are you really sure this is what you want?'. YES Mommy. She grabbed me and hugged me, tears of joy in her eyes as she says 'I have two daughters now'.

[anylady-fics]

Body talk | Han Jisung x F reader

I really suck at aesthetics.

Summary:

[...] He was standing there, talking to you all casually, when he stripped his shirt off. Your jaw just dropped because well, you weren’t ready for that. Sure, you’d noticed he looked healthier overall, but the man was always drowning in oversized clothes, so you never really saw much. But right then? Oh, you saw.

“You’re staring, baby.” He always called you that, but at that moment, it just hit differently. “Like what you see?” [...]

Or... she just couldn't handle how hot her friend had become.

*** this work is for adult audiences. Minors DNI ***

Warnings: smut, semi-public sex, dry-humping, unprotected sex (don't do it), vaginal sex, creampie

4,488K words - cross posted on ao3

Ⴡ Masterlist

Han Jisung was one of your best friends, so when he told you he was starting to work out, you were really supportive. He was always the skinny type, the kind that made you wonder if he was actually eating all his meals. But you were kinda used to seeing him like that, so…

You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but he started growing… a lot. Since you saw him all the time, you didn’t notice right away how big he was getting. It wasn’t sudden, but it happened.

Then there was this birthday pool party with all your friends, and that’s when you really noticed just how hard he’d been training at that damn gym. 

He was standing there, talking to you all casually, when he stripped his shirt off. Your jaw just dropped because well, you weren’t ready for that. Sure, you’d noticed he looked healthier overall, but the man was always drowning in oversized clothes, so you never really saw much. But right then? Oh, you saw. 

“You’re staring, baby.” He always called you that, but at that moment, it just hit differently. “Like what you see?”

Fuck, you were staring. But how could you not? His arms were like three times bigger, and so was his chest. And he still had that thin waist…

“I just… I just didn’t notice how buff you got.”

“Yeah, I’ve been working out for almost two years, you know?” He flexed his biceps for you, as if you weren’t already dizzy just looking at him. “Glad you like it.”

Han had always been that flirty guy, the one who calls you ‘baby’ and was always sweet to you. But now? That same behavior was making you feel completely different when he was actually… that hot. What the fuck was actually happening? Of course, you’d been stuck with your shitty ex for the past year, so you weren’t exactly looking at other men. And you hadn’t been on a date in months, still kinda numb since that piece of shit broke up with you. But right then and there, Jisung was waking you up. Or at least, it felt like it. 

“I did, I mean…”

“Yeah, I know. You didn’t see anything happening around you when you were dating that asshole.”

He was right. You didn’t. And your ex was always jealous of your friendship with every guy, but especially with Jisung—and you never really understood why. Nothing ever happened between you two, and you never saw him that way. Sure, you knew he was pretty, you’d always thought he was cute. But you never—ever—considered dating him. Not because of his looks, of course, but because he was your friend, and you didn’t want to mess things up. You were never good at relationships, so dating friends? Yeah, you always avoided that.

But…

You could have a crush, right? Just a crush. It was natural, it was healthy. Nothing to worry about.

“Could you help me out with this?” Jisung was talking to you, but you hadn’t been paying attention until he handed you the bottle of sunscreen. “Can’t reach my back, so…”

You took the bottle and tried to act normal, really tried. He turned around, letting you spread the sunscreen over his skin, and that’s when you really saw—and felt—his back muscles.

God. You’d always had a weak spot for skinny buff men, so actually touching him? That was making you a little nervous. But it was Jisung. Thinking about him that way just felt wrong. Not that you could stop—not while you were rubbing way more sunscreen on him than necessary, for way longer than you should.

Once you’re done, you hand him the sunscreen and excuse yourself, you need to go to the bathroom to change into your bikini. And also… to check something.

As soon as you lock the door, you drop your backpack on the floor and start undoing your shorts, because you can feel it. You can feel how wet you got just from rubbing sunscreen on your friend’s back.

That shouldn’t be happening. It was so sudden. You definitely weren’t going to act on it, but still… it made you realize just how long it had been since you’d had a date, a great night with someone, hell, even an orgasm. Even one by yourself. It was embarrassing how worked up you got over something so simple.

You walked out of the bathroom already in your bikini, with a pair of shorts to cover up—not because you were shy or anything, but because you couldn’t shake off your dirty thoughts. And you knew they’d only get worse once the drinks started flowing. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to notice how soaked you were… without even stepping into the pool.

The day was going really great. Everyone was eating, drinking, and playing by the pool, so you let yourself relax for a while—slipping off your shorts and lying down to soak up some sun, maybe even get a little tan. Even if it was a bit late already, the sun would be gone in an hour.

“Careful, baby. You’re gonna burn like that. Here, I got you the drink you like.”

You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know that it was Jisung. Of course he was bringing your favorite drink—he always did. But now? Now it was getting under your skin. It wasn’t his fault, but you were acting all weird around him.

“Thanks, Ji.” You took a sip before finally looking at him—only to find him sitting on the ground, right next to you.

“You don’t have to stay out here in the sun…”

“Oh, I know. But I want to. Feels like ages since we just hung out. And it’s not even that hot anymore.” He sat there, stretching his legs out, leaning back on his arms. Muscles on display, skin glistening with sweat, pool water, and that damn sunscreen. “You’ve been all depressed since… you know.”

“Yeah, but I’m alright now.” You tried to look away, but somehow, you just couldn’t. So you took another sip. “What did I miss?”

He started gossiping about your friend group—but nothing mean, just filling you in on everything that had happened while you were holed up in your room, feeling sorry for yourself. Hyunjin got a new girlfriend for a week, then broke up with her… which was nothing new. Chris was working his ass off, also nothing new. And Changbin? Apparently, he’d been helping Jisung at the gym. Well… that explained a lot.

“I’m really glad you’re doing better now.” He finished his beer, flashing you the cutest smile. “Hope you pick someone better next time.”

“It’s not that easy!” You could already feel yourself loosening up from the drink—and the amount of vodka he’d poured into it. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Han Jisung?”

“Is it too strong, baby? Sorry, I can make you a new one if you want. But what do you mean it’s not easy?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just… it's been a while since I drank vodka. But thanks, really.”

“So… what do you mean?”

“What?”

Yeah, nope. Playing dumb seemed like the best option. You really didn’t feel like whining about your shitty love life. Jisung already knew you had a habit of settling for way less than you deserved, and you weren’t about to go down that road again. It was just… embarrassing.

“You can tell me. Why do you keep dating assholes?” He paused for a moment, then—out of nowhere—blushed. “Is it because… you know. They’re good in bed or something?”

“God, I wish.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You stared at your drink, then shoved the glass into his hands. “Here. Keep it. I’m already talking too much.”

“But seriously. Why?” He took a sip of your drink, then immediately made a face. “Jesus, this is a crime. I’m getting us new drinks. Be right back.”

You’d never really talked about sex with him before. Sure, some things had come up during drinking games, but nothing too revealing. So… why was he so interested in your love life now? You trusted him enough to tell him everything, but all you could think about was how much of a loser you’d sound like. Admitting that most of your exes couldn’t even make you cum? Not exactly your proudest moment.

He came back with a really sweet drink for you and another can of beer for himself. For a moment, you thought he’d drop the conversation entirely—almost felt relieved about it, even though you kind of liked the tension. But as soon as he sat down, a little closer this time, he picked up right where he left off.

“So, you were saying…?”

“I wasn’t saying anything, Ji. Stop talking about those assholes, they’re in the past now.” You took a sip. God, it was good, so sweet you could barely taste the alcohol this time. “This is perfect, thanks!”

“Come on, tell me. I really wanna know how a good girl like you always ends up with guys like them.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, it just happens.” You shrugged. “And they’re not even good in bed, that’s the worst part. Most of the time, they didn’t even care if I came or not.”

“Oh my god, so you hate yourself that much?” He groaned, taking a deep breath before nearly downing his entire beer. “Please tell me you’re not doing that again. It’s painful watching you suffer every time.” He set his can down with a sigh. “Also, you have to make sure they’re gonna treat you right before anything else.”

“They’re not assholes at first, you know…”

“I’m talking about the sex.” He raised an eyebrow. “You gotta make sure it’s good before making them your boyfriend.”

And now you were the one blushing. Because, well… he wasn’t wrong. You’d always waited before sleeping with a guy, always dated them for a while first. But that clearly wasn’t working. And the worst part? It wasn’t even them. It was you. You got comfortable, and you sucked at breaking things off. It was always like that.

“So you seem to know a lot about this relationship stuff,” you said, feeling the alcohol settle into your system. “How are you still single?”

“Well, I had a few dates… but I’ll only have a girlfriend when it feels right.” Then he smirked. That smirk. The kind that made you want to hit him, but you couldn’t, because it was too damn irresistible. “At least I made sure they were satisfied.”

“And how are you so sure about that?” Your cheeks were burning? Yeah, definitely. But the conversation was interesting, and the alcohol was making it a lot easier to roll with it. 

Jisung smirked again, then glanced at you. Just a quick look. But you saw it. Saw his eyes flicker down—right at your tits. And fuck, it hit you like a rock. That’s when it really sank in. You were sitting there in nothing but a bikini, your nipples were hard, and you’d been soaked since the moment you rubbed sunscreen over his back. But you didn’t move. Didn’t try to hide a damn thing. You just sat there, waiting for him to answer.

“Oh, baby…” He tilted his head slightly, voice dripping with amusement. “You don’t really want the details, do you? I’m not the type who fuck and tell.”

“Such a gentleman…”

“I am, actually.” He grinned, cocky as ever. Then, after a beat, he added, “And you know… since you’re single and not dating anyone, I could just… show you. Sometime. Maybe.”

Bold. But the second the words left his mouth, he hesitated just for a moment. Like even he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. And fuck, you clenched. Hard. Harder than you thought was humanly possible. You just stared at him, like you were still processing what he’d just said because, honestly? You were. Your whole body was screaming yes, but your brain? Your brain was still desperately trying to remind you that this could ruin your friendship.

“Ji…”

“Yeah, I know. We’re friends and all. And you don’t do friends. But what if… what if you just let yourself enjoy it? It wouldn’t ruin anything, I swear.”

It shouldn’t have been normal how ridiculously turned on you were from just a conversation. Your cute, hot friend was almost begging to date you. To fuck you. Specifically.

“And I can read you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, his eyes darker now. “I know you’re horny. I’d bet money you’re wet right now, because I actually pay attention to you.”

Your sanity was slipping. How the fuck did he know that? And more importantly, how the hell were you supposed to say no to him? If he could read you this well, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he could actually do to you if you let him. And you were so close. So close to letting him. Because you were really fucking horny, and everything was starting to blur together in your head.

“Okay.” It’s all you can manage to say, your body growing heavier, hotter with every passing second.

“Okay?” He tilts his head, smirking. “So you’ll let me show you? Use your words, pretty.”

You swallow hard. Fuck it.

“Yes, Jisung. I want you to show me.” Your voice is steady, but barely. “And yeah. I’m wet. I’m horny. You were right about that, too.” You lean in just slightly, challenging him. “So… what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fuck, baby… everyone already went inside since it’s getting dark. Wanna try to find a room for us? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I doubt it, so…” 

You already knew you’d end up sleeping on the floor or crashing on some couch once you headed inside, there was no way any rooms were still available. You stand up without another word, heading straight for the couch near the pool, tucked away in a more private spot. The low walls should be enough to cover you.

Should be. But anyone could still walk in on you. Anytime. 

No doors. No locks.

Just the two of you, outside, where you definitely shouldn’t be doing this. And that only makes you want it more.

Jisung followed right behind you, and since you’d already given him permission to touch you, that’s exactly what he did the moment he got close enough. He was right there in front of you, still shirtless, somehow looking even hotter than he had two minutes ago. Or maybe you were just drunk and horny.

“I’m gonna kiss you.” His voice was low, his body radiating heat so close to yours. “And if you want me to stop, just… tell me. I’ll try.” He had that playful smile, but fuck, he looked so sexy you started wondering if you were even in your right mind.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and finally, you felt his skin on yours, warm, firm, so good it sent a shiver through you. His lips brushed against yours, teasing, barely there. Then, his tongue traced your bottom lip before slipping inside, and you welcomed him so easily, sucking on it, responding to him like you were made for this. It was wet, hot, messy. So good you felt yourself melting between your legs. And then, as he held you even closer, you felt it… his cock, hard against you through his shorts, pressing right where you needed him most.

You couldn’t tell if you were just needy or if he was really the best kisser you’d ever had, because it had never felt this good. You’d never felt so overwhelmed just from a kiss. Jisung knew exactly what he was doing, and you had no idea how many minutes had passed since you started—kissing, pressing your bodies together, completely lost in it.

There was a couch right next to you, and you were starting to feel it—your legs weak, your body buzzing, the heat pooling between your thighs. You needed to sit down. Or maybe, you just needed more. Maybe sitting on him, that would be good. 

You pressed your hands against his chest, pushing him back just slightly. He pulled away immediately, eyes flickering with concern—until you wordlessly pointed to the couch. You couldn’t even trust yourself to speak, but he understood. Oh, he definitely understood. 

He grabbed your wrist and sat down, pulling you close until you were right where he wanted—on his lap. Fuck, you just knew you were going to soak his shorts. There was no way to avoid it. You were sitting directly on his hard cock, and then he started kissing you again. His hands rested on your waist before slowly moving up, his fingertips teasing just beneath the fabric of your bikini, making you desperate for him to actually touch your tits.

You whined against his mouth, hoping he’d understand just how needy you were for his touch. And apparently, he really could really read you… His hands moved higher, cupping your tits, feeling their weight before giving a gentle squeeze. You moaned at the sensation, not even realizing how you were pressing your breasts into his hands, silently begging for more.

He teased your sensitive nipples through the fabric, making you shiver, and you rolled your hips slowly, desperate for some friction. He moaned too, feeling you grind against his cock, and fuck, his mouth tasted like beer, a bit like weed, and a lot like you should’ve done this ages ago.

You couldn’t stop yourself so you kept grinding on his lap, your clit throbbing with every slow roll of your hips. And judging by the way he was whining between kisses, he was loving it just as much.

His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking and nipping, leaving love bites along your skin. Then he went lower, tugging your bikini top just enough to wrap his lips around your nipple. His wet tongue licked over the sensitive bud, making you moan a little louder now that his mouth wasn’t on yours to muffle the sound.

“Ji… feels so good,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. You didn’t want him to stop. He groaned against your skin, sucking harder as his hands grabbed your ass, squeezing tight, guiding your movements, making you grind even harder against his cock. You could easily cum like that.

His hands were everywhere—touching, groping, squeezing—grabbing every inch of your skin like he couldn’t get enough. You kissed him again, still rolling your hips, but a wave of embarrassment started creeping in because you knew you were close. If you kept this up just a little longer, you were going to cum.

“Gonna make me cum in my shorts like this…” he whispered against your lips, his voice strained. “You close? Wanna grind on my cock until you cum, baby?”

“Yes… so close…” you whined, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you moved faster, harder. Any trace of embarrassment disappeared the second you saw the way he was looking at you, his eyes dark with lust, filled with pure desire. “Gonna cum… fuck!”

Your orgasm hit you hard, your body shuddering as you slowly came to a stop, riding out your high. Your pussy clenched around nothing, and the realization made your head spin. Jisung held you close, his hands firm on your waist, his mouth still latched onto your nipple. Fucking hell, you’d only dry-humped him, and you already felt completely wrecked.

“That was so fucking hot.” He kissed your neck again, licking the sweat from your skin. “Wish we could do more, but it’s so fucking risky out here…”

“Yeah?” You were still catching your breath, your hands resting on his firm chest—now teasing his nipples. “What do you wanna do? Tell me.”

“Wish I could eat you out. Fuck, you’re dripping… I can feel it.” His words made you clench around nothing again. “Wish I could fuck this pretty mouth of yours.”

“Jisung…” His name left your lips in a breathy whimper as your hands slid down his body, tracing over his chest, his abs—until you reached his cock, hot and hard beneath his shorts. You pulled them down along with his underwear, freeing him completely. He was already leaking for you, so hard, so fucking ready for you to just sink down onto him. “Just wanna feel you inside me now,” you murmured, eyes locked on his. “You can eat me out and fuck my mouth another time.”

You knew you sounded desperate. You were desperate. But you didn’t care.

Instead, you pulled your bikini bottoms aside, rubbing his tip against your clit, using his precum to make yourself even wetter.

“Gonna let me fuck you raw, baby?” His voice was thick with desire as he watched you rub his cock against your clit, teasing yourself, teasing him. “Didn’t think you’d let me fuck you today… especially here, where someone could walk in on us.”

“Yeah? Let them see. I don’t care.” Your voice was breathy, reckless. “It’s dark anyway.” There was no condom, and it was obvious neither of you had one. “I’m on the pill… clean,” you reassured him, your eyes never leaving his.

“I’m clean too,” he groaned, gripping your waist. “But fuck, baby… I’m gonna blow fast. Watching you cum like that almost did the job.”

“I don’t care, Ji. Just fuck me.”

“Then put it in,” he rasped. “I’m all yours.”

You didn’t think you’d ever been this wet in your life, not that it mattered, because Jisung was thick. He wasn’t huge, but the girth…

You guided him to your entrance, holding his cock at the base as you slowly sank down, feeling the delicious stretch as he filled you, inch by inch. You were already panting, creaming around him as you rolled your hips to adjust, every inch of him pressing against your walls just right. 

Jisung moaned, his hands finding your tits, teasing your nipples, making you want to scream from just that. Fuck, you were so needy.

“You’re taking me so well, baby…” His voice was a low growl, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping tight as he helped you move. You started riding him, slow and deep, feeling every inch drag against your soaked, clenching walls. “Such a pretty pussy… so greedy, too…”

You clenched hard around him at his words, making him groan. He could feel how much you liked it. It was so hot—so fucking hot—you almost couldn’t believe you were actually letting your friend fuck you like this, there of all places. No one would believe it even if they saw you. And maybe that was part of what was turning you on so much. The risk. The filthiness of it. You didn’t even recognize yourself.

But you didn’t care about anything—not when he was buried balls deep inside you, stretching you, filling you so perfectly. Fuck.

You started moving faster, really riding him now, rolling your hips just right so your clit dragged against his pelvis with every grind. That friction alone was enough to push you closer to the edge again. You were a mess; sweating, moaning, completely fucked-out, and Jisung was staring at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You’re clenching so hard, think you can cum again? Wanna see you cumming all over my dick. Use me, come on.”

Fuck, how could you say no to that? He gripped your waist to help you grind against him, his cock buried so deep inside you it was hurting, but it felt so good you just kept moving, your hips moving on their own, desperate, needy, chasing that high. You felt the orgasm coming, it hit you like a wave, ripping a moan from your throat so loud he had to shove his fingers in your mouth to shut you up. You sucked on his fingers while cumming hard on his cock, almost crying from pleasure, feeling the way he was throbbing inside you, probably holding himself to not to blow.

"Fuck, I’m gonna cum…" Jisung groaned, pulling his fingers from your mouth and gripping your waist so tight you knew he’d leave marks. "Inside?"

"Yeah… fill me up, please…"

You were trembling, breathless, drooling, desperate to feel his hot release spilling inside you. It would be so messy… you already felt filthy, but fuck, it felt so good.

With a deep, shuddering moan, he came inside you, biting his lip to muffle his sounds, his body tensing as he spilled deep. You could feel it, warm and thick, already leaking from your overstimulated pussy while he stayed buried inside you, still pulsing. Slowly, you lifted your hips, savoring the way he slipped out of you before adjusting your bikini back into place, like nothing had just happened. 

"Yeah, I believe you now." You helped him adjust his clothes, smoothing them back into place. "You really know how to satisfy your girls, Ji."

"Told you." He smirked, eyes closed, breath still heavy, his skin glistening with sweat. "The body talks, baby. We just have to listen."

And he had listened, he knew exactly how badly you wanted him, touching you just right the entire time. You couldn’t argue with that. He was good. So good. And as you lay there, catching your breath, you realized you didn’t regret a thing. No guilt, no second thoughts, just satisfaction

"See? We’re still friends. Nothing bad happened." He held your hand, his gaze locked on yours. "And we should do this again, you know?"

"Oh, we will. I still remember you saying you wanted to eat me out. No way I’m missing that."

"And fuck your mouth." He smirked. "Stop that, or you’re gonna make me hard again."

"Is that a problem?"

"Depends… if you’ll let me fuck you again."

"Not here, Ji. We could get caught. But tomorrow…"

Oh, there was no doubt—you were definitely doing this again. 

Jisung chuckled, running his fingers lazily over your thigh, teasing, but not pushing. 

"Tomorrow, then." His voice was husky, laced with promise.

You stood up, adjusting your bikini enough to head into the shower as he leaned back, watching you with dark, satisfied eyes. The way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine, like he was already planning what he’d do to you next.

"Better get some rest, baby," he murmured. "You’ll need it."

You smirked, biting your lip as you turned to leave, already feeling anticipation curling low in your stomach.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Holy crapsticks, Derek! Some sort of warning of your imminent wolfy arrival wouldn't go amiss you know? You do own a cellphone—I've seen it with mine own two eyes!”

Derek goes to close Stiles's window, turning his head first to hide his almost-smirk.

“Hey, are you laughing at me?” Stiles asks, affronted.

Derek obviously hides it badly. Or maybe Stiles is just better at catching him out than most people.

Stiles wips off one of his socks, balls it up, and launches at Derek's head. Derek catches it easily before fully turning back around. He then sniffs at it, eagerly, just to gross Stiles out.

It smells—nice, honestly.

Stiles gags. “Oh my God, you are such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Derek shrugs.

He kind of can't help himself. It's fun getting snarky with this shithead kid, and it's been a while since he's known what fun looks like.

Derek's an asshole. And he's selfish. Does selfishness makes you an asshole by association? Whatever. He figures he's allowed to be a selfish asshole after everything. He stopped caring about social niceties a while back. Stiles—even if undeserving of a selfish asshole like Derek messing up his life more than it's already messed up—doesn't seem to give two shits about that sort of thing anyway.

There is also something awfully delicious about watching Stiles get riled up. That little jackrabbit heart of his thumping even faster against his frail, human ribcage; those usually pale as the moon cheeks flushing hard as he blushes beautifully from a baby pink through to a deep, blood red.

Selfish Asshole is a pretty good position to be in from where Derek is currently standing, watching a satisfyingly scarlet-faced Stiles flail his skinny arms about like an inflatable tube man outside a cheap car sales room.

He asks Derek what he wants and Derek thinks, you.

It's not exactly a revelation. He's had thoughts. Thoughts he's acted on when he's horny and has a precious few minutes to himself. He'd thought it was just a physical thing, at first.

Until the pool.

He licks at his lips and tastes both Stiles's irritation and his desire.

It's the same for him. Stiles annoys the living crap out of him, but he makes his dick hard too. Plus his heart a little soft, dammit.

It's fucking annoying.

Even more irritating is how there are rules for this shit, ones he actually finds himself wanting to abide by for once. He doesn't really know why but maybe it's because everyone he's been with since the fire has thought he was human, and he doesn't have to pretend with Stiles. Maybe he just likes Stiles more than he thought he did.

He rolls his eyes (not just at Stiles) and shucks Laura's old record bag off his shoulder before opening it and carefully taking out its contents.

“Here, take this.”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously before reaching out and taking the small-ish bundle from Derek's grasp, looking at it as though it might be poisoned. It could be for all Stiles knows, he supposes. The kid sniffs at it with only a fraction of the enthusiasm Derek had for Stiles's sock.

“Dude, why in the name of all that is sacred have you brought me a nosegay? Like, what the fuck is this shit? Looks like a really old Dolmades and smells like, like, I dunno, like somebody shoved a bunch of dead flowers in my Dan-O's jar of Italian Herb seasoning, man. Dear lord,” Stiles complains, holding the homemade smudge stick in the air between a finger and thumb as if it's a dead rat.

…which Derek very much could have gone with instead of an apotropaic charm. To be fair, if he'd chosen an offering as a token of his affections, it probably would've been something a little larger like a rabbit.

Stiles should think himself lucky.

“It's a smudge stick, you idiot,” Derek informs the kid, rolling his eyes again for good measure, and reason. His sockets perpetually ache around this dumbass.

He tosses his bag onto Stiles's desk chair, and himself onto Stiles's bed. Hiding out here a while back left him fairly comfortable around the place.

“Oh! I've read about these a ton on like, magic sites and shit, just—I never actually saw one IRL before.”

Derek scoffs. “Nobody actually says IRL in real life, genius.”

“Well they clearly do, Douchey Mc Dickbag, because I just said it, right here, right now,” Stiles sasses and pulls his tongue out at Derek.

Derek wants to bite and suck on it.

“You don't count. You're not real; you're just one of my recurring nightmares,” he sasses right back because it's fun to.

Selfish asshole.

“Awww, Der-bear! So you not only bring me what is essentially a bunch of flowers on Valentine's Day, but you dream about me too? Honestly, I didn't know you cared, big guy!” Stiles moons, clutching the smudge stick to his chest like a fool.

There's a record scratch moment where Derek has to go back over what Stiles just said.

Valentine's Day?

Before giving himself a chance to panic at the extra pressure this brings, he hears himself saying, “What if I am? And what if I do?” because maybe, actually, thinking about it, this will make it easier for Stiles.

Stiles's heartbeat stutters as he sucks in a big, staccato breath that Derek doesn't think he necessarily meant to take, and he sounds a little incredulous when he whispers, “What?” on the exhale.

Derek gets up off the bed and lopes over to where Stiles is standing, planting himself directly in front of the kid, their noses practically touching. He watches, rapt, as Stiles' cheeks go from moon rocks to rose petals to pools of blood, in a matter of seconds.

“There's white sage and sweetgrass and cedar. And yarrow. Wild indigo. Marigolds, too. And, uh, chamomile and mugwort and rosemary and bay. It's for protection. For you. Because,” he pauses, then thinks fuck it, before barrelling on. “Because I want to protect you, dip-shit,” Derek tells him and hopes, and hopes, and hopes.

I don't know who's gonna protect you from me though, he thinks as Stiles swallows. It sounds like a rock in a lake.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, batting those long, pretty lashes up at Derek as if he has no idea what effect it has on his predatory nature.

He's never known Stiles to speak in one word sentences before now, and he thinks he very much likes knocking the sass right out of the brat like this.

Stiles squirms a little. “Um, I feel kinda bad, now,” he lies, looking down at the singular sock he's still wearing. He doesn't feel bad at all. He smells of pride and excitement and arousal. “I don't have anything to give you.”

Derek says, “Yeah you do; you started leaving your window open again, ” because they both know that ever since the pool, Stiles wants to trust Derek.

This is not a good idea, he thinks. But Derek is a selfish asshole—remember?

He licks at a canine, and Stiles whimpers.

Fuck, Derek thinks as he says, “Also, you could let me do this,” and licks Stiles from jaw to hairline, before he's nestling his entire face into Stiles's neck with a satisfied growl.

“Oh my fucking fuck, Derek, I am so nosegay for you,” Stiles literally whines, and Derek grins as he nips at the kids throat. “It's Happy Valentine's to the both of us then, I guess,” Stiles practically hums, flinging the smudge stick onto his desk before pushing Derek backwards to fall gracelessly onto his bed.

And for the first time in his life Derek thinks, thank fuck for Saint Valentine's.

.

completely unedited so pls be kind, and a very HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 💕 — awoooooooo!

[reidsgfbf]

sweet lips on mine || s. reid

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summary: after an incident with a hickey after spending the night, spencer decides to confront you about your nightly habits, only to get sidetracked warnings!: fem! reader!, unprotected p in v intercourse (wrap it before you tap it babes), hickeys, oral (f receiving), coming in pants (m), coming on stomach, the team tease spencer about the hickey, aftercare is implied but not outright mentioned i don't think a/n: ahh! my first smut fic, and just in time for valentines day too!! i hope you all enjoy!

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Spencer really should have known better than to stay at yours last night. But, alas, when the thunderstorm had started last night, and you had looked at him with those wide, innocent eyes of yours, begging him to stay the night, because ‘you know how many accidents there are during storms, Spence’, he had folded immediately. And now, here he was, late for work; with his shirt haphazardly tucked into his slacks, his tie loosened and his hair messy. He wasn’t even aware of the mark visible on his Adam’s apple that you had made whilst fast asleep. 

Though that lack of awareness did not last long, as the moment he walked into the bullpen, Morgan let out a loud whistle, attracting attention to him. JJ giggled, but tried to hide it behind her hand, though the way her blue eyes sparkled gave it away instantly. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” Morgan wiggled his brows suggestively. 

“What? What do you mean?” Spencer furrowed his brows. 

“One, you’re late, two, your clothes are a mess, and three, you have a hickey the size of a cent on your neck.” Emily replied, and he turned bright red, the flush travelling up his neck to his hairline. 

After all, he could have sworn that he’d kept it chaste with you during the night. Nonetheless, he resolved himself to have a stern word with you when he got back to yours. 

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Finally, Spencer got home, (‘since when had he been calling your apartment home?’ a voice in the back of his mind wondered), and he found you in the bedroom, trying on some new clothes you’d bought, some discarded on the bed, some on the floor surrounding you. Well, clothes was a loose term. They were more like scraps of lacy fabric. You were currently modelling a pretty lilac bra, with tulle ruffles on the cups, and matching panties, that looked like they were made from ribbons. 

Spencer’s breath hitched, and all thoughts of reprimanding you for the hickey flew out of his mind, as blood began to rush down to his cock. You looked stunning, especially in the light of the fake candles you had compromised on when Spencer had panicked about you having actual candles burning whilst you slept. 

You turned around, and startled when you saw Spencer in the doorway, covering yourself up self-consciously. “Spencer! I didn’t hear you come in!” 

“Don’t cover yourself up, please, baby.” Spencer breathed, approaching you with a reverent look in his eyes, like you were an angel, sent down from the heavens to tempt foolish mortals like him. Once he was stood in front of you, he dropped to his knees, holding your hips as he stared up at you. Your cheeks flushed red, and a shy smile appeared on your face. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” you murmured, brushing a lock of his soft brown hair away from his face. The scent of honey wafted up, a reminder of his sweet shampoo. 

“Why?” he asked breathlessly, still gazing at you softly. 

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips. “It does things to me, Spen. So many things.” 

A smile stretched across Spencer’s lips and he laughed. “You do things to me, every day.” he admitted. “When you wake up in the morning, your hair all messy, when you find something you like and bring it home or take a photograph to show me, when you do so many little mundane things, that just make you look like an angel.” 

Heat rose up in your cheeks, and another laugh escaped you. “Spen-” 

“Let me worship you, please.” Spencer pleaded, cutting you off. “You deserve to be worshipped, baby. If you are an angel, then I am your most devout follower, worshipping the very ground you step on, and every breath you take, amazed that you even deign to breathe the same air as me.” 

Those words made you melt, and you let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Spencer.” 

“Can I make love to you, please?” he asked, his hazel eyes sparkling with adoration. How could you resist those pretty puppy dog eyes? Or the way his voice dropped to a whisper on the last word? 

“Darling, you don’t have to ask.” you replied, thumb tracing his lower lip as your fingers danced over his jawline. Spencer rose, and quickly cleared the bed, before grabbing your hips once more and laying you down on the plush duvet cover, and peppering soft kisses all over your face and neck. 

His hands wandered, finding their way to the fastener of your bra, waiting for your permission. You nodded, and he obeyed, his hands fumbling with the garment in his excitement. Once the garment was off, he chucked it over his shoulder and immediately began lavishing attention on your breasts, nibbling at the soft flesh, before latching his mouth onto a nipple, sucking and licking until it was hard, before doing the same to the other one. Then, he trailed kisses down your abdomen, until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without waiting for permission, he wormed them off you, and threw them behind him to join your bra, revealing your lower lips, glistening with your arousal. His cheeks flushed at the obscene sight, though the way his pupils dilated belied his true feelings. 

He spread your thighs gently with his hands, to reveal your pussy in all its glory; the swollen and throbbing nub that was your clitoris, the flushed look of your lips, and the slick arousal coming from your entrance. The sweet yet musky smell of your essence wafted up to his nose and he groaned, before hitching your legs up over his shoulders and diving into your pussy, beginning with a bold lick with the flat of his tongue, before settling on your clit, sucking and flicking the pearl with his tongue, eliciting a simply pornographic moan from you. He groaned against your pussy at the sound, feeling more blood rush down to his cock, which throbbed against the zipper of his trousers, making you moan again with the vibrations. He rutted slightly against the mattress as he ate you out, subconsciously craving relief. 

“Oh, Spencer!” you whined, hands reaching down to fist in Spencer’s hair. 

He continued his ministrations, slipping a finger into your entrance, seeking out the spongy tissue that consisted of your sweet spot. He curled his finger and was delighted to hear you whimper, tugging on his hair as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He inserted another finger and began pistoning them in and out as he suckled on your clit. 

Finally, your climax hit you with full force, and with a broken gasp, you came, arching your back and tightening your grip in Spencer’s hair as your arousal gushed over the lower half of his face. He continued to lick and suckle your clit through your orgasm, his hips stuttering as he spilled into his trousers. Once you came down from the high, he pulled away, pulling out his fingers and licking them clean, before wiping your fluids from his face with the back of his hand. You didn’t mention the wet spot on the front of his slacks, as he kissed you softly, letting you taste yourself on his lips. 

When he pulled away, that reverent expression was on his face once more. “Round two?” he asked, but you held up a hand, quickly grabbing your bottle of Pepsi and taking a swig to try and soothe your suddenly dry throat. Once you had recovered, you nodded. 

“Round two.” 

Spencer smiled and made quick work of his clothes, discarding them in the general direction of the lingerie you had been wearing. His cock was still hard, as if he hadn’t come only a few moments ago, the tip flushed a dusky pink, the veins crisscrossing the shaft throbbing with need. He wasn’t too big, perhaps a little above average, but his slimness made it seem bigger compared to the rest of him. A trimmed garden of curls surrounded the base of his cock, which meant sometimes his precome would drip into the curls. 

He rubbed the leaking head against your slit, moaning at the sensation, before lining himself up with your entrance. Slowly, but surely, he pushed in, sheathing himself inch by agonising inch. Once he was fully seated, he gave you a moment to adjust, before gently beginning to fuck you. No, fuck was too coarse of a word, it was more like making soft, sweet love. 

The pace was slow and gentle, as he nuzzled your neck and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, leaving little hickeys to bloom on your soft skin with each pass of his mouth. Perhaps this was his payback for the night before. 

Eventually, you were close once more to falling off the precipice into bliss. “Ah- Spencer, I’m gonna-” your words were cut off as your orgasm crashed over you, trailing off into a moan. Spencer was close too, and pulled out, his seed spurting out over your mound and stomach, painting it with lewd streaks of white. 

Once the two of you had cleaned up and recovered, you both snuggled up on the bed, ready for sleep to pull both of you into its warm embrace. It was then Spencer remembered what he had meant to talk to you about. 

“Oh yeah, where’d this hickey come from?” he pointed to the mark, and was surprised at how shy you looked. 

“I... bite in my sleep.” you admitted. “Sorry.” 

[thefirstlioveyou]

Mike's Core Fear - No, it isn't not being needed/loved, and no, he doesn't actually need El to need him

Disclaimer: this is technically a discussion on whether mike's Enneagram is type 6 or 2, but this is can still read as a general analysis on mike's actual driving fear. i've been stumped on which he is because of his whole thing with wanting to be needed by el, but still somehow matching entirely as a type 6. i realized while how it may seem his fear is not being needed... it's not the core fear driving mike's actions. also, i'm still learning about the enneagram. bare with me if i mess up or misunderstand something lol. and please correct me

Mike isn't a Type Two just because he wants to be needed by El. He just doesn't relate to any of the motivations of a Two. He isn't wanting or expecting appreciation for his efforts. He doesn't feel under appreciated. Even though he technically is, that isn't relevant to him here. He doesn't care about that. It's the exact opposite. Mike doesn't feel deserving. He feels like he does nothing. He feels inferior to El.

If he is not a Two, this means at his core, Mike's deepest fear isn't not being loved/needed like we've been thinking. Don't get me wrong, it is one of his wants (I mean.. Who doesn't want to be needed and loved?). It's something he canonically cares about... It's just not for the reason we've been thinking. It's not what he desires the most. It's not what he truly fears.

I think his core fear is something along the lines of abandonment/rejection and being without support/guidance, making him a Type Six.

i can't really articulate my explanation with all the terminology since i'm still learning more and more about enneagram typing. but I will try to make sense in my own way lol.

here are some quick things that show me mike's afraid of abandonment and to be without support/guidance:

- he is constantly losing will and el throughout the show in different ways, affecting him greatly every time. loss is already a consistent theme in his story.

- mike hides the real reason for his bruise from el, avoiding potential rejection or embarrassment. he doesn't want el to see him the way others do and essentially drive her away.

- before meeting will, he claims to have felt so scared and alone because he didn't have any friends and knew no one. fear went away once he did finally meet someone. not a lot of kids express feeling scared and alone with tears on the first day of school. scared, sure!! who isn't? but scared and alone? now that's another thing, especially just for the first day.

- one of his fears is revealed in dustin's book. he is scared of letting down the ones he loves. what happens when you let someone down? you're at risk of losing that person's respect, love, support, etc.

- will's "what if they don't like the truth?" resonates with mike. this is similar to the point above. mike is afraid to el the truth because he doesn't want to disappoint and let her down - he's at risk of losing her entirely.

- when mike tries to reach el in s2 on halloween through the walkie talkie, he talks about having a bad day and wishing she was there. he also reaches out again to her after having a bad dinner with his parents and being forced to donate his toys as a punishment. he doesn't specify that to her, but it becomes clear why he's trying to communicate to her. he's trying to cope with events in his own life.

- during mike's monologue, he admits he doesn't know how to live without el. hmmm.

that all being said... as you can probably tell, there's a specific pattern when it comes to el lol. i think it's safe to say:

mike doesn't need el to need him - he needs her.

why? well it makes perfect sense. el is his shield. she has protected him from the main thing that brought him trouble his whole life - his bullies (and the supernatural)

But, she is also the superhero he feels inferior to, the superhero he wishes he could be.. but instead is lois lane (actually, he feels even less than her).

season 1, el protects mike and saves him in multiple occasions from bullies. he is saved from getting ass beat by troy. he is saved from literal death. she saves the whole group as a whole in multiple occasions from the supernatural and government.

mike calls her a weapon. this is important because the only thing mike's seen her use her powers as defense at that point was to defend him from his bullies and when him and lucas were fighting. interesting huh?

Before we see her save him from bullies, we are introduced to the group's experience with bullying. we get a scene where mike is tripped and ends up with a scab on his chin, which he hides from her until she manages to get the truth out of him. She tells him she understands.

ALL THIS is why he keeps referring back to her powers and putting her on a pedestal. THIS is why he sees himself as lois lane and her as superman. Without her, he has no actual defense or "weapon." Without her, he would've died because of his bullies. He is projecting what he wishes he could be on her.

"You can fly." no?? she can make you fly, mike

This is one of the reasons why the cliff scene is SO important. Mike and Dustin are confronted with their bullies who are looking for revenge. The bullies threaten Mike. If he doesn't jump off the cliff, they will cut off Dustin's baby teeth. Mike is defenseless. He doesn't have powers. He can't fight someone who has a knife. His aim is shit enough. He can't do anything. He has to jump and throw away his life, ultimately letting the bullies win. With true bravery, he steps off the cliff for his friend. Gone. Oh wait. He's saved by a supernatural force. He doesn't actually fall to death - He flies his way back to the surface instead! Winning against the bullies... The bullies running away scared... Except... that was all of El's doings. Not his. She's the one who saved him and Dustin. Not him. She's the one who gets the praise, not him. Why would he? Over someone like that? Mike gets it. He's just as impressed.

Similar thing happens in the sauna test. While Mike is the only one with the courage to stop Billy from choking El, it still isn't enough. He once again has to be saved by her.

Notice how he doesn't even try to defend himself as Troy goes for him. He's still like he is in the sauna when Billy has him trapped.

He doesn't fight back. He may start the fight... But he never can finish it. It's either physically impossible or because of discouragement. But, that doesn't stop Mike from for some reason trying again. Still no good.

And even more to think about: He goes about how he thinks El doesn't need him anymore. But.. when has she even suggested to him that she needs him? Like, actually? He's literally just assuming that.

S1, before the trauma of losing her, he was genuinely just trying to help her because she actually did need help. S2, she's not even there. He's literally desperately trying to reach out to her without even hearing anything back from her. He's the one that needs her, not the other way around. S3, she literally basically says it to his face she doesn't need him. S4, el's actions to mike are closed off. she lied the entire time. it's not like she was begging for his help and for him the whole time?

We only ever see HER saving and protecting Mike, not the other way around. There is nothing for Mike to think she needs him. Therefore... This whole thing is just another case of mike projecting once again. Classic Michael! Also very much a Six thing - Projection of fears and insecurities.

Now that we got the whole Mike and El thing out of the way..

If he is a Two, and if he fears not being needed the most, and to be needed is *the* desire, where does the forced conformity part of his storyline even come from then?

Seeing him as a Six makes the forced conformity bit align far better than if he really is a Two.

Season 2. He is immediately confused by Lucas and Dustin's interest in Max. He doesn't understand their crushes the whole season and ends up pissed as hell by it. He refuses to let her in the Party and rejects her (something a type two would not do). In his eyes, she is ruining the structure of the group. Lucas and Dustin spend more time with her during Halloween and ruins his day, later complaining about it to El briefly on the walkie talkie.

He just can't understand their obsession with this girl. He is behind all of them, he feels.. at least based on the least possibly obvious blocking /s.

He's alone on this. They all agree on this except him. The structure of the group is falling apart due to crushes and girls when he obviously doesn't want them to go to the direction.

But by the end of the season, while sitting alone at the snowball as the rest of his friends dance with someone, this is where he finally decides to give in and join the rest in growing up and focus on girls. Mike doesn't want to be behind and alone, but he can't stop this change. They have to grow up. He chooses to stick to society's rules because that's the most secure way through. That's where his friends are, his source of support and guidance, so that's where he'll be.

He needs El because he needs the strength and protection she gives that he believes he doesn't have himself, which he must learn to conquer. He does not want to be left behind and therefore conforms to fit in with his friends, pushing aside all the things he really actually wants. Despite his overwhelming insecurities, he wants to be the paladin he is in DnD. He wants to lead a structured group to victory. He wants to lead his own life instead of following societal expectations, even if he's alone on it (which he won't be)

Mike is stuck with lots of fears and insecurities and is afraid of being without support or guidance. "I don't know how to live without you" tells you exactly what Mike needs to learn - How to live without someone like El who shields him. He must become a hero himself and must believe it is possible, regardless of what his little negative head tells him. He is meant to be Superman.

Mike is a six. End of the post.

(specifically 6w7 but not the argument here lol)

[rafeyssugar]

I seen your posts asking for requests so maybe Pitbull!Rafe x clueless!reader, and by pitbull!Rafe I mean that in the sense of while Rafe can be pretty rough around the edges and rude to other people he's actually pretty sweet with reader and maybe you can include Readers friends asking why she's with him and asking if she needs help and she's just like "huh, what do you mean? He's the nicest guy I know". Maybe she also asks Rafe why'd her friends would get that impression :>

soft spot

rafe cameron had a reputation—a big one. practically everyone in town knew him as the guy you didn’t want to mess with. rough, sharp-tongued, and downright intimidating, he was the kind of guy who could silence a room with just one look.

but to you? he was a completely different person.

you were sitting at the café with your friends, happily sipping on your iced coffee when one of them, sarah, leaned across the table. her expression was full of concern, like she was about to deliver some groundbreaking news.

“so… are you okay?” she asked, her voice low like she didn’t want to be overheard.

you blinked at her, confused. “uh, yeah? why wouldn’t i be?”

“because of rafe,” your other friend, tasha, chimed in, glancing around nervously like he might show up at any second. “he’s so… intense.”

you frowned, tilting your head. “intense? what do you mean?”

sarah sighed, giving you a look like you were being purposefully obtuse. “come on, y/n. we’ve seen him around town. he’s always scowling, yelling at people, getting into fights. we’re just worried about you, that’s all. if you ever feel like you need help—”

“help?” you cut her off, genuinely baffled. “why would i need help? rafe’s the sweetest guy i know.”

tasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “sweet? rafe cameron? are we talking about the same guy?”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “yes, we are! you guys don’t know him like i do. he’s not like that with me.”

your friends exchanged skeptical glances, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because your phone buzzed with a text from rafe:

“outside, princess.”

you smiled at the screen, grabbed your bag, and stood up. “i’ll see you guys later!” you chirped, waving at your friends as you left.

outside, rafe was leaning against his truck, arms crossed over his chest. his usual scowl softened the second he saw you.

“hey, baby,” he said, his voice low and warm as he opened the passenger door for you.

you grinned up at him. “hey.”

once you were inside, rafe slid into the driver’s seat and turned to you, his hand immediately finding its place on your thigh. “your friends giving you shit again?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

you shrugged. “not really. they’re just… confused about you.”

“confused?” he echoed, his tone sharp.

“they don’t understand how sweet you are,” you said, turning to face him fully.

rafe snorted, shaking his head. “sweet, huh? that what you tell ’em?”

“it’s the truth,” you said matter-of-factly, leaning closer. “they think you’re scary.”

“well, good,” he muttered, his jaw tightening for a moment. “they should. keeps idiots away from you.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re impossible.”

rafe’s hand slid up from your thigh to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “yeah, but you love me anyway.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow but deep, full of the kind of tenderness that only you ever got to see. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the idea of any distance between you.

your fingers tangled in his hair, and you sighed against his lips, completely lost in him. when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

“let ’em think what they want, princess,” he murmured. “as long as you know the truth.”

“i do,” you whispered, your voice soft but certain.

rafe smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made your chest ache. he pressed one last kiss to your forehead before starting the truck, his hand never leaving your thigh as he drove off.

hii, this is my first request hope you like it 🩷🩷

[diodellet]

cw: still not feelin 100% with my writing but here's smth to celebrate valentine's day 🤧💕 unbeta'd and cheesy, established relationship fluff

"jamil, would you call yourself the sentimental type or the practical type?"

"why do you ask?" he doesn't look up from his homework.

you make a noise, something between lightly dismayed and exasperated. "…humor me for a bit, won't you?"

he sighs at your petulance. "you know that anything flashy is an automatic 'no.'"

"i know that already! these are the casual options, so are you feeling sentimental or practical?" you sidle up to him, knocking your shoulder against his. flipping the cover of his textbook shut for added measure.

he meets your expectant gaze. there's a very real temptation to play coy, to see what you'd do without his input. but in the last few seconds, you have - once again - managed to stir his heart with easy sincerity.

which was unforgivable, really.

unforgivable how you chipped away at his carefully-crafted nonchalance, how you could elicit that persistent sense of curiosity with the littlest of gestures, how your consideration for him - his position and all that baggage - only intensified the little surprises you brought him.

there's a dangerous temptation to leave it up to you, but that hypervigilant part of him absolutely refuses - in spite of your many good intentions - to have a surprise going sideways.

"if you're thinking of gifting flowers," jamil starts. "you'll have to do it before classes start for the day."

"i'm saving flowers for another special occasion, so stop dodging my question!" and now you were swiping his textbook before slipping away.

of course, he has to give chase.

all it takes is one graceful - dare i say, serpentine - lunge that sends you both sprawled out onto the floor of his dorm room. while pinned under his weight, your arms are vainly stretched away to keep him from reclaiming his stolen book. "i'm not giving it back until i have an answer!"

this only leaves you vulnerable to attack, his fingertips skirting up against your sides, eliciting a shriek that you try (and fail) to tamp down.

"fine. whatever gift ideas you have - " he makes sure to emphasize the plural in that, because if there's anything he's certain about, it is that you aren't rolling up to this valentines' day without at least one gag gift. " - i will only accept if they're discreet."

"okay! okay! i promise i won't embarrass you - mercy!" he lets up. the risk of accidentally getting bludgeoned by his own textbook is too big to ignore.

he doesn't need one of those grand show-stopping gestures. but there's nothing quite as warming as that sort of reminder, that you found him special.

(come the day of hearts, you pass him a small red pouch. there's a mess of ribbons inside all entangled around… a white tube? he undoes the overly-detailed bow and a laugh of disbelief bubbles up from him as he sees what it is.

a menthol inhaler.

there's a small gift tag attached to the ribbon with a note warning against hay fever. in tinier letters, he can almost make out the actual letter. it's a sappy thing that he finds himself rereading at the end of a tiring day, along with a small stack of notes and letters he stashes in a hidden compartment of his nightside table.

of course you'd find a way to make even a little joke sentimental.)

what he doesn't expect is the ten other little gifts you deliver to him throughout the day. but it's safe to say that this was a good start, right?

tagging: @viperwhispered @crystallizsch @twstgo

@sillystr1ngs @bakedgrape @mama-m1na

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies!)

[minoouz]

Love, Unexpected ᜊ ‎ ── ‎ ( 심재윤 )

Pairing :: Jock!Sim Jaeyun x Shy!reader

𝐈 . Genre :: High school au

𝐈𝐈 . Word count :: 6k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 :: fluff, angst towards the end

Now, playing ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Out of Time ( The Weekend )

A/n :: made this for valentines day sorry yall are getting angst and fluff on valentines Day, but yeah, happy valentines Day, you all!!

Valentine’s Day had always been just another day for you.

While the rest of the school buzzed with excitement—couples exchanging gifts, confessions happening left and right, girls giggling as they delivered chocolates to their crushes—you stayed in your usual quiet corner of the library, watching from the sidelines.

You never expected to be a part of the chaos.

And you definitely never expected Jake Sim to sit next to you at lunch, smirking like he had all the time in the world.

"Hey, shy girl."

Your head snapped up, nearly choking on your drink. "W-What?"

Jake chuckled, resting his chin on his palm as he studied you. “Relax, I don’t bite. Just wanted to ask—did you get any valentines today?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “…No. Why?”

His smirk faltered for a brief second. “Really? Not even a secret admirer?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would—”

"Wrong."

Before you could process what was happening, Jake reached into his bag and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box with a red ribbon. Your name was written on a tiny heart-shaped tag—in his handwriting.

Your breath hitched. "This… is for me?"

"Obviously." He grinned, pushing it toward you. "Go on, open it."

With shaky fingers, you untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside was a delicate charm bracelet—a thin silver chain with a small heart and a football charm attached. Simple, but beautiful.

Your chest tightened. “Jake… why?”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I like you.”

Your head snapped up, heart pounding. “What?”

Jake sighed, his usual confidence faltering. “Look, I know what people say about me. And yeah, maybe I used to mess around, but… I’ve never actually put effort into Valentine’s Day before.” His gaze softened. “You’re different, okay? I like you, and I want to do this right.”

Your mind raced. This had to be some kind of joke, right? There was no way Jake Sim, the biggest flirt in school, actually liked you.

Your silence must have worried him because he quickly added, “I’m not playing with you, I swear.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… I don’t get it. Why me?”

Jake let out a small, almost shy laugh. “Because you’re the only girl who doesn’t throw herself at me. You’re kind, smart, and way too cute for your own good.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “I notice you more than you think.”

Your heart clenched. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But a small voice in your head whispered doubts.

Would he get bored of you like he did with the others?

“Jake…” you started hesitantly, gripping the edge of the table. “What if I’m just another phase for you?”

His expression darkened, hurt flashing in his eyes. “You’re not.”

“You say that now, but what if you change your mind in a few weeks? I don’t—” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to be another girl you forget about.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. “That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

His hands clenched into fists on the table. “Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” His voice was firm, desperate. “I know I have a shitty reputation, but I swear to you, this isn’t some game. I don’t want anyone else.”

Your throat tightened. The sincerity in his voice, the way his usual cocky demeanor had crumbled, made you want to believe him.

“…What if I say yes?” you whispered.

His gaze softened. “Then I’ll prove to you every single day that you made the right choice.”

A long silence stretched between you, the sounds of the bustling cafeteria fading into the background.

Then, finally, you nodded. “O-Okay.”

Jake blinked. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, feeling your face heat up. “Yeah.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face—one that wasn’t cocky or teasing, just purely happy.

"Best. Valentine’s. Day. Ever."

And just like that, the school’s biggest playboy wasn’t a playboy anymore. Because for the first time, he had something real to fight for—you.

Dating Jake was nothing like you expected.

At first, it was overwhelming. People stared. Whispers followed you wherever you went. Girls sent you dirty looks in the hallways, some even going as far as asking what made you so special.

Jake, of course, didn’t care.

If anything, he loved showing you off—holding your hand in the halls, walking you to class, throwing an arm around your shoulders at lunch. He was sweet, attentive, and surprisingly patient.

And slowly, you started to believe him.

You let yourself fall.

You let yourself believe in the late-night phone calls, in the way he remembered the little things about you—how you took your coffee, your favorite songs, the way you hated the sound of pencils scratching against paper.

You let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you were different.

Until you weren’t.

It started with a shift.

Jake stopped texting first. Stopped calling. Stopped waiting for you at your locker.

He was still there, but not in the way he used to be. His kisses felt rushed, his mind elsewhere.

And then, the rumors started.

"Did you hear? Jake’s been hanging out with Mia again."

Mia. His ex. The one girl people swore he actually loved.

You didn’t want to believe it. You refused to. But then you saw them—standing in the parking lot, his arm slung around her shoulders, her hand resting on his chest like it belonged there.

Your heart cracked, but you still held on.

Until he gave you no choice.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

You knew those words. Knew what came next.

Still, you forced a smile. "Okay."

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

"I just… I don’t think this is working anymore."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Is it because of her?"

Jake flinched. "It’s not—"

"Don’t lie to me."

A long silence stretched between you before he exhaled, defeated. "I’m sorry."

That was all it took for your world to shatter.

You didn’t cry—not in front of him. You refused to. Instead, you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Okay."

Jake’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. Regret. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because for the first time since meeting him, you finally understood.

You were never different.

You were just another girl he got bored of.

And that hurt more than anything.

[enhasntty]

Cupids Clumsy Love Mission (Send help!) - PSH

pairing: Park Sunghoon x F!reader summary: You’re the worst Cupid ever, and your final mission is to make Park Sunghoon fall in love before Valentines Day. Instead? You accidentally shoot his best friends. Can you fix this disaster? Or will you fail at love—again? genre: Romance wc: 5.3k

I rushed this cuz I just wanted to post something for Valentines Day

Being a Cupid isn’t all pink hearts and romance. It’s stressful, and if you mess up even a little, you get yelled at by your very terrifying boss.

And you? Well, you mess up a lot.

Right now, you’re standing in Arch-Cupid Aphrodite’s grand, sparkling office, feeling like you’re about to be fired. Again.

Aphrodite—who is currently rubbing her temples like you personally gave her a migraine—lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard. “Y/N. My dear, hopelessly clumsy Cupid. Do you have any idea why you’re here?”

You do. But you also don’t feel like answering because the last time you did, you got lectured for an hour.

So, you try to look adorably innocent. “Because… I’m one of your most promising Cupids?”

Aphrodite stares at you. Jungwon, your immediate supervisor (who is standing in the corner looking so done), actually snorts.

“You,” Aphrodite says, her voice sweet like poison, “are the biggest walking disaster this realm has ever seen.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

Jungwon clears his throat. “You accidentally made a grandmother fall in love with her neighbor’s parrot last week.”

You wince. “Okay, but to be fair—”

“And let’s not forget,” Aphrodite continues, eyes burning into you, “that you once hit two people with a single arrow. Do you remember what happened then?”

You do.

That time, you accidentally struck two mortal enemies. It was beautiful for about ten minutes—until they realized what had happened and ended up confessing their hatred for each other instead.

In short: Chaos.

Aphrodite pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are officially on thin ice. One more mistake, and I will demote you.”

Your heart plummets. “Demote me to what?”

Jungwon coughs. “A Lonely Heart Fairy.”

You gasp. “That’s cruel!”

Lonely Heart Fairies don’t even get to shoot arrows. They just float around, handing tissues to heartbroken people and whispering, It’s okay, you’ll find someone someday.

That is not how you imagined your Cupid career going.

Aphrodite, looking smug at your terror, leans forward. “So, this is your final chance. One mission. One human. If you succeed, I might forgive your past mistakes.”

You straighten up, determined. “I won’t let you down.”

Aphrodite smirks. “Oh, I highly doubt that. But let’s see you try.”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she sends the official Cupid Mission file straight into your hands. You eagerly open it and read the name inside.

TARGET: PARK SUNGHOON

MISSION: MAKE HIM FALL IN LOVE BEFORE FEBRUARY 14TH

You blink.

Jungwon whistles. “Oof. Him?”

You frown. “What’s wrong with him?”

Aphrodite leans back in her chair. “Park Sunghoon is not an easy target. The guy doesn’t believe in love. He calls it a ‘scam.’”

You gape at her. “Then why is he my mission?”

“Because,” Aphrodite says, smirking, “if you can make him fall in love, it’ll prove that even you aren’t completely hopeless.”

Well. That’s rude.

But fine. Challenge accepted.

You clutch the file to your chest and swear to yourself—you will make Park Sunghoon fall in love. You will not mess up.

Spoiler alert: You absolutely mess up.

Mortal Realm – Target Locked

You arrive on Earth with the grace of a majestic, ethereal being.

Just kidding.

You trip mid-flight, nearly faceplant into a tree, and barely manage to regain your balance before anyone notices.

Shaking off the near disaster, you hover above a cozy little café where your target—Park Sunghoon is currently sitting with his best friends, Jake and Jay.

You spot him immediately.

Jet-black hair. Sharp features. Dressed in a simple but effortlessly cool outfit. He’s casually stirring his coffee, looking like he was sculpted by the gods themselves—except for the fact that his face is twisted into a deep scowl.

Yeah. That’s definitely a guy who doesn’t believe in love.

You pull out your bow and nock a glowing pink arrow.

“Alright,” you whisper to yourself. “One shot. One target. You got this.”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, sighing as he mutters, “Valentine’s Day is just a corporate scam to sell chocolate and flowers.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Jake, ever the golden retriever of the group, gasps dramatically. “You don’t believe in love?”

Sunghoon scoffs. “No. It’s fake.”

You gasp. Blasphemy.

This man needs to be humbled. And you’re just the Cupid to do it.

With renewed determination, you take aim, steady your grip, and release—

And then your foot catches on a rogue cloud.

You yelp as you lose balance mid-air. Your arrow, which was perfectly aimed for Sunghoon’s heart, goes completely off course—

—And smacks straight into Jake’s back.

You have made many mistakes in your Cupid career.

Once, you accidentally shot an arrow into a wedding bouquet, causing the bride to fall in love with the cake. Another time, you somehow managed to hit a guy who was already in love, making him propose on the spot—except it wasn’t to his girlfriend, but to a random waitress.

But this? This is a new low.

Because right now, you’re watching Jake Sim—the human embodiment of a golden retriever—practically glow with love as he gazes at Jay like he just discovered the meaning of life.

And Jay?

Jay looks horrified.

“This is bad,” you mutter under your breath, hovering above the chaos.

Understatement of the year.

Jake’s Problem? He’s Now Head Over Heels for Jay.

Jake has always been affectionate. But now, thanks to your horrible aim, he’s dialed it up to a hundred.

Currently, he’s practically bouncing after Jay as they walk down the street.

“Jay,” Jake sighs dreamily. “You have the best fashion sense. Like, how do you always look so cool?”

Jay pulls his hoodie up, walking faster. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

Jake, completely ignoring him, continues, “And your voice? It’s got that deep vibe, you know? I feel like you should be a narrator for a really romantic drama.”

Jay stops dead in his tracks.

He turns, expression unreadable. “Jake.”

Jake beams. “Yeah?”

Jay looks him dead in the eyes. “I will fight you.”

Jake’s smile widens. “You’d totally win.”

Jay lets out the deepest sigh of his life.

Sunghoon, standing to the side with his hands shoved in his pockets, just watches the whole exchange. He glances between his best friends, squinting like he’s trying to solve a math problem.

“Okay,” Sunghoon finally says. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Jay groans. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

Jake grabs Jay’s hand dramatically. “Jay, don’t act like you don’t feel it too.”

Jay yanks his hand away so fast it nearly dislocates Jake’s arm. “I don’t feel it.”

Sunghoon sighs, looking utterly bored. “Is this your way of telling us you two are in love or something? Because I honestly couldn’t care less.”

Jay gags. “No!”

Jake blinks. “Wait, do you not like me back?”

Jay looks him straight in the eye. “I would rather be run over by a bus.”

Jake pouts. “Ouch.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Well, that clears things up.”

Jake, still pouting, turns back to Jay. “But you could like me, right?”

Jay groans again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like you, and I never will.”

You, watching from above, feel guilty at the sheer amount of distress on Jay’s face.

Jungwon, through the Cupid communication line, is screaming.

Jungwon: FIX IT. FIX IT RIGHT NOW.

Heeseung: I say we wait.

You? You’re panicking.

Because Cupid arrows are strong. They don’t just fade in an hour. If you don’t fix this, Jake is going to be hopelessly in love with Jay until next Valentine’s Day.

So you do what any desperate Cupid would do:

You grab another arrow, aim at Sunghoon, and fire.

And then—because you are you—Jay chooses that exact moment to move in front of him.

Jay. Gets. Hit.

You want to scream.

Because now, instead of one person suffering, both Jake and Jay are staring at each other like they’ve just discovered true love.

Jay, who only minutes ago looked like he wanted to punch Jake into another dimension, suddenly tilts his head.

“Wait,” Jay says slowly, eyes softening. “Jake, have your eyelashes always been that long?”

Jake gasps. “You noticed?!”

Jay suddenly looks deeply troubled. “Why do I care?”

Sunghoon, watching this disaster unfold, just stares.

Then, without missing a beat, he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You are dying.

Up in Cupid HQ, Jungwon has officially lost it.

Jungwon: I want you fired.

Ni-ki: Best day of my life.

Your Crisis? Sunghoon STILL Doesn’t Believe in Love.

You cannot believe this.

This guy is ridiculous.

You’ve literally shot two of his best friends with powerful love arrows, and his reaction? Mild annoyance.

Sunghoon, watching Jake and Jay now complimenting each other’s hairstyles, lets out the longest sigh.

“I’m going home,” he announces, walking away without a care in the world.

Jake and Jay don’t even notice.

You? You are on the verge of tears.

Jungwon is still screaming at you through the Cupid system.

Ni-ki? Laughing so hard he might pass out.

And you?

You have no idea how to fix this.

But one thing is for sure:

This mission is already a disaster.

Cupid Rule #1: Never shoot yourself with your own arrow.

Cupid Rule #2: Never shoot yourself with your own arrow.

Cupid Rule #3: If you do shoot yourself with your own arrow… just accept the fact that you’ve ruined everything.

And yet, here you are.

Floating above a coffee shop, clutching your chest like a dramatic K-drama lead, because your own stupid love arrow is now lodged in you.

Up in Cupid HQ, everyone is losing their minds.

Ni-ki: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.

Heeseung: I am so happy to be alive right now.

Jungwon: I need a new job.

You? You are screwed.

But before you can even process what just happened, let’s rewind a little—

Sunghoon, The Oblivious Skeptic, Finally Notices Something is Off

Sunghoon is not dumb.

He may not believe in love, but he knows his best friends. And right now? His best friends are acting insane.

For one, Jake—who normally spends half his time annoying Jay and the other half talking about his dog—is suddenly acting like a love-struck poet.

He’s sitting on the café couch with his notebook open, eyes shining as he reads out loud:

“Jay, your voice is like the deep bass in my favorite song—”

“Jake, stop.”

“Your eyes? Pools of mystery, endless depth—”

“STOP.”

Jay, who normally meets Jake’s antics with an eye roll and a punch to the arm, is now blushing.

BLUSHING.

Sunghoon stares. Hard.

“What,” Sunghoon finally says, “is wrong with you two?”

Jake grins like a lovesick idiot. “We just get each other, man.”

Sunghoon blinks. “No, you don’t.”

Jay clears his throat, trying—and failing—to hide his flustered expression. “It’s not a big deal.”

Jake scoots closer, looking way too happy. “Jay, do you believe in fate?”

Sunghoon gags. “Oh my god.”

Jay’s entire face heats up. “I—I don’t—”

Sunghoon immediately slaps his hands over his ears. “Nope. I refuse to listen to this.”

He stands up, pacing. “You two are messing with me. That’s the only explanation. You’re pranking me.”

Jay crosses his arms. “Do you really think I would put myself through this willingly?”

Jake gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Jay, how could you?”

Sunghoon watches them for a long moment, before finally saying, “Okay. I don’t know what kind of experiment you guys are running, but I’m out.”

With that, he turns to leave.

Which means it is finally your chance to fix this.

Your Genius Plan (That Backfires Horribly)

You have been hiding behind a cloud this whole time, desperately trying to figure out how to salvage this mess.

Jake and Jay? Disasters.

Sunghoon? Still as emotionally unavailable as a locked safe.

Your mission? Still a failure.

But not for long.

Because this time, you’re prepared.

You grip your bow, pull back the string, and line up the perfect shot. Sunghoon is standing still, facing away from you. No distractions. No mistakes. You can do this.

You take a deep breath—

—And then, at the exact moment you release the arrow, Sunghoon suddenly turns his head.

Your eyes widen. Your stomach drops.

And before you can do anything—

The arrow hits you.

Cupid HQ: The Breakdown

The moment the arrow lodges itself into your chest, everything in Cupid HQ explodes.

Ni-ki screams so loudly, his audio cuts out.

And Jungwon?

Jungwon just silently places his head on his desk.

Ni-ki: Oh my God. You idiot.

Jungwon: I am filing my resignation.

And you?

Well.

You’re in trouble.

The Sudden, Horrifying Realization

The moment the arrow hits, your heart skips a beat.

And then it skips again when Sunghoon looks up.

You stare at him. Your face heats up.

Oh.

Oh no.

Because suddenly, Sunghoon’s messy hair looks a little more attractive than before.

And his sharp, unimpressed gaze? Feels more like smoldering intensity.

And when he crosses his arms and tilts his head—you almost swoon.

You clap a hand over your mouth.

No. No. NO.

This cannot be happening.

You weren’t supposed to fall for him.

Jungwon: How does it feel to be the dumbest Cupid in history?

Heeseung: We should let this play out.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon is Still Clueless

Sunghoon, completely unaware that you are currently losing your mind over him, sighs.

“Whatever. I’m going home.”

He turns, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and starts walking.

You just hover there, staring.

Is he… kinda cute?

No. No, no, NO. Get it together, Y/N.

But then he pushes a hand through his hair—casually, effortlessly—and the sunlight catches on his skin, making him glow just a little—

And you die inside.

This is the worst day of your entire existence.

The New, Horrifying Problem

You were supposed to make Sunghoon fall in love.

Instead, you shot yourself.

And now?

You have a tiny, very inconvenient crush on the one person who doesn’t believe in love.

Cupid HQ is still in chaos.

Jungwon is weeping. Ni-ki is wheezing. Heeseung is sending bets in the group chat.

And you?

You are so doomed.

Let’s do a quick recap.

You, a very bad Cupid, were supposed to make Park Sunghoon fall in love.

Instead, you shot his best friends, created an accidental love triangle, and—for the grand finale—shot yourself.

Now, you have a tiny, highly inconvenient crush on the one person who thinks romance is a scam.

Ni-ki is still laughing about it. Jungwon looks like he’s aged ten years. Heeseung? He’s treating this whole disaster like premium entertainment.

And you?

You are struggling.

It turns out, having feelings for someone makes you insufferably dumb.

Because now, every single thing Sunghoon does feels like a personal attack.

Like, when he pushes his hair back?

Why is that attractive?! It’s just hair!

Or when he leans against a wall with his arms crossed, looking all broody?

And don’t even get started on the way his jaw clenches when he’s annoyed.

One second, he’s frowning at his phone, and the next—

“OH MY GOD,” you whisper-shriek, floating behind him in total distress.

You slap a hand over your face, trying to will yourself into being normal.

It does not work.

Meanwhile, Jake and Jay Are Thriving

While you are having a full-blown crisis, Jake and Jay? They’re living their best romcom lives.

Jake, ever the golden retriever, has fully embraced his new romantic feelings.

“Jay,” he says one morning, beaming. “I made you a playlist.”

Jay blinks. “What?”

Jake shoves his phone in Jay’s face. On the screen, the playlist title reads: Songs That Remind Me of You.

Jay freezes. His ears go red.

“I—I don’t want this,” he huffs, pushing the phone away.

“Yes, you do,” Jake singsongs.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“I’M NOT—”

Jay glares, swipes the phone, and storms off—only to listen to the playlist on repeat for the next three hours.

Sunghoon, watching this unfold from across the room, looks deeply disturbed.

“What the hell is happening?” he mutters.

Sunghoon Starts Getting Suspicious

Jake and Jay acting like a couple? Weird.

You always being around? Even weirder.

The first few times, Sunghoon brushes it off as coincidence.

But then he starts noticing things.

Like how every time he turns around, you seem to be lurking nearby.

Or how you always look slightly panicked whenever he makes eye contact with you.

Or how, just yesterday, you were definitely staring at his arms when he rolled up his sleeves.

“…Do I know you?” he asks one afternoon, narrowing his eyes at you.

You freeze mid-hover. “W-what?”

“You. You’re always around.” He crosses his arms. “Are you following me or something?”

You panic. Hard.

“No!” you blurt out. “Absolutely not. I’m just—uh—admiring the architecture!”

Sunghoon looks up.

There is nothing special about the building.

“…Right.”

You internally scream.

Your Attempts to Act Normal (That Fail Miserably)

After that awkward encounter, you decide you need to calm down.

Sunghoon is just a mission. You are not actually in love with him. You just need to focus.

And so, you make a plan:

1. Avoid getting flustered.

2. Stop swooning like an idiot.

3. Act like a normal, non-crushing Cupid.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

Because that same evening, Sunghoon sits down at a café, flips open a book, and absently runs a hand through his hair—

And you promptly walk into a tree.

Not even float into it.

Just. Full-on. Smack. Into. A. Tree.

Sunghoon looks up at the sound of impact.

You, clinging to the tree, barely manage to whisper:

“I’m fine.”

Up in HQ, Ni-ki falls off his chair.

Ni-ki: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Jungwon: I give up.

Heeseung: Y/N, if you die from embarrassment, can I take over your mission?

You groan, wishing you could sink into the ground.

Sunghoon’s Suspicion Levels: Increasing

By the end of the day, Sunghoon is fully convinced something weird is going on.

Not just because of Jake and Jay, but because of you.

The girl who keeps showing up.

The girl who always looks flustered.

The girl who walked into a literal tree trying to avoid eye contact.

Who are you?

And why do you look like you’re hiding something?

Sunghoon doesn’t believe in love.

But he does believe in mysteries.

And right now?

You are the biggest mystery of all.

At this point, you have accepted the harsh truth:

Park Sunghoon is immune to romance.

Like, actually, scientifically, impossibly immune.

Jake and Jay? They’re currently starring in their own accidental love story, complete with playlists, bickering disguised as flirting, and moments where they gaze at each other a little too long.

Sunghoon?

Still out here giving full-blown TED Talks about how love is a scam.

And you?

You are losing your mind.

Aphrodite is not pleased.

Her latest very aggressive message flashes across your Cupid communication screen:

Aphrodite: Y/N, do I need to remind you that FAILURE = DEMOTION?

Jungwon: I’d like to remind her just for fun.

Heeseung: Don’t stress her out more, dude.

Ni-ki: No, stress her out. This is hilarious.

Your job is on the line, your mission is falling apart, and you might still have a tiny inconvenient crush on the guy you’re supposed to be matchmaking.

So, naturally, you decide to do the only logical thing:

Force some romance into Sunghoon’s life.

Attempt #1: The Love Letter Approach

You figure this is a classic. Who doesn’t love a good anonymous love letter?

So, late at night, you slip a handwritten note into Sunghoon’s locker at the skating rink:

“Your eyes remind me of winter—cold, sharp, and impossible to ignore.”

Very poetic. Very swoon-worthy. You nailed it.

Except…

The next morning, Sunghoon pulls the note out, reads it, and immediately frowns.

Jay leans over. “What’s that?”

Sunghoon flips the paper around. “Spam.”

Jake blinks. “Spam?”

“Yeah. Probably some dumb prank.” Sunghoon crumples it up and tosses it into his bag. “People are weird.”

You, hiding behind a vending machine: “I HATE IT HERE.”

Up in HQ, Ni-ki is wiping tears from his eyes.

Jungwon: Y/N, this is painful to watch.

Heeseung: I mean… in his defense, it does sound kinda dramatic.

Attempt #2: The Cute Coffee Shop Encounter

Fine. Love letters were a flop, but this? This is foolproof.

You set everything up perfectly. A cozy little café, soft background music, a warm and inviting atmosphere—peak romance vibes.

You even nudge fate a little so that Sunghoon and a sweet girl accidentally sit at the same table.

This is it. This is your moment.

Sunghoon takes a deep breath. Looks at the menu.

And orders a black coffee.

No pastries. No small talk. No heartwarming moment with the girl fate literally pushed into his lap.

He drinks his coffee. Stands up. Leaves.

Up in HQ, Jungwon is silently crying into his hands.

Attempt #3: The Classic “Accidentally Fall into His Arms” Trick

This is it.

Your last resort.

The golden move of every romcom protagonist in history.

The plan? Simple.

You will “accidentally” trip in front of Sunghoon. He will catch you. You will lock eyes. His heart will stutter with newfound emotion.

Boom. Romance unlocked.

Except…

The second you step forward to execute the plan—

Your foot catches on absolutely nothing, and instead of a graceful, slow-motion fall…

You FULLY EAT THE SIDEWALK.

Like. Face-first. Absolute destruction.

Sunghoon pauses mid-step, staring down at you in pure amusement.

“…Are you okay?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You, still face down on the pavement: “I’m fine.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “You fall a lot.”

You stay lying on the ground, contemplating every life choice that led you here.

At this point, you’re not sure what’s worse—the fact that Sunghoon is still immune to romance…

Or the fact that you’re falling harder than ever (literally and figuratively).

This is a bad idea.

A horrendous, catastrophic, should-be-illegal kind of idea.

Yet, here you are, sitting in Cupid HQ, staring at Ni-ki like he’s lost his mind.

“Fake date him.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

Ni-ki leans forward, grinning like a man who thrives on chaos. “Think about it! Sunghoon doesn’t believe in love, right? What better way to prove it’s real than by making him experience it firsthand?”

Heeseung, the traitor, nods. “Honestly… kinda genius.”

Jungwon?

Jungwon looks like he aged ten years in the past two minutes.

“I hate this. I hate all of this,” he groans, rubbing his temples. “Do you people even hear yourselves? Fake dating never ends well!”

Ni-ki shrugs. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Jungwon mutters something about quitting his job and moving to a stress-free dimension, but you’re too busy spiraling.

Because this plan?

It’s INSANE.

And yet…

For some stupid reason, you go through with it.

Step One: Trick Sunghoon into Fake Dating You

Unfortunately, Sunghoon is not an easy person to fool.

It takes a full week of strategic planning, some questionable emotional manipulation (“Don’t you wanna prove love is fake once and for all?”), and a little bit of divine intervention (thank you, fate), but somehow—somehow—you convince him.

“Well, fine,” Sunghoon says after an obnoxiously long silence. “But this is strictly business.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Step Two: Survive Sunghoon’s ‘Dating Contract’

Because Sunghoon?

Yeah, he takes this whole thing like an actual corporate deal.

He hands you a list of rules.

1. No actual flirting. (Not a problem. You’re totally normal around him. Totally.)

2. No unnecessary touching. (Does this mean ‘no holding onto his arm when he looks stupidly good in a leather jacket’? Asking for a friend.)

3. No kissing. (Okay, no one even brought that up, but now you can’t stop thinking about it??)

“Got it?” Sunghoon asks, raising a brow.

You nod. “Yup. Totally fine. Easy.”

Spoiler alert: It is not fine.

Step Three: Try Not to Fall Apart (Fail Miserably)

Because here’s the problem.

Sunghoon?

He’s way too good at the boyfriend act.

Like, way too good.

He casually puts his arm around your chair at restaurants. Calls you by stupidly attractive pet names as a joke. Winks.

WINKS.

And you?

You are suffering.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually suffering.

Meanwhile, Jake & Jay Are Thriving

Jake and Jay—are having the time of their lives.

They find your total breakdown hilarious.

“So, uh…” Jake smirks over his iced Americano. “On a scale of one to I’m screwed, how bad is it?”

You glare. “I am not screwed.”

Jay, scrolling through his phone, doesn’t even look up. “You’re so screwed.”

Jake grins. “We should bet on how long it takes before you break.”

“Oh, I’m in,” Jay agrees, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Two weeks, max.”

Jake hums. “Nah, I give them ten days.”

You groan, slamming your head onto the table.

Sunghoon, sipping his black coffee, completely oblivious.

You are officially doomed.

Something is wrong.

Very, very wrong.

And for once, it’s not your fault.

Because Sunghoon?

Yeah, he’s acting different.

At first, you try to ignore it. Maybe you’re just imagining things. Maybe it’s just the fake dating getting to your head.

But then—

Exhibit A: Sunghoon starts remembering your coffee order.

You don’t even think he listens when you talk about it, but one day, you’re yawning at a café, brain completely fried, and suddenly—

“Here,” Sunghoon says, shoving a cup into your hands.

You blink down at it.

It’s your exact order. Right down to the little extra shot of vanilla syrup you never actually say out loud but always get.

You stare at him. “You… got me coffee?”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his own drink. “You always take forever to decide. Figured I’d save us time.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Exhibit B: He starts guiding you through crowds.

Which, okay, is normal… except it’s not.

Because before, Sunghoon would just walk ahead and let you struggle. But now?

Now, every time you’re out together, he instinctively grabs your wrist and tugs you along, effortlessly weaving through people.

The worst part?

It’s casual. Like he doesn’t even think about it. Like it’s just natural for him now.

Like—WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Exhibit C: He starts looking at you for just a little too long.

Like when you’re laughing at something Jake said. Or when you’re rambling about your favorite snacks. Or when you’re just existing, and suddenly you feel his gaze linger on you.

And the way he looks—

It’s different.

It’s soft. Curious. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

And you?

You are losing it.

Cupid HQ is, of course, fully invested.

Ni-ki: IS THIS IT?? IS HE FALLING???

Heeseung: I think she’s the one falling.

Jungwon: I don’t even care anymore. Just tell me when they crash and burn.

And honestly?

They don’t have to wait long.

Because then—

Then disaster strikes.

The Moment Everything Goes Horribly Wrong

It’s late. You’re at Sunghoon’s place, casually not panicking over your very real feelings, when—

“Hey, what’s this?”

You freeze.

Sunghoon is standing near his couch, holding something. Something very, very bad.

Your Cupid equipment.

The bow. The arrows. The mission papers.

Everything.

Your blood runs cold.

Sunghoon frowns, turning over one of the documents. “Mission… ‘Make Park Sunghoon Fall in Love by Valentine’s Day’?”

Your heart stops.

Panic explodes in your chest.

“Sunghoon—”

His eyes flick to you, realization slowly sinking in.

Then, finally—

“You…” His voice is eerily quiet. “This was all fake?”

You swear you hear your soul leave your body.

Sunghoon steps back. His jaw clenches. His hands tighten around the paper like he’s physically holding himself together.

And you—

You realize, too late, that this isn’t just fake dating anymore.

This isn’t just some Cupid assignment gone wrong.

This is real.

He’s hurt.

Sunghoon scoffs, shaking his head. “So what was the plan, huh?” He waves the papers in the air. “Make me fall in love and then what? Laugh about it later?”

You feel sick. “No, it wasn’t—”

“Or was I just some stupid experiment to prove love is real?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. Your hands shake. “I—”

You don’t know what to say.

Because no matter what, the truth is awful.

Sunghoon was right about love. It is fake—at least, it was for you at first. And now?

Now you don’t even know what’s real anymore.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Then, without another word—

He walks out.

You are officially heartbroken.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

The final day.

And Sunghoon still won’t talk to you.

Which, honestly? Fair.

But for the first time since this mission began, you don’t care about Cupid HQ, your job, or the threat of demotion.

You just want to fix things.

So, like the true disaster Cupid you are, you decide to break every rule in existence.

Rule #1: Humans Aren’t Supposed to See Cupids

You ignore it.

You push past the barrier between realms, your wings shimmering into existence as you land in front of Sunghoon’s apartment.

Then, without thinking, you knock.

The door swings open.

And there he is.

Park Sunghoon.

Looking unimpressed and very much still mad at you.

“…You again.”

You nod, wings twitching nervously. “Me again.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “How did you even—?”

“I’m a Cupid,” you blurt. “We have our ways.”

Sunghoon sighs. “Of course.”

And then, before he can close the door on your face—

You start explaining.

The Truth, Unfiltered

Everything.

The mission. The arrows. The way you accidentally destroyed Jake and Jay’s lives. The way you were supposed to make Sunghoon fall in love, but ended up falling for him instead.

You spill it all.

Sunghoon just listens. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.

You swallow, heart pounding.

“And that’s it,” you finish quietly. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. But I did.”

More silence.

And then—

Sunghoon sighs. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I knew something was off,” he mutters. “Because there’s no way I actually fell for you that easily.”

You freeze.

You blink.

“…Wait. You—”

Before you can finish, Sunghoon leans in and kisses you.

Your brain malfunctions.

Because Sunghoon is kissing you.

Because this is real.

Because he actually fell for you, despite all the disasters.

When he pulls away, he smirks. “I hope you know this means your mission failed.”

You blink, still dazed. “What?”

“You were supposed to make me fall in love,” he teases. “But I did that on my own.”

Your heart combusts.

And then—

Sunghoon pulls you in again.

Then, somewhere in the distance, someone yells, “WHAT THE ACTUAL—”

You barely have time to process the fact that your comms are still on before a burst of light explodes in the room. A portal rips open, and three very panicked Cupids—Ni-ki, Heeseung, and Jungwon—come flying through.

“You—” Ni-ki chokes, pointing at you. “You idiot!”

Heeseung is hyperventilating. “You told him? You broke the rules? Do you want to get turned into a pigeon?!”

Jungwon, ever the responsible one, just groans and rubs his temples. “We are so getting fired for this.”

Sunghoon blinks at them. Then at you. “Is this normal for you?”

You sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”

And just like that, Sunghoon—stoic, unshakable Sunghoon—bursts into laughter.

Meanwhile, Somewhere in the Chaos…

“Wait.”

Jake suddenly sits up straight at the café, blinking rapidly.

Jay, sitting across from him, narrows his eyes. “What?”

Jake shakes his head like a confused puppy. “I—I think I just woke up.”

Jay’s stomach drops. “…Oh no.”

Jake’s eyes widen. He stares at Jay. At the romantic playlist. At the love letters.

And then—

Jay gasps. His own brain clears.

They look at each other.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“…Dude,” Jake whispers.

“…Don’t,” Jay warns.

“…Did we just—”

“DO NOT SAY IT.”

...

Final Score?

Mission: Successful.

Your dignity? Still questionable.

Jake and Jay? …In emotional recovery.

Cupid chaos? Forever.

Likes and Reblogs are much appreciated!!

[perpetuallyfive]

I know the "why are you a child" stuff is at least partially played for laughs, but this week something else struck me while watching Miss Huang interact with Seth Milchick. There have been a lot of really insightful posts going around about Milchick and his position at the company as a black man. Obviously we saw how he was the one to clean up every single mess under Cobel, but even now in his new position of authority he is still tasked with essentially the same duties, only more.

And it occurred to me that the board who views him in this way might subconsciously — or perhaps even consciously — think that the only assistant you could give a black man and still have him viewed as a figure with any authority is if he is standing next to an actual child. He is left to do so much of the assistant work because they have left him with an assistant incapable of doing that work. Miss Huang isn't going to ride a motorcycle all across the city to get shit done. Milchick has to do it.

Even in power, he is slighted again and again, and we can see clearly how much of that is by design. If he is made to feel powerless and constantly in peril, then surely there's no way he would align himself with the innies that are the only beings the company actually thinks are less than he is.

I really can't wait until Seth reaches the point where he wants to break shit.

[semihearts]

Wait you think I’m pretty?

Pairing: Thanos x reader

Summary: Thanos and you are childhood friends and joined the game together, when he almost mess up during a game for being too high, he understands that you cant loose him… because you love him

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hope you like this one!! Feel free to leave opinions and suggestions <3

༺ ༽♡༼ ༻

When you agreed on joining some shit game Thanos was talking about all week, you could never guess that they weren’t just normal games, but actually deadly ones.

-‘’Where the fuck did you get us in Thanos? I swear I’ll kill you”. -“Senorita relax!! This first game was easy, ,we’ll make out of here alive with all that money”.

You and Thanos are friends since you can remember, and honestly you can never get used to his weird personality and he still manages to get you surprised all the time. Of course he brought with him his necklace, which is full of surprises as well, but you didn’t expect that in a place like this, his first concern was to get high as hell.

During lights out, Thanos would get in your bed and lay with you, and you knew he never slept. Maybe its the effects of the drugs, but you like to believe that he’s taking care of you - and you’re actually correct, he could never sleep knowing that there’s even crazier people then him a few steps away, who knows what they would try to do to you if he weren’t close -.

During mingle, he always made sure to grab your hand and tried to stay focused, even though he was literally seeing rainbows and unicorns - all thanks to the colored pills on his cross-. When the robotic voice said Two, he already knew who to pick. You ran first to secure a room, but once you got there… where the fuck was Thanos?

In the middle of the room, there he was. Completely still, with a confused face, and lost eyes, is he out of his mind??

-‘’Thanos!! Thanos what the hell are you doing?” You screamed his name but it seemed like he was in another world

10, 9, 8…

You ran towards him, grabbed his arm and ran, of course there was people getting in the room you secured before, as you had to leave it. Thanos was clearly off, his life was in a thin line and he had no reaction or expression. This game is about surviving, even if it means killing others, and that’s the thought you stuck to.

Using all your willpower, you managed to push those players out of the room and drag Thanos inside, locking the door.

-“Thanos!” Nothing -“Thanos!!” Nothing -“Su-bong!” His eyes were immediately on you.

Like he just woke up from a bad dream, his eyes found yours, he was awake. You never called him by his real name, which is almost dead to him, he is Thanos, that’s him now, he’s way happier being this new person.

‘’What- what just happened? Oh my God Senorita I’m literally sooo high right now-“

‘’Im tired of this, really Thanos. You could’ve died right there, all thanks to these stupid pills. But of course you never listen to me when I tell you to not use them before a game. I don’t know why out of everyone I chose to love you! You’re a complete idiot”.

“Wait did you just confess?”

“That you’re a jerk?”

“Nah fuck that, you just said that you love me girl”.