#well not an oven technically

[haematoclan]

In Rise Leo is shown to burn a simple toast but be able to make a good pizza:

So I've been wondering, why is that?

Now, this could be a simple inconsistency but I have a headcanon that might explain it a little!

I think Leo can cook but only a more advanced recipes, they keep his brain engaged and demand more of his attention which leads into him naturally putting more effort!

but a simple dishes like a normal toast or fried eggs? he cannot do it, his mind swims away the moment he starts, he thinks it's too simple to fuck up, gets overconfident and flippant and - wouldn't you know it - he fucks up! (something that seems to happen to him often in general and I just think it's interesting!)

[fudgecake-charlie]

thinking about them every day

Got some time today to just sit and try to relax and draw whatever which is really nice

[vesperblood]

i made blueberry jam and then i made turnovers with the blueberry jam if you even care

[sparkyscissorhands]

bro why did i even consider start talking about our fankid,, when i could be talking about our freaky looking ass dog instead

[skaruresonic]

no fear

"Bloober remaking Silent Hill 3, which has far fewer defenders because the game gets classified either as 'cult crap' or 'women's horror,' ignoring its psychological elements"

one fear

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

If you could eat any food from lord of the rings which would you like to try?

Anything Samwise Gamgee is making with a fully stocked pantry and the kitchen of his dreams.

I bet that man can cook.

And I’m NOT allowed to cook. For many reasons.

[twowivestwoknives]

think it's been hitting me just exactly how unstable my housing and work situations are even if theyre good right now and im like. fuck i knew but my brain is Absorbing the Knoweledge it's been hiding for years

[plantdewdrops]

I need these April showers to stop; we’ve already had enough rain for May flowers and I wanna fire up the grill and pizza oven! my khaki shorts are laying sadly in the corner waiting for Summer to arrive

also the town is flooded and even up here on the hill the rainwater is seeping in through the foundation into my bathroom

[connormoving]

im making brownies btww. and also i had an edible

[caffeinewitchcraft]

In a world of superpowers there has to be people who choose not to be heroes or villains or vigilantes

“Yeah, I can technically fly, but it’s too much of a hassle. Filing a flight plan takes just as long as driving…”

“I don’t even get WHY laser eyes rank so high up, it’s not like they’re very useful unless you’re trying to destroy a building…can’t even cut vegetables with them without slicing the counter.”

“I know invulnerability would be incredible for a hostage negotiator, but I want to be a baker! Would it be a ‘better use’ of my power to you if I don’t use oven mitts?!”

“Please stop calling, just because I can run fast doesn’t mean I even want to run in the first place. Besides isn’t super speed outlawed in the Olympics? Not yet? Well it should be!”

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][tim's 19-20][oral (m! receiving)][handjob][servicedom!reader][cowgirl][reverse cowgirl][doggy style][msub][loss of virginity][strangers to lovers][ball sucking][nipple sucking][raw][drool][ass play]

Tim knows it's pretty pathetic to lose his virginity on a dating app but he also knows that tonight's the only night he'll have free time for a good long while.

Which is why he left the cave, barely with a thought in his mind other than to get laid. So much so that he forgets about the communication device stuffed into his ear, since he was, still technically, on duty.

But pussy first.

And besides, he needs to lose it before 20 otherwise he needs to legally change his name to Phil McCrack. The bet being courtesy of Jason, and Tim lets out a huff of a breath, readjusting his hoodie for what could only be the 8th time before he stares up at the door of your apartment.

Homemade dinner, a movie and sex.

That's all that's on the itinerary for tonight.

A jittery hand lifts and Tim pensively knocks on the pinewood. Anxious, excited, all the same but the preparedness seems to melt away when you pull open the door, hair pulled back and eyes staring up at him, and Tim swallows. Loud.

He's not prepared.

He isn't prepared at all.

You don't look like your picture.

You catfished him.

Your eyes are brighter in real life, he gets to watch the sweet smile take place on your lovely face, instead of just being limited to it being captured in pixels and he gets to see the way your head tilts at him, carefully giving him a once over before you step out of the way, letting him into the cozy apartment.

He's more nervous than he'd like to let on.

Tim wipes his palms on his sweatpants, shifting awkwardly on his feet before following you into the kitchen, watching intently as you slip on oven mitts, pulling out the cast iron tray from the oven and Tim stares at the large, homemade pizza.

Overflowing cheese, sweet red sauce peeking out along the crusts and pepperoni scattered so generously. And he lets out a shaky breath.

"It looks really good." Tim compliments softly, looking down at you with those pretty eyes as you give him a sweet smile, slicing the pizza into 8, setting 4 slices on his plate and 4 on yours.

"4 slices?" Tim questions softly and you simply nod your head.

"I can't take your virginity and send you home hungry. That's just a dick move."

Tim plants himself on the cushion next to you, sneakers discarded at the door, sock-covered feet tucked beneath him as he eats, occasionally glancing towards you but ultimately keeping his gaze on the TV.

He doesn't wanna ask about the ad about the lady in the corner of the screen, a Matilda that feels lonely.

"You're a lot more quiet than I'd think." You hum softly, your voice breaking the peaceful yet awkward silence, and you glance at Tim from the corner of your eye. He likes the way you watch him.

Like a bug under a microscope and he shifts in his seat, the fabric of his sweatpants pulling tight against some parts of his lean muscles as he makes himself more comfortable.

"I'm... Not really sure how this works. In all the things I've seen... It's usually just like, a meet and... Well, you know." Tim awkwardly shifts again, taking another bite of his pizza and his lashes flutter at the peppery cheese that fills his mouth and absentmindedly, you reach forward, wiping a smudge of cheese away from the corner of his mouth.

And Tim's heart rate skyrockets.

"Well, if you don't feel comfortable at the end of the night, we don't have to do anything. I'm not gonna force you." You reassure him sweetly, licking the cheese from your thumb before you continue eating, your attention on the cartoon in front of you. And Tim nods his head, muttering a soft 'okay' before he continues eating.

Tugging the edge of his hoodie down to hide his downright throbbing cock, and he tries to continue eating, chewing with the occasional glance at your expression.

Lips glistening with the sheen of fatty food, your cheeks puffed with the way you eat and tresses framing your face in the prettiest way. You've got such... Distinct features, perfect lips and the slope of your nose makes him groan inwardly at the thought of your nose tucked in the fleshy spot between the base of his cock and his full, almost swollen balls. The way you'd inhale his musk, dragging your tongue along the sensitive flesh.

And Tim coughs.

Desperate to clear away those thoughts and he looks back at his plate. He's only managed to put away 2 and a half slices, whereas your plate's empty.

And something about that, just makes his cock twitch, a thick bead of precum rolling down his base and he feels the way it forms a wet spot on his boxers.

"So, you said you're in college?" Tim hums, elbows braced on the countertop, his attention locked on yours as you indulge in his caffeine addiction as though you've done it a million times before. Practiced motions, a lowered gaze as you move around your kitchen with the comfort he's only ever seen Alfred hold in a kitchen but his gaze remains locked on your hands.

Dainty and manicured nails grasping a froggy mug, your nails tapping against the glazed ceramic as you stir, the muscles in your forearm flexing ever so slightly and Tim's surprised when he doesn't paint the inside of his boxers at the sight of your tongue running across your teeth when you place the mug in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm in college. I'm doing a literature degree." You state with a sweet hum, opening a cabinet and pulling out a bag of cookies, opening it up and placing it between the two of you.

Your kitchen isn't lit too brightly, downlights that have a dimmer switch that sets the room in a lovely, low light. Intimate and sweet, as you take a bite of a cookie, crumbs dotting your lips before you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip.

And the action is downright sinful.

Devious.

Malicious.

Nefarious.

The list goes on and on.

"You said you intern at Wayne Enterprises?" You hum softly, and Tim nods his head, taking a sip of his coffee and God, his cock's twitching as the taste burns his tongue in the best way possible.

Rich, earthy with the strongest aroma.

Tim's barely paying attention as you speak, his eyes locked on your pouty and perfect lips as you speak before he interjects.

"I'm ready for sex, please."

The desperate quiver in his voice, alongside the abruptness, makes you let out a snort of laughter. "Are you ready... Like... Biologically?" You question, your head tilting in that way that makes his mind melt and he nods sheepishly.

"Yeah. I've been ready for almost 2 hours."

"Shit, shit, shit." Tim's chest heaves, his long, inky lashes fluttering as he feels the way you stroke him so sweetly, your hand wrapped around his flared base, lips pressing sloppy kisses all along his glistening cock. Beads of precum drip down, pooling at his heavy sack and Tim's elegant digits card through your hair, undoing your hairtie and sliding the vibrant red elastic on his wrist, opting for playing with your hair instead.

And Tim's sure he's fucking dying when you're wrapping those soft, plush lips around his flushed tip, beads of translucent fluid filling your tongue and your hand continues to squeeze his base, his hips jerking and twitching. And Tim lets out a breath, moans slipping past his lips as his back arches.

"Fuck, that's so good..." Tim stutters, his plump, pink bottom lip between his teeth to stop the sounds.

And Tim's eyes widen, his head tossing back and he lets out that deep, loooong groan as his fingers fist your hair.

Your mouth leaves his cock, slobbers of saliva coating his tip before you fist it, your soft palms rolling over the sensitive flesh as you gently stroke his cock, the ball of your nose pressed against his cock as your tongue curls against the swell of his balls.

And Tim pushes your face deeper, forcing you to inhale that musky, smoky scent that makes you so dizzy, your cunt throbbing between your pressed together thighs. And he whimpers sheepishly.

"God, keep— keep doing that, please..."

Tim begs so sweetly, feeling the way you thumb at his slit, forcing out gooey beads of clear as you tilt your head, tongue curling around his sack and Tim feels his cock twitch. Before he whines, swatting at your hand before he urges you to pull away.

"I— I'm gonna come too quickly if—... If you keep doing that..." Tim's ears burn with embarassment, cock twitching and leaking copious amounts of precum and you let out a soft snort of laughter.

"I don't mind." You reassure softly, leaning upwards to press a sweet kiss against the curve of his jaw.

"It's your first time. You don't have to impress me."

Tim doesn't know how to answer that, simply shifting and scooting back, while you find purchase straddling one of his thighs, clothed cunt grinding against the thick muscle, hard and rigid beneath you as you gently stroke his cock.

Tim leans back on his palms, his head tipping back as you press soft, lingering kisses against the soft, milky skin of his neck. Your kisses are wet, sticky with his precum and your saliva, your hand moving to card through his obsidian strands, while the other traces along the bulging veins of his cock.

It's too much.

Too much.

Too much.

And Tim whines, nails digging into the sheets and creasing the pale green comforters beneath his palms as his hips jerk, jets of pearly cum making a mess of your hand and you smear the creaminess all around his cock.

Tim doesn't know what to do.

If he's supposed to pull your hand away, if he's supposed to cry, if sex is supposed to be the next step but tears are forming on his lash line, his face flushing and sweat forcing strands of his bangs to cling to his forehead.

And he whimpers so sweetly when you pull your hand away from him, pressing the sweetest kiss against his temple before pushing his hair out of his face.

"Where do you want me?" You ask him softly, tongue trailing along the shell of Tim's ear and he shivers, biting his bottom lip to stifle that shaky breath.

"On top... Please."

Tim's basically a pillow princess.

Hands bracketing your hips, fingers digging into the fat and his eyes remain locked on where your perfect pussy swallows his length, slick and squelchy sounds ringing out alongside the ambience of the Gotham city rain.

"Fuck, you're so tight."

Tim groans softly, brows knitting into a pinched frown and his eyes lift, brilliant and teary diamond blue eyes stare, gaze locked on the sight of your chest, bouncing in tandem with the your hips bounce. The fleshy globes of your ass repeatedly smack against his thighs, the warmth of your cunt fits him snugly and he whines underneath you.

You're warm. You're tight. You're so wet, and your slick drips down his veins with each grind of your hips.

"You're so fucking deep..." You breathe out with a moan, breathy voice and hazy eyes because you didn't expect him to stretch you out this good.

And Tim doesn't know what sort of sick, twisted mist blankets his brain, but the drool that trickles down his lips do nothing to cool him from the lusty heat that urges him to lean forward, his tongue dragging along one of your pert buds and the action pulls tingles from your brain. You lean forward, one hand moving to grab the headboard, nails leaving scratches along the painted wood as your hips grind and roll.

Tim's hips are weak as they thrust up into you, uncoordinated and sloppy, so weak as his entire mind is consumed with the action of his tongue swirling and teasing your nipples. He's drooling, slobbering all across your chest but the sloppiness of his motions just makes him more endearing.

"Ohhh, you're so fucking pretty." You croon to him gently, fingers scratching at his hair and tugging him closer to your chest.

The air between the two of you are charged with the sense of sexual tension being explored, alongside sticky and messy sex, and the smell of coffee on your mingled breaths. And Tim doesn't waste time pulling away from your oversensitive and abused nipples, before leaning forward, his tongue meeting yours in a heated kiss that would leave pornstars envious of the amateurish moments.

Hands paw at the fat of your ass and fingertips dig into whatever flesh they can find, and Tim's eyes roll back in his head when your hips roll, the tip of his cock buried in your gummy walls while his shaft is exposed to steamy air of your bedroom.

Tim feels the way his cock throbs, slick and precum mixing into a debauched cocktail that leaves his pelvis glistening in a sheen that matches your pretty cunt, pillowy pussy lips glossy with the mess.

"Fuck me harder— shit, fuck me harder." Tim whimpers and whines, his attention lowering to the way your hips slam down on his, and he feels like the air's being pulled out of his lungs. Especially with the way gummy walls pull him in, all the way to the depths of your cunny.

Tim can barely form a coherent thought when you turn around, your back facing him and he gets to watch that devious arch from up close and he gets to watch the fat of your ass bounce off his hips. And it's... Hypnotic.

It leaves him wondering if your ass is sentient and Tim's hands move to grip the plump cheeks, spreading them apart to watch the way you take him all the way. And his eyes lift just a bit, and he's staring that pretty, neat and puckered hole down. Before he bites his bottom lip, turning his attention towards you for the briefest moment but you're too cockdrunk to have a coherent thought in your head.

And he licks his thumb, covering the pudgy digit in saliva before he begins to circle the furled rim and he nearly screams at the way you clamp down on him.

And you're coming before you even fucking know it, bucking like a wild, desperate horse, your hips rolling like you're on a mechanical bull and Tim's finger slips past the threshold.

And he's fucking you.

He's found himself on his knees, your face pushed into the mattress and your back arched so sluttily as you let him rut into you mindlessly, one hand pressing down at the middle of your back, forcing your arch to deepen.

Your hair's a mess, tangled and lips are parted and letting out the sluttiest whines and praises.

And Tim's finally found something better than his top three wants in life:

Cracking a case.

Coffee.

Bruce's approval.

And he's finding that better thing in the most unorthodox of ways: rearranging the insides of a college girl two years older than him. Bullying his fat cock into your sloppy cunt as praises pour from your lips, your words so honeyed and your pussy so syrupy.

"Good boy."

"Fuck me harder."

"Just like that."

All push him towards the edge and Tim's hips become frantic, blunt nails digging into your hips as he nears his orgasm at a rate that makes his body shiver and shudder, skin prickling with goosebumps and droplets of sweat running down his muscles.

"Where do I—"

"Anywhere you want."

And Tim's hips stutter, cum filling your cunt to the brim and his hips twitch, using you to milk him empty before pulling out and he falls back against the headboard, hazy eyes watching the way pearly cum trickles down your folds, pooling between your knees.

"You know...." You pant softly. "I didn't know you had a hearing aid..."

You shift, moving to sit on your haunches before turning to face Tim, plopping down and your naked form melts against his, and his arms fold over you on instinct.

"What— what... do you mean?" He murmurs lazily and you reach up, tapping the device in his ear.

Shit.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Good job, Red Robin."

"Yeah, Tim." Jason snickers. "Keep doing a good job. Just. Like. That."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[gf2bellamy]

part one: alert synchronicity

— ★ spencer spends a day surrounded by small reminders of you—and finally understands that he's already lost his heart to you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing!

masterlist. - part two ✦ part three ✦ part four

Something shifted.

It wasn’t just a minor change, a fleeting blip in the rhythm of his day—no, this was something bigger. It was subtle, almost imperceptible.

Whether it was a trick of the mind or a deeper instinct trying to get Spencer's attention, he didn’t know.

He woke that morning with an odd heaviness in his limbs, the kind that made the simple act of opening his eyes feel like a monumental effort.

The space beside him was empty. Cold.

And for a long, disorienting moment, he stared at the undisturbed sheets, his mind caught between sleep and wakefulness, reality and the lingering traces of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

You weren’t there.

Of course you weren’t. You had left hours ago, after the movie credits rolled and the apartment had settled into silence.

You had laughed at something he said, before gathering your things and slipping out with a quiet "Bye Spencer."

That had been the plan. That’s how it always went.

Yet, for twenty minutes, he lay there, motionless, his gaze fixed on the vacant space beside him as if expecting it to offer answers. His mind was a paradox—simultaneously blank and overcrowded, thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind, too fast to grasp, too numerous to ignore. It was as though a hundred thoughts were scrambling for attention at once, but none of them quite made it to the surface. He couldn’t grab onto anything.

All he knew was that something didn’t sit right.

Was it just exhaustion? The residual effects of too many late nights and too many cases blurring together?

Because the truth was, he had felt it before. That eerie, inexplicable tug of fate, the universe nudging him toward something he couldn’t yet name. And today, it was stronger.

Today, it refused to be ignored.

The sensation clung to him like static, prickling beneath his skin even as he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror looked tired—more than usual.

His eyes landed on the toothbrush—the one that wasn’t technically yours, but might as well have been. A soft pink handle, sitting next to his own.

He’d bought it months ago, after the third time you’d stayed over and sheepishly admitted you’d forgotten yours. It had been a practical decision at the time—a small, logical accommodation for someone who kept ending up in his space, in his life, for longer and longer stretches.

His fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, as if it might burn him. A strange warmth spread through his chest, fluttering and restless, but beneath it was something hollow, something aching.

He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.

Shaking his head slightly, Spencer wandered into the kitchen. The fridge door groaned as he pulled it open, half-hoping for inspiration, half-hoping to distract himself.

He frowned at the nearly empty shelves. A few containers. Half a bottle of almond milk. Some leftover takeout he wasn’t entirely sure was still safe.

He pouted, just a little. That soft, childlike disappointment that slipped out before he could mask it.

And then, out of nowhere, a thought sparked:

Your cookies. The chocolate chip ones.

The kind you never used to bake until you learned he liked them more than your usual vanilla batches .

The first ones you made had been slightly burnt on the edges, the chips off balance, but you kept trying. Adjusting the recipe, tweaking it each time like it was a science experiment. The way you’d squint at the oven timer and mutter about ratios—it made him smile more than he ever let on.

Over time, they’d gotten better. Perfect, even. To the point where Spencer had started associating the smell of melted chocolate and brown sugar with you—with the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, with the flour dusting your sleeves, with the way you’d always leave a few extra in his freezer "just in case."

Now, the absence of them felt like a physical thing.

He closed the fridge door slowly and let out a long sigh, his back pressing against the cool metal as he leaned there for a moment.

But then his eyes caught something on the counter and his breath caught.

There, on the counter—your box of cookies. The very ones he’d just been craving.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor sometimes, dangling the answer to a thought he hadn’t even fully formed. A coincidence? Maybe. But the way his pulse jumped at the sight made it feel like something more.

A slow, disbelieving smile tugged at his lips as he reached for the box, his fingers brushing over the familiar creases in the cardboard—the same way you always folded the edges to keep them fresh.

On top, a note in your unmistakable handwriting:

“For my favorite genius. I know you probably don’t have anything to eat for breakfast. And you need to stop living off coffee.”

Next to it, a lopsided smiley face, the kind you always drew when you were teasing him.

And beneath it, another slip of paper—this one with a quote:

“I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.” —The Importance of Being Earnest.

His book. The one he’d lent you months ago, dog-eared and annotated in the margins with his cramped scribbles. You’d not only read it, you’d remembered it. Enough to pluck this line, this line, the one he’d laughed at when he reread it next to you.

Something warm and unnameable curled in his chest.

He gently traced the smiley face with his index finger before carefully peeling the note off the box and walking to the fridge. He smoothed the edges against the metal and stuck it there. Right in the center, right beside the magnet he never used. The quote followed, aligned just so.

Two little pieces of you.

He fully enjoyed the cookies—more than he wanted to admit. One turned into two, two into five, and before he knew it, he was staring at the bottom of the box, only two left. He hesitated, tempted to finish them off, but something made him stop. Maybe he wanted to save them. Maybe it felt symbolic somehow—leaving just a little behind.

He set the box aside with a quiet sigh, realizing it was probably time to face reality. If his breakfast consisted of cookies and the last splash of coffee from yesterday’s pot, then yeah—he needed groceries.

The thought alone was exhausting.

Reluctantly, Spencer went to get dressed. As he rummaged through his dresser for a sweater, his fingers brushed against something soft in the corner of the drawer. He paused, then slowly pulled it out.

The scarf.

The one you’d given him last winter, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a little handwritten tag that simply said “For when the cold gets into your bones.”

He hadn’t worn it much. Not because he didn’t love it. He did. Too much, maybe. He was worried he’d ruin it, spill something on it, or catch it on a subway door or lose it in a moment of distraction.

So instead, it became a part of his quiet morning rituals—he’d look at it while choosing what to wear, smile to himself, then fold it back gently, like preserving something sacred.

It became a small, secret reminder of you that never failed to make his lips twitch upward.

But today, something tugged at him. Wear it.

He paused, hesitating. There was no case today. No flights, no crime scenes, no risk of ruining it in some chaotic whirlwind of work. It was just grocery shopping. A quick errand. No danger. No reason not to.

Before he could overthink it, he looped the scarf around his neck. The wool was warmer than he expected, carrying the faintest trace of cedar and vanilla—your perfume, maybe, or just the ghost of memory.

He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The cold hit him immediately —but the scarf helped.

You helped.

And for once, Spencer didn’t feel quite so alone.

The drive to the grocery store should have been routine—just another mundane task.

Spencer flipped on the radio out of habit, his fingers automatically tuning to his usual station: the one that dissected quantum physics and debated the ethics of emerging technologies in monotone, academic voices. It was comforting, familiar. He usually looked forward to it. Even if he already knew most of the facts being discussed, there was something soothing about hearing others speak his language.

There was comfort in the predictability of it.

But today, the voices grated.

He listened for maybe a minute, maybe less. The words blurred together, sounding hollow in a way they usually didn’t.

He stared ahead at the red light, fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel. Restless. Unsettled.

His gaze drifted to the radio display. Without really thinking, he pressed the button to change the station.

Click. Static. Then a beat.

And then—your favorite song.

It took him a second to register it, but once he did, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t a popular song, not one that played often. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard it on the radio.

But here it was. Blasting softly through his speakers like the universe had handpicked the moment.

The same song you’d hum under your breath while baking, the one you’d insisted on playing three times in a row that one rainy afternoon when he’d pretended to complain but secretly memorized every lyric.

His breath hitched.

For a heartbeat, he just stared, as if the universe had reached into his chest and plucked out a thought he hadn’t even fully formed. Behind him, a horn blared—sharp, impatient—jolting him back to reality.

“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered, flushing as he hit the gas, the car lurching forward a second too late.

He didn’t change the station.

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, the music wrapping around him like an echo of your voice.

By the time he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, the song had faded into something else, but the melody lingered, tangled up in the wool of your scarf and the ghost of flour on your hands.

Once he stepped out of the car, Spencer paused and looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds loomed overhead, dark and swollen with the promise of rain.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and muttered to himself, “Alright. Just in and out. Quick.”

October weather was unpredictable. He quickened his pace toward the store, shoulders hunched against the cold. The last thing he needed was to get caught in another downpour.

Like last night.

The memory surfaced unbidden: you, standing in his doorway, drenched and shivering, your hair plastered to your forehead while rainwater pooled at your feet. He’d panicked—of course he had—fussing over the cold you’d surely catch, the inconvenience, the unnecessary risk you’d taken just to watch some movie with him.

And then you’d grinned, wide and unrepentant, before launching yourself at him.

The hug was instantaneous, your arms locking around him, soaking his shirt through in seconds. He’d stiffened—“You’re getting me all wet!”—but you’d just buried your face in his shoulder and mumbled, “We’ll be sick together, Spencer.”

He hadn’t stood a chance.

You’d spent the rest of the evening wrapped in mismatched towels, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, your laughter warmer than any blanket. And if a cozy evening like this with you made him get sick? Who was he to care? If anything, he had used the rain and the cold to scoot even closer to you on the couch, mumbling a small "My apartment is cold" as an excuse to press his thighs closer to yours.

Now, standing in the grocery store parking lot with the wind gnawing at his scarf—your scarf—he realized something with startling clarity:

He missed you.

Not in the abstract, distant way he missed people when they were gone. But viscerally, like a pit in his stomach, that couldn't be filled with anything but the sight of you standing infront of him with a smile.

The clouds overhead rumbled softly, like the sky missed you too.

Spencer turned toward the store, tugging his scarf a little tighter, and stepped forward, but something caught his eye.

Next to the grocery store, nestled between a laundromat and a pharmacy, was a new coffee shop. That in itself wasn’t unusual. But the name?

His breath caught slightly in his throat as he read the sign above the door.

Drip Drop Brew.

His eyes widened. He blinked, like maybe he had read it wrong. But no—those words stared right back at him, painted in playful script across the front window in soft red and black.

His breath stuttered.

“Drip drop drip drop,” you had murmured just last night as he made you tea, still damp from the rain.

You had stood beside him in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing useful, your hair still curling with leftover stormwater. You never offered to help—and he never minded. You just liked being near him while he moved around the kitchen.

“Drip drop?” he’d repeated back, bemused, pouring hot water over chamomile leaves.

“The rain,” you’d said, as if it were obvious, tilting your head toward the sound. “Listen.”

And he had. Not to the weather, but to you—the way your voice softened around mundane things, how you found rhythm in the ordinary. It was ridiculous. It was perfect. It was such a you thing to do, finding magic in something as ordinary as the sound of water hitting glass.

Now, standing frozen on the sidewalk, the memory wrapped around him like the scarf still knotted at his throat.

A coincidence. It had to be.

But the way his pulse jumped said otherwise.

He took a slow breath, torn between stepping inside and continuing to the grocery store. He didn’t need coffee.

Groceries were forgotten the moment he pushed open the coffee shop door.

The place was you—cozy and vibrant, with mismatched armchairs in deep red and black , shelves lined with well-loved books, and the scent of freshly ground coffee.

He could already picture you here, curled up in that corner nook by the window, a half-finished report abandoned in favor of people-watching.

You both had a habit of doing reports in cafés—something that started as convenience and turned into tradition. A small ritual between the chaos of the job. He could still remember the first time you'd convinced Hotch to let it happen.

It had been on a slow day, paperwork piling up, everyone dragging. You'd walked into the bullpen and said, “What if we were… slightly more productive in a cozy public setting with caffeine and pastries?”

Complete with your best “convince-Hotch” smile.

Somehow, it worked.Honestly, most of the team had a hard time saying no to you. Even Hotch, who wasn’t exactly known for bending rules.

But Spencer? Spencer never stood a chance. He wasn’t even sure the word no existed in his vocabulary when it came to you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly said no to you. The word dissolved in his throat whenever you smiled at him.

He ordered a coffee—black, simple, but he let the barista add a drizzle of cinnamon syrup, just because it reminded him of the way you'd order his drinks when you thought he needed “spicing up.”

Then he settled down in the corner seat, back against the wall, giving him a view of the whole shop. It should’ve felt peaceful.

Instead, the absence beside him was deafening.

He let his eyes wander, taking everything in. The handwritten menu on a chalkboard. Cute drawings of animals, such as ladybugs. The tiny potted succulents lining the windowsill. A basket of dog treats by the door. A stack of used books by the counter with a handwritten sign that read: “Take one, leave one, love always.” C

Time slipped through his fingers like sand.

What should have been a thirty-minute grocery run had stretched into nearly two hours—first the coffee shop, then the quiet absorption of his book (of course he’d brought one; he’d sooner leave the house without pants than without reading material).

Eventually he forced himself to leave.

With a full bag of groceries and a head full of thoughts, he made it home. The sky had darkened even more, a low rumble of thunder in the distance echoing through the streets. Rain hadn’t started yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He unpacked everything robotically, stacking the pantry and fridge, then tossed his coat aside and curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped loosely around him.

He traced the spine of the book in his lap, his thumb brushing over the slight crease near the top.

Your book.

The one you’d pressed into his hands last week with theatrical solemnity, your brows furrowed in mock severity. “This one is my favorite,” you’d said, voice low, as if entrusting him with state secrets. When you’d jabbed a warning finger in his face, he’d barely suppressed a grin. “If anything happens to it—”

He’d waited, eyes bright with amusement, until you’d leaned in close, your voice dropping to a theatrical whisper: “You will know my rage in ways you’ve never known before.”

The threat was absurd—he’d seen you genuinely angry exactly once, and even then, you’d mostly just frowned harder—but he’d played along, snatching the book from your grip with exaggerated defiance.

“Terrifying,” he’d deadpanned, already flipping to the first page.

That was another one of your rituals: swapping books every week, your version of a love language. You’d once called it “literary matchmaking.” Every Friday, without fail, a book would be passed between you—sometimes annotated, sometimes dog-eared, always loved.

This book had been your favorite.

Now, tracing the dog-eared corner of page 111—your favorite passage—he realized with a quiet ache that he could almost hear your voice between the lines.

He’d read three chapters today, but the words blurred together, his focus frayed by the day’s odd synchronicities—the cookies, the scarf, the song, the café.

And now this: your favorite book in his hands, your phantom laughter between the lines.

Spencer exhaled, tilting his head back against the couch.

The universe, it seemed, was determined to remind him of you.

Thirty minutes later, he turned the final page.

The book was finished, and God, he understood now why you loved it so much—the way the prose curled around his ribs like smoke, the underlined passages that felt like secrets shared between just the two of you.

Your notes in the margins had been his favorite part: little exclamation marks beside plot twists, sarcastic commentary in the corners, the occasional doodle when you’d clearly gotten distracted.

With a quiet sigh, he set the book on his lap, but the spine—well-loved and cracked from years of your hands holding it—fell open again of its own accord.

And there it was.

A single line, highlighted in soft yellow, framed by a constellation of pink hearts you’d drawn with the same care you reserved for frosting cookies or arranging flowers in his too-empty apartment:

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

The air left his lungs in a rush.

It hit him with the force of a bullet train—no warning, no gradual buildup, just the devastating certainty of it.

The cookies. The scarf. The radio station. The coffee shop. The way his chest ached when you laughed. The way he’d memorized the cadence of your voice without meaning to. The way every road, every book, every breath seemed to lead back to you.

Oh.

Spencer Reid was in love with his best friend.

And the terrible, beautiful truth was—he’d been in love with you for a long, long time.

[katnipp]

permit me to love you— sophia laforteza

genre: fluff, light angst

synopsis: when the mayor’s arrogant daughter threatens to shut down y/n’s pie shop, rivalry turns into a slow-burning romance neither of them saw coming—one pie, one insult, and one stolen kiss at a time.

warning: small town romance again woohoo ٩(^ᗜ^ )و sorta made sophia mean in this, that’s it i think🤔

—

hartwell was never meant to be exciting. it was the kind of town where everything closed by nine, where old ladies knew your dog’s name, where pie was currency and gossip traveled faster than the speed limit on main street.

it wasn’t big. but it was yours.

you’d been running mabel’s since your grandmother passed—old recipes, handwritten menus, a mismatched mug wall that locals added to like a shrine. It wasn’t flashy, but it was honest.

then sophia laforteza came back.

she hadn’t been home in nearly a decade. not since she left for college, then the city, then some marketing firm with glass walls and espresso machines that cost more than your oven. she came back dressed like she never meant to stay. and apparently, with an agenda.

because on her second day in town, she walked into mabel’s, heels clicking, coat trailing, and said:

“you know your business is in violation of three separate zoning codes, right?”

you blinked. “hi?”

she didn’t smile.

“i’m doing an internal audit of main street occupancy under the mayor’s office. you’re operating under a grandfather clause that expired six years ago. technically, your outdoor seating is illegal.”

your jaw dropped. “are you seriously threatening to shut down my café?”

she crossed her arms. “not threatening. informing. i’m just doing my job.”

“you don’t even work for the town.”

“i’m consulting. and the mayor trusts my judgment.”

of course he did. he was her dad.

she turned, pausing at the door like she’d just informed you it might rain later. “you might want to get your paperwork in order.”

you hated her.

she didn’t just threaten you—she acted like it was merciful. like she was giving you a heads-up before she put you six feet under.

and then, a week later, she opened her own café across the street. all black tile and gold accents. modern, cold, expensive. her version of a café was all aesthetic and no soul. and it was packed.

she was winning.

and you were scrambling.

you tried to fix your permits. It was a mess. the kind of red tape that took months—if you even had the money. you found yourself staying late, panicking over spreadsheets, burning crusts because your hands were shaking too hard.

then one night, after everyone had left, you found her standing in the middle of your café.

uninvited.

“jesus, sophia—are you here to finish me off?”

she raised an eyebrow. “you left your door unlocked.”

“i was in the back.”

“could’ve been anyone.”

“are you trying to be ominous or are you just this insufferable naturally?”

she didn’t answer right away. just looked around, hands in her coat pockets. her face was unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes looked tired.

finally, she said, “you really love this place.”

you scoffed. “yeah, well. unlike some people, i don’t get off on destroying things just because i can.”

her jaw twitched.

and then—quietly—she said, “i wasn’t trying to destroy you.”

you stared.

she avoided your gaze. “i didn’t realize how close you were to losing your permits. i just wanted to clean up main street. make it better.”

“better for who?”

she didn’t have an answer.

that night, she didn’t insult your pie. she didn’t smirk. she just sat at the counter, perfectly still, while you made her tea without asking.

and when she left, she paused in the doorway.

“i’m not going to report you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “why the sudden mercy?”

“i don’t know,” she said, softly. “maybe I just don’t like the idea of this place being gone.”

⸻

after that, things didn’t change overnight. She was still guarded. still sharp. still mean when she was uncomfortable.

but she showed up more often.

sometimes for coffee. sometimes just to sit in the corner and read your permit appeal forms like she didn’t care. sometimes with food she claimed she “accidentally over-ordered” from vendors.

eventually, she helped you refile everything.

“i’m not doing this for you,” she said. “i just hate bad paperwork.”

“sure, laforteza.”

but she kept showing up.

one night, during a snowstorm, the power went out. You found her sitting in your café, lit only by the glow of candles. she didn’t say anything when you joined her.

after a long silence, she whispered, “i didn’t mean to hurt you. it’s just i don’t know how to care about things without feeling like i’ll mess them up.”

you looked at her, her face shadowed and small in the candlelight.

“you haven’t messed this up yet.”

she swallowed hard. “give me time.”

you reached for her hand. she let you.

the first time she kissed you, it wasn’t dramatic. just a quiet moment in your kitchen after a long day, her fingers sticky with powdered sugar and her eyes full of something like regret.

she pulled away too fast.

“i’m not good at this.”

you kissed her again. slower this time.

“i am.”

now?

she still pretends she’s above small towns. still walks too fast and drinks coffee too bitter. but her coat’s always on the hook by your door now. her name’s quietly listed as a “silent partner” on your new permit.

and when she thinks you’re not looking, she smiles at your chalkboard doodles like they’re art.

sophia laforteza once tried to shut down your life.

now she spends every night helping you close up shop.

and every morning telling you your pie is “tolerable” while stealing a second slice.

—

a/n: i’ve been working on this since 12 am, i’m starting to think that i’m spoiling you guys too much🤔

[reilemon]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Under The Stars ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡

♡︎cw:unprotected sex, tent sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, pussy job, cum swallowing

♡︎word count: 3.9k

♡︎synopsis: What happens when you share a tent with your crush? The story starts where the memory Precious Bonfire ends.

♡︎a/n: I wrote this during my ovulation week. Also, I went over this once, so if you see any mistakes, no you don't.

♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for reading and helping me with this!

banner by @cafekitsune

Xavier looks up from the game card “Ah, I figured out what I want my payment to be.” He smiles softly at you and hands you the card, “Tell me when you’re overwhelmed next time.”

A little confused, you absent-mindedly take the card that’s not even yours. “That doesn’t sound like a payment.”

“Well, it is.”

“No, it’s not. Think of something else!” You say with playfulness in your voice. Of course you don’t mind accepting to “pay him off” in this way, but he’s been so helpful and resourceful today, that you’d feel bad for asking for more assistance.

He just shakes his head and stands up from his seat in the camping van, and walks away. End of discussion, I guess.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

You spent a few minutes sitting alone in the van, decompressing, but also thinking of ways to return the favor. Seriously, what’s a good way to show him your gratitude? You know he’s not doing this because he expects something in return. Xavier is a genuine and sweet soul, someone who is reliable (except in the kitchen) with a soothing presence. He never seems overwhelmed, even when he lights his oven on fire.

You sigh wistfully. You were hoping he was going to say “Let’s go on a date!” or “Can I sleep in your tent?” or maybe “You know, the front of my pants is feeling a little tight, could you lend me a hand –“ you blush, hiding your face in your hands. If only.

You glance at your phone to look at the time. You decide you’ve spent enough time away from everyone, letting your mind wander – how big is it? – okay, you really need to focus and go back to your colleagues.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

The rest of the evening went uneventful – you hung out with your friends, cleaned up the mess and then took a relaxing shower. Somewhere between cleaning up and the shower, you swiped a pack of chocolate covered strawberries from the mafia game winner. You wanted those strawberries the moment your eyes landed on them in that pile of snacks.  And you’ll buy them later and give them back, so technically you’re borrowing them!

Besides, you want to give them to Xavier as a small thank you. He deserves more than this, but it will do for now.

Anyway, after the refreshing shower, you’re looking around the campsite. Most of your colleagues are cozying up in their tents, only a few still talking and drinking outside. Where’s Xavier?

You saw him earlier hanging out with others, but now… your eyes land on his figure, lounging by a tree away from all the tents.

You approach him. “There’s no way I’m letting you sleep outside.”

Xavier, not opening his eyes, says “I have no problem sleeping outside.”

“Well, as the captain of this group, I very much do.” You extend your arm towards him “C’mon, you can sleep in my tent.”

He opens his eyes as he hears the offer. “Are you – “

You grab his hand, “Yes, the tent is big enough for the two of us.” You suddenly remember that you only brought one blanket, but this summer night is nice and breezy so it shouldn’t be an issue.

Hesitant at first, Xavier nods and gets up while holding your hand. He moves his backpack to your tent and goes to take a shower, giving you time to change into pajama shorts and tank top; not really appropriate in this situation, but who cares!

As you spread out the blanket over the sleeping mat and two pillows, (yes, two, the other one was meant for your knees), you sit there waiting for him and then you realize – wow, it’s kinda fucking cold in here!

You were so focused on being a good captain and taking care of everyone that it completely slipped your mind that you should pack warmer pajamas and maybe a sleeping bag; it doesn’t matter that it’s summer, nights are always colder in the woods.

As you wonder if the blanket will be warm enough, from the corner of your eye you notice Xavier approaching the tent. He’s wearing a loose white t-shirt and gray cotton shorts. You move a little to make room for him, and when he crouches to step inside, your eyes are glued to his muscular legs. The staring makes you miss the way Xavier’s eyes take in your figure, the smooth skin of your thighs and your pebbled nipples poking underneath your top.

You quickly shift your gaze to his face; he’s looking around the tent. Suddenly you’re nervous. It hits you that you’ll be sleeping next to Xavier in this small ass tent. You feel an awkward tension, so you say “I hope this is enough room for you! I don’t have one more blanket but I do have an extra pillow!”

Xavier chuckles, and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s good enough for me. I just hope you’re comfortable with this.”

“Of course I am!” You say very convincingly. As you nervously shift, your thigh grazes the box of strawberries. Right, I almost forgot! You take them and offer the box to him. “Here, a small token of my gratitude.”

He eyes the fruit, not taking them immediately. “Where did you get those?”

“The winner gave them to me.”

“Really?”

“I stole them.” You say with a shy smile. Some things are just impossible to hide from him.

He chuckles, “I’ll take them, but only if you have some as well.”

You agree and he opens the box, placing it between you two.

You’re the first one to try them, and you’re so pleased that your little crime paid off. And by Xavier’s little mm!  you know that he enjoys the sweetness of chocolate and the strawberries as well. You sit there for a while, eating and chatting about whatever; mostly about the books he’s been reading and the new game both of you started playing.

You don’t feel that tired anymore. It’s probably the shower that washed away all the fatigue of the day. And the adrenaline from talking, not only talking but sharing a tent and then later sleeping next to your crush. You’re actually so excited you could run laps around the campsite, but at the same time so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself.

After you take another bite of the fruit, you notice that Xavier’s eyes are lingering on your lips? No, your cheek?

His hand slowly goes towards your face, and you stand still, unsure of what he wants. His ring finger gently wipes the corner of your mouth.

He smiles, “You had some chocolate there.”

When he’s about to lick his finger, you joke “Hey! You’re taking my chocolate!”

He stops for a second, looks at the finger, then at you. “You’re right. Do you want it back?” He asks with that teasing glint in his eyes as he holds the digit in front of your lips.

You’re stunned for a moment, trying to read the situation. Does he really want you to lick it off?

Okay, you can play along; with your eyes on his, you start to lick the chocolate. Xavier’s eyes widen for a split second, his lips slightly part as he watches you lick and suck his finger clean. It made his shorts tighter, and he hopes that you don’t notice the outline of his erection on his gray shorts.

And you’re so frustrated at yourself because of how wet this little interaction made you.

When you’re done, with a light blush on his cheeks, he pulls back his hand and clears his throat. “You’re really good at this.”

You only sheepishly smile and continue the conversation like nothing happened.  

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

“You didn’t bring a sleeping bag?” Xavier asks as you as you both get ready to sleep. It’s gotten late, it’s dead silent as everyone around you is sleeping or trying to fall asleep. You’re surprised that Xavier managed to stay awake this long.

You admit that you forgot the fact that it’s colder at night here than back in the city. “But the blanket should be big enough for both of us.” You offer to go ask someone for one more blanket, but he refuses and says that he’s worried about you being cold.

His eyes scan over your barely covered body “I can borrow you my hoodie. But it smells like campfire.”

“I’m gonna to be fine. Let’s just go to sleep.” You reassure him (and yourself). With that, both of you lie down, your backs turned, and cover yourself with a blanket that is not enough for two people.

Xavier lets you take most of it, but tries to not make it obvious, so he holds onto it, only his back covered.

Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes pass, you don’t know. You just can’t fall asleep. Not only because your ass is freezing, but because he is lying right next to you. And judging by his deep breathing, he’s asleep. Of course he is. You turn on your back and stare at the stars peeking through the mesh screen of the tent. You don’t want to move around too much or step outside because you don’t want to wake him. He’s had an exhausting day too.

You turn on your side, facing his back. You can’t see much in the dark tent, the only light source being the moon and the stars, and faint fairy lights outside. But it’s visible enough to admire his light fluffy hair and how wide his back is. You crave to trace your fingers over his shirt, through his hair… you completely took over the blanket!

You cover his figure, but then you’re a little exposed. With a sigh, you move closer to him as quietly as possible. Now, time to turn around in the same manner. But, Xavier is already switching to his other side, turning to you, and you’re so close, almost nose to nose and he opens his eyes.

You’re holding in your breath, freezing in place. “Sorry.” You whisper. “I just wanted to cover you.”

His sleepy eyes stare at yours, then at your lips. It takes him a second to register your words. “You’re still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you cold?”

You take second before answering “Maybe.”

“Turn around.”

You do as you’re told expecting him to roll you into the blanket like a burrito and then you’d feel really bad. Those thoughts evaporate when you feel his warm arm slip around your waist, pulling your back against his strong, yet soft, chest, while his lower body keeps a respectful distance.

His breath tickles the skin of your neck, making you shiver. “Is this okay?”

You only muster a squeaky ‘mhm’, and then he falls silent again, with his face nuzzled against your neck. You close your eyes, and try to count sheep.

One sheep…two sheep… your arm gets uncomfortable so you place it over his that’s resting on your waist, the contact making his hand search your hand, entangling his fingers with yours, and then pulling you in a tighter embrace.

Exhaling a shuttering breath, you continue… three sheep… you’ve been keeping your legs pin straight this whole time and they’re starting to feel stiff and sore. But if you bend them, they’ll be exposed to cold air, but if you curl up you’ll be pressing your butt against Xavier’s crotch, or at least lower belly.

Four sheep…

The gentle whisper of your name against your ear makes you yelp. You thought he fell asleep.

Xavier repeats your name, and you can hear the smirk on his lips “Position yourself however you please. I want you to be comfortable.”

You exhale a breath you’ve been holding. “Okay.”

You move into the fetus position, making yourself as comfortable as possible, warm in his embrace, your bottom keeping an awkward distance from his lower half.  You bite your bottom lip and try to regulate your breathing. He can probably feel how fast your heart is beating. You think how it’s unfair that he can feel how flustered you are.

You feel his slow heartbeat, but you can’t see his feverish red cheeks.

“Is it better now?” He asks.

“Yeah, it’s just that...” It’s just that your legs and buttocks are still cold.

When you don’t finish your sentence, he nudges your neck with his nose. “Your legs are cold.”

The hand on your waist moves and his fingers lightly glide over your upper thigh. When you don’t protest, he starts caressing, warming up your skin. The contact makes you hot between your legs, making you unconsciously rub your thighs and arch your back, your butt backing up against his front. 

You immediately flinch, jolting your middle forward outside the covers. “Sorry.” You mumble, your cheeks burning in embarrassment, your body staying in that awkward position.

Xavier can’t help but laugh at the position you’re in. He rubs your shoulder in an attempt to console you. “It’s okay. I don’t mind”

It takes you a few seconds to muster up the courage to go back under the cover, closing the distance between your bodies, letting him spoon you.

You feel like you could melt in his arms; he’s so warm, smells like fresh linen and herbal hair shampoo. Even though you’re still nervous, your body is able to relax and press further against him, unintentionally grinding your soft bottom against his quickly hardening length.

Your pussy clenches as you feel his clothed hard dick against you. He doesn’t say anything, but shift a little further from you.

You don’t know if it’s the weariness, the horniness, or the boldness (if you can call it that), that makes you whisper. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” And you close the distance again, this time slowly sliding your ass against him to prove your point.

A shuddering breath leaves his lips, as he starts moving at your pace. He shifts to rest on his elbow and his hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you turn to face him, your hips halting the movement.

He gazes into your eyes and nudges the tip of your nose with his. He softly breathes your name and his soft warm lips leave a feather light kiss on yours. He waits for your reaction with those puppy eyes that always make you weak.

With the hand that was under you, you hold the side of his face and pull him into a soft kiss. Your lips softly graze and nip as Xavier adjusts his body, elbows resting on either side of your head, his chest resting against yours, but his pelvis is hovering against yours.

You decide to be the one to take the next step; fingers of one hand run through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your tongue glosses his bottom lip and slipping inside, tasting his. The other hand pushes down his lower back, and he takes the hint.

You gasp into the kiss as his dick grinds right between your clothed folds, grazing your clit just right. Your cheeks and core are burning as Xavier starts rutting waster and harder, you can feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest. Both of you are panting between kisses, suppressing moans and whines.

He breathes against your lips “We should stop.” When he notices a flash of disappointment on your face, he adds, “It’s so easy to hear everything here.”

You nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” You gulp and take in deep breaths. Your tent is the furthest from the rest, but still close enough to hear if someone is getting it on.

He rolls over to his side, still facing you. His eyes take in your features as his fingertips graze over them. He pulls you in by the back of your head into a slow kiss. Your lips taste each other, tongues licking, his teeth playfully nibbling your bottom lip.

The hand on the back of your hand travels over your jaw to hold your chin, and a deep sigh leaves his lips. He whispers, “It’s so hard to hold back.” and the continues tasting your plump lips.

Those words make your panties wetter than they were. You throw your leg over his hips and soon you’re straddling him, and his arms envelop you, pressing your body flush against his, his hips bucking up to meet yours once again.

But you crave more contact and so does Xavier. At the same time, Xavier pulls down his shorts and you take off yours. A whimper escapes your lips as you sit back down on his rock hard dick, your sexes only separated by thin fabric.

He pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss, his hands grabbing your ass, moving your hips in the same rhythm with his. The friction feels so good, too good. Your pussy is creaming so much, making a mess of your panties and his boxer briefs. Then he shifts his hips a little and his cockhead starts hitting and rubbing your clit over and over, and you’re mewling and panting into the sloppy kiss.

He smirks against your lips. “Honey, I need you to stay quiet. I don’t want anyone else to hear you like this.”

The heat pools in the bottom of belly. “Xavier, I’m close.”

“Yeah? Is my little bunny feeling good?” He pants, and by the twitching of his cock, you think he’s close too.

You hold back a disappointed whine when he puts a distance between your hips, but then you feel him push down his boxers freeing his throbbing dick. He pulls your panties to the side and brings your hips back down, your dripping pussy lips sliding against his thick length, and he immediately locks your lips with his, swallowing your moan.

He has you in a tight embrace, one hand on the plump flesh of your ass and the other on the back of your neck. His lips leave a wet trail from your lips over your jaw to the shell of your ear, and you listen to his restrained pants and grunts.

His hot breath fans over your ear “Let’s come together.” He pulls up both of your shirts a bit, and you feel his hard ab muscles tensing against your skin.

You can only nod as the tip starts hitting your clit again, and in a few seconds you’re coming undone on top of him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your moans.

Xavier follows shortly after, his cum spilling over both of your bellies.

You take a moment to calm down and you notice that he’s still as hard. You come up to meet his gaze.

His eyes are veiled with so much lust and craving. “I – “

“Please, fuck me.” You need more.

With those three magic words, he’s on top of you again, his shirt and the blanket disregarded somewhere in the corner. He pushes your tank top over your breasts, his hot lips latching onto your nipple while his fingers play with the other one, while his cock is sliding with ease between your slippery folds.

You know that he wants to prep you more, but you feel like you’ve been edged for too long, your hole clenching around nothing.

Xavier’s breath hitches against your nipple when you reach down and wrap your hand around his member, feeling how long and thick he is (he’s longer than your thought).

He comes up and holds your gaze as you tease the tip against your soaking entrance “I need you now.”

His hand switches with yours, slowly easing into you, his gaze never leaving yours. He swallows thickly, and cursing under his breath as he feels your walls clench around him.

And you’re a mess under him, biting your lip to contain your moans and whines, but your pussy is already fluttering around his length, second orgasm building up.

When he’s finally buried to the hilt, he rests his body on top of yours, neither of you caring about the slippery cum between you, if anything it spurs you on even more.

He slowly starts rolling his hips, his lips leaving open mouth kisses over your collar bone and your neck. You fingers find purchase in his hair and nails lightly scrape the skin over his taut back muscles. In your daze you take a moment to admire his strong back and then you move your hand from his back to grab his biceps. Fuck, you wish there was more light here.

Xavier’s lips lock with yours in a sloppy kiss, his tip grazing your sweet spot with every thrust while his fingertips rub your sensitive bundle of nerves. His voice is raspy from all the strangled groans, “You’re squeezing me so hard, princess. Are you gonna come for me?”

You only manage a small moan in response, and you don’t even care if you’re loud. And the wet smacking of his pelvis against your creamy cunt is already giving you away.

You barely give any warning as suddenly another orgasm crashes over you, his free hand covering your mouth. He coos in your ear that’s right and you’re so pretty and sweet names that you barely register as you whimper against his hand and your pussy spasms around his cock.

As you come down from your high, he picks up the pace and soon you notice him twitching inside you, his hips stuttering and his pants becoming shallower.

He murmurs “Where do you want me?”

You fight back the urge to say ‘inside’, you want him to fill you up so bad, but now is not the place to make that kind of mess.

Still, you don’t want spill it outside. “Use my mouth.”

His face burns and his dick painfully throbs at those words. You rest on your elbows as he pulls out and straddles your waist, his hand resting on your head.

You let him guide the tip past your lips, and you swirl your tongue around it tasting your mixed juices. He swallows a moan as you take him in deeper; swollen lips enveloping his cock, tongue swirling, tasting him, and grazing his pulsing veins, and he can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits him with how good you’re at this.

Pushing those thoughts back, he caresses your cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re taking me so good.”

He starts thrusting, unable to hold back much longer. He whispers between pants “Tap my arm if I go too hard.”

You hum against his length, focused on relaxing your throat as his cockhead starts hitting more and more with each thrust and stutter of his hips.

You feel him throb hard in your mouth, and his hand travels under your chin. You hear him demand with a strangled groan “Look at me.”

Your eyes lock with his, the sight of you sucking him in with a fucked-out face making him tip over the edge, filling your mouth with his hot cum.

He takes shaky breaths as he twitches in your mouth as you suck him and swallow each drop, not letting anything go to waste.

After he pulls out, he sits next to you and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips.

He holds your face in his hands, his nose nudging yours. “Are you okay?”

You nod and kiss him again. And then you feel cold air hit the wet spots on your body. You chuckle “We need to get cleaned up, though.”

With that, you wipe yourselves with wipes and dress up to make an awkward walk towards the bathroom. You just hope that no one heard what you were doing in the tent. Or the shower.

[helaintoloki]

The Unbearable Truth

pairing: Five Hargreeves x reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending, spoilers

notes: so i actually hated this storyline in the show but i also recognize angst potential when i see it so here’s this

summary: after getting lost in the subway system, Five comes to a grave realization

Five Hargreeves doesn’t love you anymore, and you’re completely oblivious to the fact.

You’re in the kitchen of Lila’s home baking holiday treats with your niece while awaiting the arrival of the rest of your family to begin the festivities. You smell of cinnamon and pinecones, and for the first time in years you actually feel content and happy with where your life is now. Sure, there’s technically a looming apocalypse hanging over you right now, but it’s nothing you haven’t handled before. You’re actually part of a family now with a man who adores you, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Alright, Grace, would you like to do the honors of putting the gumdrop buttons on the gingerbread men while I check on the sugar cookies?”

“Yes, aunt y/n!” The girl exclaims cheerfully before immediately diving into the candy bowl. You laugh at her eagerness and turn towards the oven only to be met with the sight of Five in the kitchen doorway. He looks disheveled and unnerved, but you’re too engrossed in your own joy filled bubble to pick up on it right away and instead mistake him for being tired and overwhelmed with the situation surrounding Ben and Jennifer.

“Hey, you made it!” You say with a smile as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning your attention to the sugar cookies. Five can only stand there stiffly as he clings onto the ghost of your lips against his skin. He had hoped that by seeing you again, by being in your presence and showered in your love for him, the feelings he once held for you would return.

But as he stands there in the middle of the kitchen watching you run about, he realizes that he feels absolutely nothing.

Initially, he had wanted nothing more than to return home to you and his siblings. Five had fought tooth and nail trying to figure out a way to get out of that damned subway system so he could have you in his arms again and tell you how much he missed you even if for you he had only been gone a couple hours. But a man could only take eating so many subway rats and being shot at so many times. He had grown tired, weary, and depressed. For a moment it seemed they’d be stuck there forever, and so he decided that maybe it was time to make the most of it.

What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with his brother’s wife.

A woman he had once hated with his entire being now was his sole companion, and whether it was due to some sick twist of fate or a moment of weakness, he had begun to look at her the way he once looked at you. With complete adoration and care as well as a fierce need to protect her and keep her safe. He knew the chances of ever seeing you again were highly unlikely, and the next logical step would be to move on. So he did.

But now here he is, back in his original timeline left to deal with the aftermath of his decisions.

In what was seven years for Five and three hours for you, the boy has fallen out of love with you. Your smile still may be as beautiful as ever and your scent of red berry plum and jasmine may be intoxicating to any other man, but he feels absolutely nothing when he looks at you. The spark is gone, and unbeknownst to you your relationship is about to fall apart.

“Where did you run off to?” You ask him after setting the freshly baked sugar cookies onto the cooling rack nearby.

“I had an… errand to run,” he utters carefully, growing stiff when you wrap your arms around his torso and rest your head upon his shoulder. Calculatingly, Five hesitantly rests a hand on your back while the other comes to comb his fingers through your hair. It’s a familiar motion that he is easily able to replicate in order to portray himself as the same doting partner you know and love. Lila had sworn him to secrecy, but he wasn’t sure just how to break it off with you without telling the truth. So for now he would go through the motions and hope to god you didn’t pick up on the fact that something was completely wrong.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you profess earnestly, peering up at him with fluttering lashes and a devoted smile. “I love you, Five.”

His chest tightens in agony at your words, his hold on you tightening in an attempt to ground himself as he harshly swallows down his discomfort. He meets your adoring gaze and smiles, carefully tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips in a tender kiss. It’s believable enough to keep you feeling secure and oblivious to his detachment, and he hopes that maybe if he keeps this up he can forget all about Lila and go back to normal.

Even if it means he’s just playing a part.

Pulling away, he meets your loving stare and offers you a small smile. Hesitating, as if he has to force the words out of him, Five murmurs out a quiet, “I love you, too.”

And you believe him.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: The TKATB men find themselves stuck in ridiculously tight spaces with you—too close for comfort. Tension is high, tempers flare, and maybe, just maybe, something else lingers in the air. 

What happens when there's nowhere to run?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

As a writer who absolutely adores her dearest readers—and remembers almost everything—I suppose it’s finally time to give the people what they want.  

Yeah… it’s really come to this.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The kitchen smelled like sugar, vanilla, and the faintest hint of burning from the last batch of muffins Crowe pulled out. He hadn’t said anything, but you knew he was silently judging himself for not taking them out sooner. 

Not that it mattered—you were still determined to get one before they cooled completely.

You leaned on the broom in your hand, watching him move around like he owned the place. Well, he kinda did. As much as he loved you, he didn’t trust you near an oven anymore after the incident (which, in your defense, was totally not your fault. Mostly). 

That’s why he’d handed you the broom and kept you at a safe distance, probably so he could supervise while you did something harmless.

“Hey, grab the flour,” he said, focused on lining up the muffin tin for the next batch.

You sighed, abandoning your post as Official Kitchen Sweeper and heading to the pantry. Reaching for the sugar on the highest shelf was another story. You stretched up, fingertips barely brushing the bottom of the bag. Seriously, who put it this high? Oh, right—Crowe, who probably didn’t consider your not-tall-enough height when he stored it away.

“Crowe,” you called, still reaching. “Can you—”

Before you could finish, he was already there. And way too close.

You hadn’t even heard him move, but suddenly, his chest was inches from your back, arm reaching effortlessly over your head. He grabbed the sugar with zero struggle, like he hadn’t just waited for you to fail first.

“…Did you just let me struggle on purpose?” you asked, turning your head slightly.

Crowe didn’t answer immediately, but you knew he was smirking. “Maybe.”

You were this close to elbowing him when the broom in your hand, which you’d forgotten about in your mild irritation, slipped from your grip. There was an ominous clatter, then a soft thump—and then, the unmistakable sound of wood against wood.

You blinked. Turned your head.

The pantry door was shut.

And when you tried to push it open, it didn’t budge.

Crowe exhaled through his nose, sounding way too amused.

“Great job,” he said.

“Oh, shut up, this is your fault,” you shot back, jiggling the doorknob. Nothing. The broom must have fallen just right to wedge itself against the door.

Crowe knocked once on the wooden panel like he was testing its durability. “You locked us in a pantry.”

“Technically, you locked us in the pantry.”

“Technically, you dropped the broom.”

You turned, glaring up at him. “You let me struggle for the flour.”

Crowe lifted the bag slightly, gaze unreadable but definitely smug. “And I’d do it again.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, genius. How do we get out?”

He considered the question like he wasn’t already aware that brute force was an option. Eventually, he sighed, shifting to lean against the nearest shelf.

“I’m not fully sure. Could call Geo, he has the spare key,”

You gave him a deadpan look. “You wanna be stuck here for hours?”

“Geo would get us out in five minutes.”

You groaned, debating your options. You could call someone. Or, more realistically, you could let Crowe deal with it while you sat back and did nothing.

…But then again.

You eyed the bag of flour in his hand.

Crowe caught the look immediately. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

Too late.

You lunged, swiping for the bag, but he yanked it away with zero effort, holding it out of reach like you were some kind of misbehaving child. Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate. But still.

“Give me that,” you said, reaching again.

Crowe tilted his head, considering. Then, with the smuggest expression you’d ever seen, he lifted it higher.

You knew what had to be done.

With zero hesitation, you smacked the bottom of the flour bag.

A cloud of white exploded between you.

Crowe inhaled sharply, taking a full breath of flour straight to the face. You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying so hard not to laugh as he coughed, shaking the powder from his braided brown hair.

“…You little—”

He didn’t finish. Instead, he lunged.

You yelped, dodging to the side, but he was faster. In a single movement, he snatched the flour bag back and retaliated, dumping half of it over your head.

You gasped. “You ass!”

Crowe only smirked, but you could see the challenge in his eyes—like he was daring you to try something else.

Oh, it was on.

You grabbed a handful of flour straight from the bag and flung it at him, coating his shirt. He retaliated by smearing it across your cheek with his thumb, and before you knew it, you were both full-on brawling in the tiny pantry, shoving, dodging, laughing—until, in one swift motion, Crowe grabbed your wrists, spun you, and pinned you against the wall.

The breath left your lungs.

You barely had time to register the shift before he lifted you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Instinct, mostly. His grip was strong, hands firm against your thighs as he leaned in, his breath warm despite the ridiculous amount of flour covering you both.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Crowe tilted his head, looking up at you with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

You huffed. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

You rolled your eyes, still catching your breath. “Y’know, if we ever get out of here, you’re cleaning this up.”

Crowe hummed like he was actually considering it. “Mmm. Nah.”

You squinted at him. “Nah?”

Flour clung to both of you like snowfall, dusting your clothes, your skin, even the strands of Crowe’s hair—but neither of you cared.  

Because before you could get another word out, he leaned in and stole a kiss.  

It was quick—at first. Just enough to catch you off guard, just enough to make your fingers tighten in his hair out of pure instinct. But when he felt you kiss him back, he grinned against your lips, wasting no time in deepening it.  

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as the pantry shelves dug into your back. The scent of sugar and flour mixed with something distinctly him, something warm and addictive. He kissed like he did everything else—with confidence, with a teasing edge that made you want to smack him and pull him closer all at once.  

“You—” You barely managed to exhale when he finally pulled back, your face burning hotter than the oven outside.  

Crowe only smirked, looking way too pleased with himself. “Figured if I was gonna be stuck in here, I might as well get something out of it.”  

You smacked his arm, sending a puff of flour into the air. He just laughed, shaking some from his hair before grabbing your wrist and tugging you right back into another kiss.

Yeah. You were never gonna live this down.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol was pissed.

You could feel it in the way he stomped beside you, in the sharp inhale through his nose, in the way his hands clenched and unclenched like he was aching to throw a punch.

And honestly? You wouldn’t blame him. The guy totally deserved it—hitting on you like that, all cocky smirk and stupid one-liners, right in front of Sol. If it were anyone else, maybe he would’ve let it slide. But you? Sol wasn’t the type to stand by and let someone act like you were up for grabs.

Which is why you were currently dragging him down the hallway, ignoring his half-hearted protests, his muttered curses, and the death glare he was sending over his shoulder toward the guy still standing near the lockers.

“Let me go,” he growled, low and tense.

“Nope.”

“I’m not gonna let him get away with that—”

You rounded a corner, yanking him into the nearest door. Sol barely had a second to register what was happening before you shoved him inside and locked the stall door behind you.

A pause.

Then—

“…Did you just pull me into a bathroom stall?”

You leaned against the wall, exhaling. “Yes.”

Sol stared at you. Then at the stall walls. Then back at you.

“…Why?”

“Because,” you said, voice slow and pointed, “I’m not letting you fight a guy just because he shot his shot. It’s not worth it.”

Sol scoffed, crossing his arms. “Not worth it? He was—”

“Flirting.” You raised a brow. “That’s all.”

Sol’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, and that’s enough.”

You sighed. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this—fists clenching, shoulders tense, barely restraining himself from storming right back out.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“And you’re insane for thinking I’m gonna let that slide.”

“Well, guess what? You don’t have a choice.”

Sol huffed out a frustrated breath, raking a hand through his hair. He looked like a caged animal, shifting his weight, practically vibrating with pent-up aggression. It would’ve been funny—his broad frame stuffed into the cramped stall, visibly suffering—if not for the fact that he genuinely looked like he was debating whether or not to climb over the door and bolt.

“…You really think I’d lose?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You pulled me in here like I’d lose,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. “Like I couldn’t take him.”

“Oh my god.” You let your head fall back against the wall. “Sol, I know you could take him. That’s the problem.”

His scowl deepened. “Then why—”

“Because it’s stupid!” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “It’s a waste of time, you’d get in trouble, and for what? My honor? Please.” You rolled your eyes. “Like I can’t handle a guy flirting with me.”

Sol was quiet for a second. He looked away, flexing his fingers before stuffing them into his pockets.

“…Still,” he muttered.

You glanced at him. “Still what?”

His jaw clenched. “Still don’t like it.”

Something in his voice was different—lower, rougher. He wasn’t just pissed anymore. There was something else beneath it, something raw and unreadable.

For once, you softened.

You exhaled, somewhat over his shit, “I know.” before turning around to look though the gaps of the stall.

Sol didn’t move for a moment. But then, finally, he sighed, letting his head fall back against the stall like he was exhausted—more like he was embarrassed.

You see—you pressed yourself against the stall door, carefully peeking through the small gap to see if the guy had followed.

Sol, still leaning against the back wall, let out a slow, controlled breath, finally starting to relax—until you shifted back against him.

He stiffened.

You didn’t notice. Too focused on scanning the hallway, you pressed in closer, unknowingly making the situation worse. Sol’s hands twitched at his sides, jaw locking as he tried so hard to think about literally anything else besides the fact that—

“Oh, good, I think he’s gone,” you muttered.

Sol said nothing.

You frowned, turning your head slightly. “You good?”

Still, nothing.

…Weird.

Shrugging, you went back to peeking out, oblivious as you unknowingly rocked back against him again.

Sol flinched. His hands immediately shot out, grabbing your hips to stop you before this got any worse.

You finally noticed that. “Hey, what are you—”

“I need you to move.” His voice was strained, almost a growl.

You blinked, glancing over your shoulder. “Move where? There’s no—”

Then you felt it.

Oh.

Oh.

Realization slammed into you like a brick. You went completely still, processing. Sol looked like he wanted to die.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then, finally—

“…You’re kidding.”

Sol exhaled sharply. “Help me.”

You choked on a laugh, smacking a hand over your mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” he hissed, keeping his grip on your hips firmly so you wouldn’t make things worse.

“It’s hilarious!”

“I’m suffering!”

You were fully cackling at this point, bracing yourself against the stall door as Sol groaned behind you, deeply regretting every decision that led to this moment.

“…So, uh,” you teased, grinning. “Still mad about that guy flirting with me?”

“Shut up.”

He glanced at you, then shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. “We’re literally hiding in a bathroom stall.”

“Yeah, and?” You questioned.

Sol rolled his eyes, but his posture relaxed, tension slowly easing out of his shoulders.

Sol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. His other hand curled into a fist at his side, like he was trying to keep himself in check.  

“…Can we—” He stopped, rolling his shoulders back as if that would somehow fix his problem.  

You smirked, arms crossed, enjoying this way too much. “Can we what, Sol?”  

His jaw tensed. He looked at you, then away, then back again—like he was debating whether he actually had the guts to say it. His fingers flexed at his sides before he finally gave up, resting his head back against the stall wall with a quiet groan.  

“…Help me out here?” His voice was strained, low enough that it barely carried over the hum of the bathroom fan.  

You blinked. “Oh?”  

Sol shot you a glare, but there was a hint of desperation beneath it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  

“Don’t make me say it,” he muttered.

You grinned, absolutely reveling in this. “Help you out?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “Sol, I’m not sure what you mean.”  

His glare sharpened, but the way his fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides betrayed him. He shifted, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to force some kind of patience into himself.  

“You know exactly what I mean,” he ground out, his voice thick with frustration.  

You tilted your head, tapping a finger against your chin. “Hmmm… I dunno. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”  

Sol let out a low, irritated growl, leaning in just enough to close the already small space between you. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.  

“…You’re really gonna make me say it?” His voice had dipped lower, a quiet challenge woven into it.  

Your pulse skipped, but you kept up the act, arching a brow. “I mean, if you’re asking for my help, you should at least use your words, Sol.”  

He dragged a hand down his face again before gripping the edge of the stall, his knuckles white. “I hate you.”  

“You love me.”  

He scoffed but didn’t argue, which only made your grin widen.  

You had another teasing remark locked and loaded, ready to fire—but then your breath hitched. Just for a second.  

Because he stepped closer.  

Too close.  

The air in the stall shifted, heat radiating from him as he loomed over you, his expression unreadable. Your back pressed against the stall door instinctively, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape the weight of his stare.  

Your throat went dry as you swallowed.  

Fuck.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

The hotel was busy with the usual chaos that came with a trip involving your friend group—Crowe’s over-the-top plans, Sol’s constant complaints, and Brittany’s never-ending search for the perfect selfie lighting. You and Geo had just been about to head downstairs to meet up with the others when you suddenly groaned, realization hitting you like a brick.

“My sunglasses,” you muttered, already turning back toward the shared room. Geo sighed beside you, hands tucked into his pockets. “Seriously? You couldn’t have remembered before we left?”

You shot him a look as you grabbed the door handle. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect Memory. I’ll be sure to consult you next time before I breathe.”

He half smirked, unimpressed, as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Rolling your eyes, you made your way to the nightstand where you were pretty sure you’d left them. 

Geo trailed in behind you, muttering something about how he should’ve just left you behind. But before he could make good on that threat, he paused, watching as you tossed your phone onto the bed.  

“You forgot sunscreen,” he pointed out.  

You groaned again, already annoyed. “It’s cloudy outside, I’ll be fine.”  

Geo folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Uh-huh. And when Crowe roasts you for looking ‘crispy’ in the group photos, I don’t want to hear it.”  

Sighing, you grabbed your sunglasses off the dresser. “I know, I know.” You huffed and reached for the sunscreen bottle on the counter. “But it’s fine. I’ll just do it real quick.”  

Begrudgingly, you squeezed some into your palm and started rubbing it onto your face. Geo made a noise of approval—until he actually saw what you were doing. His expression immediately shifted to disapproval, and he shook his head.  

“You’re doing it wrong,” he muttered, his usual calm demeanor just a little off. “You missed a spot.”  

You frowned. “Excuse me?”  

Before you could protest, Geo walked over and plucked the bottle from your hands. “Here. Let me—”  

Rolling your eyes, you lifted your chin to make sure you didn’t get a weird streak across your neck. “You’re supposed to just let me do it. I’ve got it.”  

Geo raised an eyebrow. “Let me help. You’ll burn otherwise.”  

You gave him a look. “Oh, please, I’ll be fine.”  

“You’re doing it wrong.”  

“Yeah, yeah, you said that.”

Geo sighed dramatically, stepping closer—the kind of sigh that meant he had no intention of letting it go. You barely managed to suppress a grin before he was right next to you, his hands gently but firmly adjusting your arms so he could rub the sunscreen in properly.  

“You’re gonna burn,” he muttered, his voice a little more intense than usual. You could hear the concern creeping through it, and despite yourself, you softened at the way he touched your shoulders with care, making sure every spot was covered.  

You stared up at him, unsure whether to laugh or groan at how overly concerned he was. “It’s just sunscreen, Geo. I can do it myself.”  

“No, you can’t,” he replied matter-of-factly, unscrewing the cap. “You always miss spots.”  

You shot him a playfully offended look. “I do not.”  

He glanced at you with an unimpressed eyebrow raise. “Really?”  

“…Fine, whatever.” You sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing over sunscreen of all things. Besides, if there was anyone who knew skincare, it was Geo.  

He stepped closer, rubbing the sunscreen onto your shoulders. The cool lotion made you shiver slightly, but his touch was strangely gentle, careful not to be too rough. His hands moved with ease—practiced, almost—as if he’d done this before, and you let out a slow breath, focusing on the task at hand while he worked on your neck, your face, everywhere you’d missed.  

“Better?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper as he adjusted the way you were standing.  

You nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”  

“About time.” He smirked, stepping back to assess his work.  

Then, you heard it.  

The door handle clicked.  

Both of you froze, the room instantly turning too quiet.  

“…No.” You whispered, dread creeping in.  

It was Brittany.

“Why is she back so early?” you hissed, panic rising in your chest. 

Geo glanced at the door, then at the closet. Then at you. “You need to hide.”  

“What?”  

Before you could blink, he grabbed your arm, yanking you toward the closet. You barely had time to react before he practically shoved you inside, following right after and pulling the door shut just as Brittany entered the room.  

“Geo—”  

“I’m not dealing with this right now,” he whispered sharply.  

You barely managed to swallow back a retort before you heard Brittany moving around, shuffling through her things. You froze, pressing yourself against the closet wall, trying not to make a sound.  

Unfortunately, Geo had the same idea—only there wasn’t much space to work with.  

You were practically nose-to-nose, his chest lightly pressed against yours, every breath shared in the cramped darkness. It was suffocating, but not just because of the lack of space.  

You weren’t supposed to be here.  

You weren’t supposed to be with him like this.  

And yet, here you were, pressed close in a way that made every nerve in your body hyperaware.  

Geo shifted slightly, but the movement only made things worse, his hand brushing your waist as he adjusted his stance. His breath was warm against your cheek as he leaned in—so close that if Brittany weren’t in the room, you might’ve accused him of doing it on purpose.  

You swallowed. “Geo—”  

“Shhh.” His voice was barely more than a breath, the word a soft command that vibrated against the air between you. But there was something dangerously amused in the way he spoke, like he knew exactly what kind of mess he’d dragged you both into.  

“I told you, you need to be more careful.” Geo’s words were a low murmur as he leaned back against the closet wall, crossing his arms. His proximity was almost suffocating. You could feel the warmth of his body pressing into the space you barely had, his breath quickening just enough for you to catch it.  

“Oh, shut up.” You whispered back, unable to hold in a nervous laugh. The tension was palpable, a strange cocktail of adrenaline and something else that made your heart skip a beat. “You’re the one who shoved me in here.”  

“Yeah, well, I’m not trying to deal with Brittany walking in on us,” Geo’s voice dropped an octave, the irritation thick in his words. “Remember? No one knows we’re together yet.”  

You froze at his words, heart thudding a little faster. That was true—no one in the group knew. No one had ever seen you and Geo alone, and with him being the usually aloof and distant guy, everyone would be suspicious if they saw him helping you with sunscreen.  

The realization made your skin flush, and your stomach twisted with a mix of excitement and nervousness. How would Brittany react if she saw you two like this?  

You could hear Brittany moving around the room, rummaging through your things, her steps growing closer to the closet.  

And then, Geo was even closer, if that was even possible. You could practically feel the heat radiating from him, his body a mere inch away from yours. His presence filled the space, making everything feel suffocatingly intimate.  

“Geo…”  

His eyes flicked over to you, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch. He muttered under his breath, his lips brushing your ear just barely. “Shut up,” he snapped, the irritation in his voice mixed with something more—something that made your heart race even faster. “We need to stay quiet.”  

You bit your lip to hold back the laugh that threatened to spill out, but the way he was so close, the way you could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, had your stomach doing somersaults. You shifted slightly, trying not to make a sound, but the cramped space left you with no room to escape the warmth of his body pressing into yours.

Brittany’s voice drifted through the room. “Where is my damn bag…”  

Your stomach twisted as Brittany’s footsteps drew closer—too close for comfort. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, the air growing thick with tension. Every movement felt like it might give you away, but Geo was quick to react.  

Without a moment's hesitation, Geo’s hand shot out, pressing firmly against the closet door. His fingers gripped the edge, holding it in place, the door threatening to creak from the pressure. His body tensed, muscles coiling under his shirt like a predator ready to spring into action at any moment.  

The space between you, already nonexistent, seemed to shrink even more, his arm hovering above your head, blocking the door. The way he positioned himself so close to you, his chest almost touching your back, only made the situation more intense. The faintest brush of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.  

Brittany’s hand gripped the door handle, turning it with a soft click. Geo’s body shifted subtly, every inch of his being still, but you could feel the power in his frame—he wasn’t going to let her open it.  

Your heart pounded in your chest, the silence so thick you could almost hear it. If she pushed harder, you would both be caught, and everything would fall apart. You could feel Geo's pulse quicken as he held the door steady, his arm a firm barrier above you, ensuring that nothing moved.  

The heat from his body, the tension in the air—it all felt like a warning. But you could only stand there, frozen, hoping that Brittany would just leave.

Brittany's hand tightened on the door handle, twisting it again, but Geo didn’t budge. His arm remained above your head, a solid barrier, his body blocking any possible movement. You could feel the gentle pressure of his chest against your back, steady and unyielding, as he silently willed the door to stay shut.  

Her hand tugged harder at the handle, and you could almost feel her frustration radiating through the wood. You held your breath, praying she wouldn’t push too hard, or worse, get suspicious. The seconds felt like hours.  

"Ugh, this door's stuck," Brittany muttered under her breath, sounding more annoyed than worried. “Guess I’ll have to ask one of the guys to open it for me later."  

Your heart skipped a beat. You could practically hear her disappointment, and you were certain she was none the wiser to the fact that she was so close to catching you both.  

Geo’s body slowly relaxed, his grip loosening just a fraction as she finally stepped away from the door, the soft thud of her footsteps retreating making the air feel a little less suffocating.  

You let out a quiet breath you didn't realize you were holding, the tension melting away for just a moment. Geo, however, didn’t move immediately. He stayed close, his hand still braced against the door, and his voice dropped to a low murmur, almost too soft to hear.  

"That was too close," he whispered, his words laced with the same urgency that had gripped you both moments before. 

"Yeah," you agreed softly, your voice barely audible. "Too close."  

Then, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was barely above a whisper, low and edged with something unreadable. “We’re not supposed to be like this right now, you know?”  

You swallowed. “I know.”  

“And yet,” he murmured, almost amused.  

You barely resisted the urge to shove him. “We don’t have a choice.”  

Brittany’s footsteps halted just outside the closet, and your breath caught in your throat.  

“Is this my bag?” she muttered, rummaging through the room.  

Then, a sound that made your stomach drop—your ringtone.  

Geo tensed beside you, fingers pressing harder against the door to keep it shut. His body was practically caging you in, his heat radiating off him in the already suffocating space.  

Your pulse hammered in your ears. “You didn’t have to do this,” you whispered, barely moving your lips. “We could’ve just told her.”  

Geo let out a sharp breath, jaw tight. “Not now.”  

His tone was firm—final. No room for argument.  

You glanced up at him, catching the flicker of tension in his expression, but his gaze remained locked on Brittany, who now held up your phone with a triumphant look.  

“Found it! And I guess they left their phone under my bag,” she said, her voice growing fainter as she hurried toward the door.  

She turned, heading for the door.  

Only when you heard it click shut did Geo finally exhale, the tension in his body loosening—but his expression didn’t ease. Instead, his brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.  

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”  

Geo pulled his phone from his pocket, tilting the screen toward you.  

A single missed call. From him.  

Realization crashed into you like a wave. Your heart skipped a beat.  

“…Geo.”  

He’d called your phone. On purpose. To make sure it rang loud enough for Brittany to find her bag before she even thought about checking the closet.  

Geo exhaled heavily, glancing back at his phone. “I’m really not in the mood to tell them about us right now.”  

You shook your head, but before you could respond, the door creaked open just a fraction. Geo had already managed to free himself, and you didn’t even have time to protest. He wasn’t about to let this moment drag on any longer.  

Smart. Calculated. Unbelievably risky.  

And, worst of all, it worked.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜 [ 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝒹 ]

It had started with something innocent enough—Sol was sick. Too stubborn to admit it, of course, but sick nonetheless. He’d skipped class for the first time in forever, and when neither you nor Hyugo received your usual sarcastic texts from him throughout the day, it was clear something was wrong.  

Hyugo, ever the opportunist, had immediately latched onto the idea of sneaking into Sol’s place. “We can’t just let him rot in there alone,” he’d said, dramatically clutching his chest like this was some grand mission. “And besides, if he’s too weak to fight back, this might be our only shot at pulling off the perfect prank.”  

You had agreed—not for the prank, but because, despite Sol’s grumpy exterior, you actually cared. Hyugo did too, even if he’d never admit it outright.  

So, naturally, sneaking in was the next step.  

Getting inside was ridiculously easy. Sol had forgotten to lock his window, a mistake that would haunt him soon enough. Hyugo had hoisted himself up first, barely containing his laughter as he reached down to pull you through. You had landed in a crouch, both of you moving like trained professionals—except for the part where Hyugo knocked over a stack of books.  

You both froze.  

Silence.  

No yelling. No threats of immediate violence. Just the distant sound of Sol’s snoring from his living room. 

Hyugo had grinned, looking way too pleased with himself. “He’s dead asleep. Perfect.”  

And that’s how you ended up crouched beside him, hidden in Sol’s bedroom like two criminals, your mission shifting from simple food delivery to pure chaos.

You nudged Hyugo with your elbow, whispering, “Alright, we dropped off the food. Let’s go before he wakes up.”  

But Hyugo wasn’t even listening. His eyes were locked onto the narrow space beneath Sol’s bed, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.  

“You know what would make this even better?” he muttered, barely able to contain his grin.  

You sighed, already regretting whatever he was about to say. “I swear, if you—”  

“Hiding under his bed.”  

You stared at him. “You’re insane.”  

“And you love it,” he shot back, already lowering himself onto the floor. “C’mon, this is once-in-a-lifetime stuff. Imagine his face when we grab his ankles.”  

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the thought of Sol’s reaction, that brief moment of pure, unfiltered terror before rage inevitably set in? It was too good to pass up.  

“Fine,” you grumbled, sliding down next to him.  

Hyugo barely stifled his laughter as you both squeezed under the bed, pressed close in the cramped space. The scent of detergent mixed with Sol’s cologne, clinging to the air, but all you could really focus on was the warmth of Hyugo’s body against yours.  

He shifted slightly, his thigh brushing against yours, his breath hot against your skin.  

“Stop moving,” you whispered, trying to ignore the way your bodies were practically molded together.  

“I have to move,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “I’m not built for these conditions. Tell me, do all peasants live like this?”  

You scoffed, nudging him with your elbow—except the space was so tight, it ended up feeling more like a lingering touch.  

Hyugo let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly so his lips were close to your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “If you keep touching me like that, I might start thinking you like being pressed up against me.”  

Your breath caught for just a second, and that was all he needed to smirk.  

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, but the way your body tensed against his didn’t go unnoticed.  

Hyugo only grinned, voice a playful whisper. “And yet, here you are, trapped with me. So close.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine. The space under the bed was suffocatingly small, but it wasn’t the lack of air that was making your heart pound—it was him.

Hyugo shifted again, deliberately this time, his body pressing just a little firmer against yours. His hand found your hip, fingers barely brushing over the fabric of your shirt. “You know,” he mused, voice slow and teasing, “I think I could get used to this.”  

You narrowed your eyes at him in the dim lighting. “Hyugo.”  

“Yes, sweetie?” He grinned, using that damn pet name that always made your stomach do flips.  

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your composure. “Focus. We’re supposed to be scaring Sol, not—”  

“Not what?” he interrupted, leaning in slightly. “Not making things… interesting?” His voice dipped, low and smooth as if he was daring you to react.  

Your fingers twitched against the cold floor. “You’re unbelievable.”  

“And yet, you still let yourself get stuck here with me,” he murmured, thumb grazing over your hip before he pulled away just enough to let the tension settle in.  

You were about to retort when footsteps sounded from the hallway—Sol’s, unmistakable and approaching fast.  

Hyugo smirked, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Showtime.”  

The sound of the door opening made both of you freeze. Footsteps—heavy, familiar. Sol’s voice grumbled something under his breath as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hyugo inhaled sharply beside you. You could feel his excitement radiating off him.

Sol let out a long sigh before muttering, “Finally.” There was a shuffle, a soft thud as he tossed something onto his bed. More footsteps, pacing. You could barely make out his silhouette through the slats of the bed frame.

Hyugo gave you a silent count with his fingers. Three… two…

One.

Without hesitation, both of you reached out and grabbed his ankles.

Sol let out a noise that was not human.

It was somewhere between a grunt and a strangled shout, followed by a blur of motion as he leaped onto his bed like it was a lifeboat and the floor was shark-infested waters.

“The fuck—?!”

Hyugo was already wheezing beside you, gripping his stomach as he tried to contain his laughter. You were barely holding it together yourself.

Sol, meanwhile, was not amused.

His head poked over the side of the bed, eyes dark with fury. “Are you two out of your damn minds?!”

Hyugo finally lost it, bursting into a fit of laughter as he rolled out from under the bed. “That scream!” he gasped between laughs. “Oh my god, I think I ascended.”

You crawled out after him, grinning as you dusted yourself off. “Totally worth it.”

Sol narrowed his eyes. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

Hyugo draped an arm around your shoulder, still grinning. “Actually, it was my idea. But they were an excellent accomplice.”

Sol exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Both of you are insufferable.”

“Aw, don’t be mad, Sol,” Hyugo teased, poking him in the arm. “We only traumatized you a little.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw both of you out that window,” Sol muttered, flopping back on his bed with an exhausted sigh.

Hyugo leaned in a little closer, his usual mischievous grin softening just a touch, as if the playful moment had shifted to something more genuine. With a sudden, almost teasing move, he placed a quick, unexpected kiss on your cheek. The touch was brief but warm, and as he pulled back, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, clearly enjoying the chaos he had caused. “Mission: success,” he whispered, the tone laced with a quiet, victorious amusement.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the surprise, your heart doing a little flip before a smirk tugged at your lips. “What was that for?” you asked, trying to mask the flutter in your chest with feigned indifference.

Hyugo simply shrugged, the playful spark never leaving his eyes. “For being an accomplice, of course,” he said, his voice light, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And despite the teasing, despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. 

God, you loved his silly ass.