#I have a notebook with two pages of ideas

[scannainscanrula]

shadowed corners

remmick x reader (18+ mdni)

You're a romance author suffering from insomnia, writer's block, and strange nightmares. Your publisher offers to send you to Maine for a short sabbatical to clear your head. It's a quaint town with charming locals, and a mysterious man running the lighthouse that nobody seems to know much about... [part two here]

author's note: well well here we are again. this is MUCH longer than my other fic and i intend to have at least 3(?) chapters for it, so strap in girlies. no smut just yet yous have to earn it first by sitting through all this fucking exposition. grma enjoy! warnings: horror elements, discussion of animal death, discussion of shark attacks, sexual themes

You sit at your desk in front of an empty document, the cursor blinking at you mockingly. Your eyes are tired and your head feels heavy, and the last time you fell asleep at your desk you had drooled on your keyboard, and you really don’t want to find a place to get it fixed. 

“An old-school computer always helps me when I have writer’s block,” one of your colleagues had told you at a cocktail party when you lamented about your publisher’s insistence on a new concept.

You had a very embarrassing and uncomfortably visible breakdown in her windows-only corner office. You began word-vomiting all over her sleek carbon fibre desk about your writer’s block and insomnia– leaving out the extra embarrassing detail of your recurring sexy nightmares– and she had patted your back and attempted to comfort you with corporate jargon. When the tears started she lowered some blinds and lowered her voice, sitting against the edge of the desk in front of her.

“Look, kid. You’re a hell of a writer, okay? Nothing sells like your stuff. I mean, I don’t get it, but the girls love this… creepy vampire stalker shit.”

Dark romance, you want to correct her, but it’s futile after four years working together. 

She sighed, crossing her arms.

“How about… I give you a company card and you go… rent on the coast somewhere for a few months? We have some contracts to draft because these streaming services are just chomping at the bit for rights to adapt. So you go pack your things and take a break. Get an Ambien prescription, fuck a fisherman, whatever you need to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll bankroll it.”

She taps her manicured acrylic nail on the cover of your most recent title, Shadowed Corners. It was a total and complete success, where your first two were mafia romances set in the same universe, SC was a dark romance with a vampire love interest stalking your adorable main character. You love red flags, and Milo was covered in them.  

“You’re a money-printing machine, babe.”

So here you are, not relaxing, not on sleeping pills, and completely unfucked by any hot guys. You press your fingers to your temples and sigh, closing the pages and pushing the circular off button for the computer. You slide back and lean forward, stretching your creaky back. You miss your cozy little setup at home, your comfortable chair and the souped-up gamer style keyboard. You sacrificed comfort hoping it would make you work harder, but you think you’ll just finish this little sabbatical with more lower-back pain than usual. 

You fill your water bottle with the filter in the fridge, admiring the stickers all over it. Among the logo of your publishing house and the ones about writing, you have fanart of your books and quotes from your own characters. Ones you’ve found at book fairs and second-hand stores as well as online. A handful were sent along with fanmail. Your laptop and idea notebook are covered too, because it drove you mad to know people liked your stuff enough to make art out of it. 

You huff and trudge up the stairs, feeling exhausted and dreading the next day. You sit in your bed and look at the sticker of Milo with his signature phrase I’d like to see you stop me, babygirl. 

You turn the bottle away from you as you open the bedside drawer. Inside of it are two options. A scent-proof bag that holds your pipe, grinder, and bud, a vape, and a few edibles. The other is a vibrator. You wonder what the point of this vacation was. You could get high and get off at home in the city. And at least there you could order munchies for delivery after you’d fucked yourself silly thinking about the made-up vampire in your head.

You just shut the drawer, rolling your eyes as you lay back. 

Two hours later, you can’t sleep. You’re “jerking off your ego” as your friends would call it, looking through positive reviews of your last title. You know you have detractors, people who think your work is trash or anti-feminist. It’s a little trashy, but it’s just for fun. And you’ve had your share of shitty boyfriends like any girl your age, you know the difference between right and wrong. God forbid a girl wants a hot vampire to follow her home, you think. 

You sit up and put your phone face down. You need fresh air. You need a walk. So, you bundle up and stick in headphones for a brisk, freezing, 7 PM wintertime mental health walk. The New England air isn’t just cold, it’s thick and wet with the marine layer from the ocean, which you’re a short walk away from. It’s not nice, but it does invigorate you as you follow the path from your little cottage down to the beach. It’s pretty private, tucked away in a little alcove– which you were warned not to enter when the tide is too high. You peek over to see it’s not. So you climb down and skirt around the rocks to walk on the main beach, which is empty. Obviously. The recently released audiobook of one of your peers’ newest titles plays in your ears, narrated by a sultry English man. You should have gone somewhere else for inspiration. You vaguely remember hearing someone at a book release party talk about how inspiring their trip to France was, and another person responded about their time in Ireland. You’ve mostly just met fishermen and townies, and none of these men had the Milo quality about them. 

Milo was inspired by a stunning man you saw while at a nightclub in New York City. You were very, very drunk on espresso martinis, but you saw him and his adorable girlfriend– who also served as your muse for Annmarie, SC’s protagonist– at the bar together. His arm was around her waist in a way that was possessive but romantic, his hand rested over her tummy, and you saw his thumb rubbing circles into her skin lovingly. 

“Oh my God, girl, are you seriously drooling? You are so drunk,” your friend had half-sighed, half-laughed as you wiped a little drool from your chin with the back of your hand.

“We have got to get you some dick, queen,” another friend joked.

“I am perfectly fine being single,” you protested.

“Nuh-uh, I read that last book of yours. All work and no dick makes you fucking crazy. How did you come up with that shit anyway?”

“She’s totally sick in the head, that’s how.”

Your back straightens up as you think you hear a voice.

“Miss!”

You pause the book and turn around to see a man jogging behind you, holding something in his hands. You freeze with terror until you realise it’s your notebook he’s holding.

“You dropped this,” he says, handing it over. He stays a nice distance away from you.

He has some sort of Southern accent, not New England. 

And he is very, very attractive. He wears a tight black t-shirt and black athletic shorts. His short hair is semi-dark, and probably reddish from the way it looks in the blue moonlight. He smiles politely at you, his dark eyes are hard to see. There’s a scruff of facial hair on him.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, I… I woulda tapped your shoulder, but I was worried you’d sock me in the nose if I scared you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Are you uh… you okay? It’s pretty dark out here.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just clearing my head.”

“Right.”

You take a breath and introduce yourself quickly.

���I’m Remmick,” he says.

“So, what are you doing out here, Remmick?”

“Well, I work at that lighthouse. Just takin’ a jog before I head up there.”

“Oh.”

Hot lighthouse worker. That could be a love interest.

“You on vacation? I think I’d remember your face if I’d seen it before.”

Charming lighthouse worker. 

“I’m uh… on a sort of sabbatical.”

“You a doctor or something?”

“God, no. I’m a writer.”

“Yeah?”

The tone and timbre of that yeah have your head spinning. 

“Books or what?”

You nod.

“What kind?”

You hesitate.

“Can I guess?”

“Go for it.”

He thinks for a second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he does, which makes you flush. 

“Are they scary?”

“Parts of them are scary,” you admit. 

You remembered researching for SC and finding out that a lot of people only have a little over one gallon of blood in their bodies. You felt lightheaded and queasy at the visual of a plastic gallon bottle full of blood.

“But they ain’t all scary, huh?”

“Nope.”

He eyes you and smirks.

“Are they dirty?”

You hesitate and suck in air through clenched teeth.

“Yeah. They’re pretty dirty.”

“You must make good money, huh?”

He chuckles and you shrug.

“I do alright.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Where’re you stayin’?”

You pause and he holds up his hands.

“That probably sounded creepy. I only meant… there’s some nice places, and there’s a Holiday Inn.”

“Well, it’s not the Holiday Inn.”

He looks at the watch on his hand.

“Shit. Well, I gotta get goin’.”

He says your name and your chest fills up with a weird feeling. Half-elation, half-dread.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. You too. I’ll see you around,” you respond.

“Only if you keep walkin’ at night. Boats don’t need a lighthouse in the daytime,” he explains quickly, jogging off toward the beacon.

Hot lighthouse worker who’s charming and funny. Now that could work.

You go home and open the fridge. Time for boxed wine in a mug as you power-write for the next forty-five minutes until your hands cramp up.

You put the notebook down and pull out your favorite pen. You need certainty when you put book ideas down. You write in quick, messy bullet points, only getting down little ideas. You heard that coastal New England towns are famous for gruesome murder. Your instincts take you to the mafia but one glance at your water bottle has you thinking otherwise. SC was such a success, and you’re the vampire girl now. 

So you begin to pen the vague outline of a dark romance with a steamy, stalkery vampire lighthouse worker. A man in thick knit sweaters with a messy beard– that could get messier covered in blood or buried between a writer’s thighs–

You pause and see you’ve written writer on the page. You cringe and scribble that out. You had your humble beginnings with composition notebook self-insert fanfiction as a tween, but you’re a big girl now. And you’re already writing prose over a guy you just met, you really don’t need to make it any weirder. Your mind goes through some humble, wholesome occupations to compliment a love interest like that. Baker? Too cliche. Schoolteacher? Too male gaze. Big city corporate lawyer? Too Hallmark movie.

You tap back of the pen against the page rhythmically and sit up. Investigative journalist. Still technically a writer, but the only things you investigate are late-night Twitter links on a private spam account not even your best friends know about. 

Your pen dashes across the page, scrawling wildly. There’s not even any music playing, just the not-so-distant sound of the ocean, the radiator, and your own hand brushing against the paper. Soon, you’ve filled five pages without realising and that doubles in a blink. Shit! Your hand cramps up and you lift the pen finally, massaging your other thumb into your palm. It’s time for bed now, as three hours have passed and your back is killing you. 

You ascend the stairs again and just go to sleep, hand and wrist sore and content with your productivity.

You wake up surprisingly early the next day, and decide to go into town to get some groceries. Your fridge is looking sparse and the pantries are basically empty. You buy some frozen stuff and some supplies to make coffee. You see the honey is placed on the highest shelf you’ve ever seen and huff. No workers around. You can probably get it on your tiptoes. You strain to reach it and hear a man’s voice.

“Can I help you with that?”

You almost fall dropping to your feet again, and a shooting pain goes up from your heels.

“Ow, shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s a man in a lifeguard’s hoodie with red swim trunks on. Maybe you hit your head and you’re having some sort of insane Baywatch fantasy.

“Yes. Please.”

“Yeah, I honestly don’t know who puts this stuff up there. The lady who owns this place is like, four-eleven.” You laugh at that as he hands you the honey.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m Chris, by the way.”

You give him your name and shake his hand. Fucking hell this guy is strong. 

“Are you visiting?”

“Yeah. For a few months though. I’m working on a book.”

“You write horror?”

“Sorry?”

“Um, Stephen King’s from Maine. I feel like horror writers are always trying to… come out here and get some of that inspiration.”

“I think the inspiration he had was-”

“Cocaine?” he says at the same time as you. He shrugs. “At least you can recognise that. Half the other writers are ready to climb into the sewer.”

“Shit, well there goes my day at the rock quarry,” you joke. 

He laughs at that and you grin. 

“I’m a lifeguard on the beach for the next six hours, if you um… feel like you need some fresh air. Sunlight isn’t really a November specialty.”

“Are people really swimming this time of year?”

“Oh, they are. But so are the great whites, so, I’m mostly on seal watch.”

“Right.”

“I’m in tower Four,” he tells you eagerly. It’s like the words just jump right out of his mouth. “It’s right by the lighthouse. Nobody swims there, so… if you wanna tell me about your book or something… my job is pretty boring.”

“I’ll see you out there, Chris.”

“See you.”

You check out and ride the bike the homeowner left for guests back to the cottage. You feel insane. Maybe you were hospitalized after that breakdown and this is all some elaborate, drugged-up daydream you’re in. You pull out your notebook after the groceries are put away and flip to a new page. You click your pen and write HOT LIFEGUARD at the top of the page. 

A love triangle sounds awesome.

Later on, after you actually manage to type some words on a new, more permanent outline document, your vision drifts out the window. It is actually kind of a nice day, even though it’s overcast and windy. You stand and squeeze your hands together, stretching out. It is time for another brisk walk, this time to Tower Four.

Chris sits up there, slumped in his chair and holding his rescue tube in his lap. His tanned, toned legs are wide as he sits back.

“Would it scare you really bad if I started yelling ‘help’?” you joke, peering up at him from the ground.

He chirps your name, sitting up and sliding his sunglasses on top of his head, pushing back his hair. 

“You made it.”

“I brought you a snack,” you say, handing up the small bag of chocolates.

“Wicked,” he says, taking it from your hand. He swings down like a monkey and sits with his feet dangling off the side of the tower. You share the candies and look out on the water.

“So, you gonna tell me about your book?”

“Yeah, I’m not a horror writer.”

“What do you write?”

You hesitate. You know this song and dance, the divulgence of your career and the weird stares and uncomfortable shifting that follows. It’s ruined all sorts of dates and first impressions. Fuck it. You’re on sabbatical.

“Um… dirty romance books.”

“No shit? Is it like that crazy mafia stuff online?”

“Yeah, it’s exactly that.”

“Killer. You make a lot of money?”

“Enough to stay here and not work for three months.”

“So… you’re not writing a book?”

You shake your head.

“My creative well is completely dry. I came out here for-”

“Don’t even say it.”

“-some inspiration.”

“You are such a liar,” he teases. “You’re just like all those Stephen King wannabes,” he jokes, turning away from you.

You laugh at his silliness. You remain for a while, chatting about life and the town.

“The city is wild. I’m getting used to the silence, I think,” you tell him, having moved to– illegally– sit on the tower with him.

“Is the crime really so crazy out there?”

“Yeah, I mean… most of that is just there’s so many people crammed into such a small place. People go nuts.”

“Damn.”

“No crime here?”

“Not here, no, but um… about twenty miles north there’s this beach town, it’s a complete tourist getaway, but they got rocked by some shark attacks a few years back.”

“Some shark attacks?” you repeat his casual wording, shocked.

“Sorry. That sounded insensitive, it was really scary. That place is on its last legs now.”

“Well, yeah. Who wants to stay at the Jaws resort?”

“Bull shark, probably. The same thing happened in nineteen-sixteen. It was pretty gruesome.”

“Are you fucking with me?” you question him seriously, eyes squinted.

“I’m being serious, look it up.”

“Huh. Shit.” You sit back, eyes wandering to the lighthouse.

“Have you ever met the person who works up there?”

“Yeah, he’s fucking creepy.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“You met him?”

“Mhm. Last night.”

“Remmick? The lighthouse guy? You met him?”

“Yeah…? He was jogging.”

“Fucking weirdo,” Chris mutters. “He’s a complete shut-in.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Couple years? I don’t really know when he got here, he just… was there one day.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, well. We used to have a night lifeguard, and– listen, I can admit having a girl out here on her own was pretty stupid– not that girls are… incapable or something-”

“I get it.”

“Right. And… full disclaimer, this girl really liked shrooms, but she swears up and down that she saw that guy covered in blood and eating a seal.”

“Whoa.”

“I mean, there was a dead seal on the beach, she was right about that.”

“Great white?”

“Oh, for sure. I’m think he was probably just doing that creepy-ass night jogging by the tower when that seal washed up, and… sometimes the sharks don’t fully kill the things-”

You grimace.

“I know, it’s pretty sad. Anyway, probably it was yowling and her fucking shroomed out brain conjured up that pretty picture. But he’s just a weird guy. He’s totally nocturnal. I’ve never seen the guy in the daytime. I’ve probably seen him six times and talked to him like… two, maybe?”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. Anyways, sorry. That was a lot. I’d just stay away from the guy if you can. I don’t know what his deal is.”

You swiftly change the subject to movies and TV, which is good, because you two seem to share the same interests. Strangely enough, vampires are among them.

“I have sisters, so, I’ve seen Twilight about a hundred times? Maybe more?”

You laugh at that. You see him grinning and you check phone, seeing that two hours have passed.

“Shit. I have got to get back.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for the company. And the advice,” you add, nodding to the lighthouse.

“Um… would you want to grab a drink, tomorrow?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Um… where?”

“It’s called The Weasel. It’s definitely a townie bar, but… the drinks are cheap.”

You are fiending for an espresso martini, and you fear you’ll have to settle for an old reliable at a dive bar. 

“Alright.”

“Cool. Um… eight o’clock sound good?”

“Eight o’clock sounds great.”

“Awesome. See you there.”

“I will see you there.”

Your back hits a tree as you pant, unable to run anymore. Your lungs burn as you gasp for cold night air in a dark, damp forest. You’re barefoot, in a wet nightgown that sticks to your skin and you’re terrified. 

You tremble, feeling the looming presence of something evil and ancient, rising up in front of you. Met with words in a language you don’t understand, a clawed hand grips your jaw. They’re wet and sticky, hot with something you realise is blood. The creature laughs at you cruelly and on the other hand grabs a handful of your nightgown, claws ripping through the fabric as it tears a strip down the center. The hand cups between your legs. It splits your lips carefully– almost reverently– brushing a knuckle between your folds, claws away from your most sensitive skin. You gasp and shiver, hands against the tree. You’re wet, though. Soaking the creature’s hands as it coats your skin in blood. It’s so dark and your vision is blurry with tears, you only see two red spots staring at you, and the glint of pearly fangs as the jaw of the creature opens and lurches forward.

You shoot up and sigh, panting as you try to catch your breath. You’ve been plagued with these “psychosexual night terrors”, as your therapist calls them, since you finished writing SC. Some weeks they’re sparse and other ones you can’t sleep without waking up sticky and horrified. Your cortisol levels are through the roof and your sex drive is in the stratosphere. The running theory is that your frantic writing for the deadline of SC drove you just a little bit crazy, and your panic and arousal from writing about Milo’s sexy antics while your publishing house breathed down your neck combined and manifested as the scary void creature in your nightmares.

You take a cold shower that morphs into an everything shower when you remember your date with Chris. Not a date. Just grabbing a drink. Could be a date.

You feel like a kid again, having a cute summer fling with a boy at sleepaway camp with the distant bitter sweetness of knowing you’ll leave in three months. Except you are an adult woman and if you do fall in love, you could just move here forever. 

But that’s wishful thinking.

You wait at the bar patiently. You’re a punctual girl, your agent adores that about you, so you are a little early. You chat with the bartender. She’s an older woman with a thick Mainer accent. 

“Let me guess-”

“Not a horror writer,” you joke back. 

She laughs at that. Her laugh is creaky but comforting, and you can tell she’s a smoker.

“You look nervous.”

“I’m meeting somebody?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t say who, because I’m guessing you know everyone.”

“Well, I also know who’s single and who isn’t. If you’re worried he’s married, just give me a name.”

The bar is quiet, some men play pool and a group of vacationing dads drink beers and watch some sports on an outdated television. 

You order another drink as you watch the clock behind the bar tick on.

By eight thirty, you’re sufficiently buzzed. You didn’t even get his phone number to text him.

By nine, you decide you should go home. You thank the bartender and leave her a generous tip. You’ll be too embarrassed to come in here for a while.

You take the bike home, slumping on the sofa in the living room as you kick off your heels. You feel tears pricking at your eyes and rub them away, not caring about your smudged eyeshadow or makeup. You wipe it off in the bathroom and change out of your clothes. You need another walk. Maybe you’ll run into the allegedly very creepy lighthouse man and you’ll get some inspiration. 

“I’ll show you Stephen King wannabe, dickhead,” you mutter to yourself, pulling on your coat and shoving your notebook in your pocket. 

You follow the familiar motions, down the path, out through the alcove, and down the beach. You have some angry music playing this time as you stomp down the beach and pass the lifeguard towers. Shrooms girl better thank her lucky stars she’s off night shift, because you look pissed off right now. You stalk all the way down to tower four and roll your eyes. This is a tantrum. You’re an adult.

“I thought I might see you again,” a voice calls. Remmick is on a ledge above you, leaning on the wooden railing. 

“Can I come up there?”

“I’m not gon’ tell you what to do, sweetheart.”

You try to ignore the fire that lights in you and climb the sand and rock stairs, joining him on the ledge. He sits on a bench and pats the seat next to him.

“I heard a lot about you today, from a couple locals,” you tell him, lying about it.

You get the feeling Chris was being insecure, or maybe Remmick’s stolen one too many girls from him. 

“Yeah, I’m a seal-eating nightwalker, you got me,” he jokes, his hands up in mock surrender.

You exhale through your nose. You wish you could laugh harder.

“I’m just a solitary kinda fella. People here, shit, they tight knit like fishin’ nets. They think everybody’s gotta know everybody’s business. Nobody knows mine, so they’ve been makin’ things up for the past three years.” 

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey, I’d rather you hear it from me.”

He looks at you for a moment and rubs a hand over his knee.

“You look upset.”

“Yeah. I uh…”

You hesitate, and see him lean forward, actively listening.

“It’s stupid.”

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to speak.

“I got stood up,” you admit.

“For a date?”

“Not exactly. Just drinks.”

He clicks his tongue.

“That’s no good. Must be a pretty dumb guy, to stand you up.”

“Yeah. That was a dickhead move. I’m just hoping it was more of a… ‘oh shit, I totally forgot’ kind of thing.”

He eyes you and you cross your legs.

“Still. You musta gotten all dolled up for it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, I uh… I’m not so much a bar kind of fella, but if you wanna come out here sometimes all dolled up…” he leans in, “I got some good whiskey and two glasses.”

You lean in too, close to him.

“I might take you up on that, Remmick.”

“I gotta get up there,” he murmurs, looking at your lips as he speaks.

“Right.”

He doesn’t move, locked in place for a moment. He seems to shake off the spell and sits back, scrubbing a hand down his face, wiping his mouth. It almost looks like he’s wiping away drool. He stands up.

“You uh, you alright to walk home on your own?”

Words flash in your mind, the scene from SC where Milo promises to stalk Annmarie home, which results in him watching through the window as she touches herself. You’re drunk, you realise, as the neurons in your brain flicker out and blood rushes down your body.

“Yeah, I should be fine.”

“Right.”

He starts to walk away and turns back.

“I mean it. You come up see me sometime.”

“I will.”

You mean that, too.

Remmick thumbs through your notebook. How can you even understand this stuff? Your messy handwriting is charming. He reads through descriptions of vampire lore and fangs and turning that make him chuckle. He thinks of the smell of you, that hot scent of desire and the buzzing of your intoxicated body as you sat together. He’s so fucking cold in Maine, and he hasn’t been touched in years. He imagines you’d be hot to the touch. He knows you’re frustrated, you’ve been dissatisfied with pleasuring yourself. The descriptions of sex scenes have him biting back groans and palming himself through his pants. 

He flips to the final page.

HOT LIFEGUARD

His eyes narrow as he realises who it was that stood you up. He turns the page back over, scanning through your previous writing. 

LIGHTHOUSE VAMPIRE LOVER. CLAIMS TO KILL FOR HER. STALKERY? MILO PART II. LESS TENDER. MORE EVIL.

Oh, you’re fucking crazy. 

He grins, his fangs sliding down.

He can make do with crazy.

You wake up early, painful early. You dress groggily and decide to get some air on the beach before the dickhead lifeguard starts his shift. You’re slightly hungover as you traverse down the path and through the alcove to walk on the beach. 

The light is pale and you have to watch your step for kelp as you walk down. You see something up on the sand, and your heart sinks.

It has to be a seal. It’s not breathing, so you look at the nearest lifeguard tower for the animal control. You dial the number and wait patiently.

“Hello?” a voice that sounds just as groggy as you feel answers.

“Hi, I’m um, I’m on the beach right now and I think there’s a dead seal by the first lifeguard tower.”

“Oh, hell. Sorry, miss. It’s too damn early. Do you see any marks on it?”

“It’s hard to see with the fog. Is it safe to get closer?”

“Seals aren’t half as aggressive as sea lions, miss, so go ahead.”

You step closer, squinting with the fog. It’s absolutely dead, not moving at all. You approach it cautiously, worried about what other creatures might be lurking around.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

This is not a seal.

This is Chris the lifeguard, and he’s missing an arm.

[whitecompri]

😆 Okay, here's a fun idea in mind:

Imagine hedgehog dads' trying to help the kids with their homework (particularly math), and they happened to be just as stumped as they are. And it results in utter chaos.

Inspired by the 6 × 3 video from the classic HARDSTOP LUCAS (if you know him). 😎 🫡

Hope this idea works! If you don't wanna do it, that's fine too. Just a funny idea that I NEEDED to get out there, lol! Have fun! And thank youuu! ❤

Daddy Homework

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scourge x Reader

Genre: Fluff, light comedy

Rating: G (General Audience)

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you for the request! I loved the idea, I thought it was a great fit and very funny. I had never seen this video before, and I thought it was really funny too, lol. I hope you like the result!

Sonic

It was late afternoon, the final rays of sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. The blue hedgehog was leaning casually against the counter, taking a sip of his soda. His ears twitched toward the front door as he heard it creak, signaling someone’s arrival.

Almost immediately, the door creaked again as it closed, followed by small footsteps entering the house.

Slightly turning his head, his green eyes scanned the kitchen entrance, seeing the little blue hedgehog walk in slowly, looking tired, with her backpack on her shoulders. She slipped the straps off, tossed it beside a chair, and, with some effort, managed to sit on the chair—which was taller than her.

“So, kiddo? How was school?” Sonic asked, walking to her side and pulling out a chair.

“Tiring... It’s so boring having to sit in a chair all day...” She crossed her arms.

“I know how it is... But just relax, it’ll be over soon.” He gave her a light pat on the back.

“Dad, can you help me with my homework?” she asked quietly.

“Sure thing. Just show it to your old man—shouldn’t be anything too tricky.” He laughed, leaning an elbow on the table and setting aside his soda as she reached for her bag, pulling out her pencil case and notebook.

She carefully opened the notebook, flipping through the pages until she found the lesson, then handed it to her dad, who smiled and scanned the page.

“All right, let’s see...” Sonic began to read. “An isosceles triangle is a type of triangle that has two equal sides and—hold on, what? Congruent? Equal angles? Formed with the base?” He furrowed his brow, tilting the notebook as if that would help him understand, his confident grin fading as he read. “Huh... where’s the good old math?”

He looked at his daughter and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up, Dad? You’re an adult, right? You should know this stuff.” She crossed her arms at him.

“I’m an adult with tons of knowledge and experience in many fields, just not triangle puzzles. By Gaia, I don’t even know what that is. I thought math was just adding, subtracting, dividing, and multiplying!” He crossed his arms back at her.

“But that is math, Dad—it’s trigonometry!”

“To me, that just sounds like a snowboard trick. My thing’s speed. I wasn’t made for tough stuff like this. If it were a simple addition or subtraction problem, I’d handle it no problem.” He handed the notebook back to her.

“Can’t you at least try? This assignment is going to count for a grade!” she sighed in exasperation.

Sonic paused for a few seconds, looking at his daughter intently before taking a deep breath.

“All right...” He ran a hand through his quills, frowning. “What do I know about triangles...” He tapped his finger against his temple, closing his eyes tightly, thinking, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, opened his eyes, and dashed off, leaving his daughter confused and staring at the spot he’d just been.

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Sonic reappeared in front of her, holding a small decorative pyramid ornament made of metal.

“How’s this?” He flashed a sly grin.

“And how are you planning to solve my homework with that, Dad?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just use a ruler and add the sides, right?” He tossed the little pyramid into the air and skillfully caught it.

“Of course not!” She took a step forward, pointing at the notebook.

“Sweetheart, solving puzzles is way outside my dad skills...” He flashed her a grin.

“They’re asking for angles, Dad�� A-N-G…”

“Okay, no need to spell it out, I get it...” He puckered his lips at her, gripping the pyramid in his hand and setting it on the table, pulling out a chair as she sat across from him.

“I got something that might help...” She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a round ruler marked with angles.

“Now that helps...” He took the ruler and placed it next to the pyramid, squinting as he inspected the measurements.

“So?” asked the little hedgehog innocently.

“Ninety degrees?” He raised a confused eyebrow, studying the ruler more closely. “Write that down—ninety degrees. And if your teacher gives you trouble, just say your dad helped.” Sonic sighed, handing the ruler back and folding his arms.

“You’re giving up?! We didn’t even really start!” she exclaimed, slapping her hand on the table.

Just then, you entered the kitchen, drawn by the commotion.

“What are you two up to?” you asked, standing at the table and observing the small pyramid now in place.

“Dad was trying to help me with homework… and totally failing,” Sonic pouted at you, then turned to you.

“I wasn’t totally failing—I can’t fail at something I haven’t really tried yet!” He folded his arms again.

“Let me take a look at the assignment...” You picked up the notebook and scanned it, your eyes widening. “Your age and this? Are you really supposed to be learning this already?” you questioned your daughter, who nodded.

“Look,” you said, leaning close. “We start with the law of sines…” You showed her precisely how to complete the exercise.

Sonic’s mouth dropped open as he watched you teach your daughter. Then a small smile spread across his muzzle as admiration glowed in his eyes.

“...Exactly right. Now, to finish, you’ll find the result—2√3, perfect!” You smiled at your daughter, praising her. She looked thrilled.

Then you looked at Sonic, and the intense way he was staring at you made your cheeks flush hot.

“W-what?” you asked, looking away.

He stood and came to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“That was amazing.” He winked at you.

“Well... everyone’s got their areas of expertise, right?” You scratched your neck.

“My area of expertise says I’ve just fallen even more in love with you...” He offered you a knowing side smile. “I’m so lucky to have someone so smart in my life...” His voice dropped lower.

Just then, your daughter broke the spell.

“If you two are gonna kiss, wait until I’m gone—I don’t wanna see any of that.” She said firmly, her ears drooping as she packed up her things.

“Oh, my bad, kiddo...” Sonic chuckled and gave you a quick kiss on your forehead. “We’ll continue later...” He released you, grabbed his soda, then crouched beside your daughter to ruffle her quills playfully.

“Wanna go for a run? Not that you’ll beat me, but it’ll be fun.” The little one gave a mischievous smile and nodded, and in an instant, the two of them were gone, leaving only a blue blur behind, their clothes fluttering in the rush of speed.

You sighed and closed your eyes, shaking your head. It was amazing how he still made you blush, even after all this time together—and it was one of the things you loved most about him.

Shadow

It was early on a weekend morning; a gentle breeze rustled his black quills as he focused on the task he had chosen for the day: cleaning his motorcycle.

Shadow carefully wiped the metal parts, his red eyes scanning for any specks of dirt on the vehicle.

He heard small footsteps approaching across the yard and didn’t even have to look to know it was his daughter—he knew the sound of her walk too well.

“Dad?” she called softly.

“Hm?” he responded, placing the cloth on the handlebar and turning to her.

She came closer and handed him her open notebook.

“Can you help me with my homework?” she asked as he took the notebook into his hands.

“Sure... Come, let’s sit over here.” He guided her to sit at a small wooden table nearby, placing the notebook down and beginning to look over the assignment.

“So? You know the answer, right? This assignment’s even messing with my sleep,” she said worriedly, fidgeting with her fingers on the table.

“The powers (-2)^4 and -2^4… are they the same or different...?” He read the question quietly, then brought a hand to his chin, narrowing his eyes. He took a few seconds to think before clicking his tongue.

“Dad? You don’t know the answer?” the little one asked.

“It’s not about not knowing... The real question is... what’s the point of this in your life?” He looked into her eyes.

“I won’t pass the school year if I don’t know it,” she raised an eyebrow at Shadow, who just closed his eyes and sighed.

“You don’t know how to do it, do you? I thought the Ultimate Lifeform would be able to solve something like this easily...” she crossed her arms at him.

“I was created for many reasons, but solving math questions was definitely not one of them...” he said, picking up a pencil and trying to scribble something in the notebook.

“Why are you answering it then?” she leaned over slightly, trying to see what he was writing, eyes widening when she saw him doing some absurd math.

“Dad, you’re adding both numbers? That’s not how it starts!”

“I’m trying...” he gritted his teeth, grabbing the eraser and rubbing out his scribbles.

“That’s just scribbles, Dad... not the answer,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tell me how to start the question then...” He dropped the pencil on the notebook, crossing his arms, waiting for her to respond.

She scooted closer, pointing at the problem.

“Dad... this is raised to the fourth power... that means you do two times two four times... not two times four!”

Shadow looked at her with his mouth slightly open, processing her words for a few seconds, then raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t get it... if I do two times two four times...” He discreetly counted on his fingers. “It all comes out to four...” His red eyes looked at her in confusion. She just put a hand to her temple.

“No, first you do two times two... then you do two times four!”

“Whoever made this wasn’t very smart... There should be a better way to visualize it... How was I supposed to know this is how you do it?” He raised his hands in disbelief.

“By learning math?” she crossed her arms at him.

“Math never helped me protect the world...” He crossed his arms right back, grinding his teeth.

Watching the two of them at the little table outside, seemingly locked in a long debate, you raised an eyebrow and slowly walked outside, stopping beside Shadow and looking closely at what they were doing.

“Homework?” you asked, noticing how Shadow’s shoulders instantly tensed up at your approach.

“Yeah... but Dad’s not really helping much...” the little one said softly.

“Ah, sweetie, Shadow is terrible with anything school-related.” You giggled softly, watching your daughter’s surprised expression.

“What do you mean?” she asked, stunned.

“Your dad never turned in a single homework assignment in his life when he was living on the ARK.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense up even more.

“...I thought we agreed never to bring up that detail about my life again.” He muttered lowly, blushing slightly under his fur.

“Sorry, but she had to know, Shads...” you whispered.

“Whoa... I had no idea Dad was the Ultimate Slacker...” she said, amazed, staring at Shadow.

“Well... I can help,” you said, pointing at the notebook.

The little one began writing, while Shadow silently followed along with his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow as he watched the simple steps being completed.

“There you go, the answer’s 16 and -16, perfect.” You praised her, and she happily took her notebook and ran back inside.

Then, you turned your gaze back to Shadow, who sat with his arms crossed and eyes closed.

“Don’t be upset, Shads.” You smiled, walking up behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders. This time, he relaxed under your touch.

“It’s just a bit of math... nothing you’ve ever needed before in your life...” He nodded briefly.

“...Would you teach me?” he asked softly, making your face light up.

“Of course! I can give you private lessons anytime you want—it might be helpful to know the basics.” You hugged him from behind, resting your chin on top of his head.

He let out a quiet ‘hmph,’ though a small smile began to form on his muzzle as he enjoyed being close to you and the idea of spending more time together.

Silver

The white hedgehog was humming softly, content, as he gently poured water from his watering can over the garden. His golden eyes sparkled with pride as he admired all the green and blooming plants.

After finishing, he set the watering can down, placing a hand on his hip to take in the view—until, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a little hedgehog standing at the door, watching him.

Silver turned his head slightly, now seeing his daughter clearly. He smiled warmly and floated over to her with his powers.

“Hey there, little one. What’s wrong?” He landed in front of her, noticing the worried look on her face.

“Dad, I need help with my homework...” she said, hugging her book. Silver’s eyes lit up.

“Great! I can help you—let me take a look.” He smiled, carefully taking the book as she showed him the homework page.

“Okay... Solve the complete quadratic equation using the quadratic formula... 2x² + 7x + 5 = 0...” He stared at the equation for a few seconds, scratching the back of his neck.

“Dad?” the little one asked.

“Uh...” He furrowed his brow at the page. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life...” he admitted softly. “Bhaskara is... what, exactly?” he asked in a whisper.

“The guy who made this up... or something like that,” she shrugged.

“Hmmm...” He rubbed his chin, pouting in concentration. “But... doesn’t this equation already have an answer?”

“I think it wants the value of X, Dad, not the value after the equals sign...”

“Ah, right...” He shrank into himself a little, clearly intimidated by the equation. “In the future we don’t have anything like this... Math’s really different over there...” he murmured.

“That’s true... I guess I never thought about it...” the little one crossed her arms, thinking.

“But I can still help... let’s go.” He smiled, taking the pencil she handed him.

The hedgehog sat down on the ground at the doorstep, the little one doing the same, both examining how to begin.

“Alright... if I have two X’s... let’s say I have...” He looked around and smiled as he spotted two small stones, placing them in front of him. “If I have two stones with this little number here...”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s how you do it...” she raised an eyebrow at his method.

“Relax, sweetie... In the future, math works like this... I think.” He looked away. “Anyway... moving on, how about...” He tapped the pencil to his chin.

“How about we just start with the formula?”

“You mean that... Baskada thing?”

“Bhaskara.”

“Yeah, that one... Well, I wish I knew what that formula actually is...” He gave her a sheepish grin. “There’s gotta be another way to do it...”

“No, Dad... there’s not.” She shook her head. Silver pouted.

“Not even... if I try using my powers?... Even if it probably won’t help...” he laughed.

“It’s okay, Dad. Thanks for trying to help...” she said softly, reaching to take the book back.

“Wait, I’ve got it!” Silver said suddenly, excited, turning around and heading inside. The little one followed, hopeful and curious.

He found you at the kitchen table, reading a book calmly.

The hedgehog sat in front of you, beaming, and placed the book in front of you. You looked up from your book, curious, then saw the workbook.

“Homework, huh?” You smiled.

“Can you help?” Silver asked, as the little one stopped at his side.

“What’s the task?” You marked your page and set your book down. “A quadratic equation? It’s been years since I’ve done one, but I think I can help.” You said cheerfully.

“Thank you, you’re a real lifesaver...” Silver laughed, crossing his arms on the table. The little one did the same.

“It’s nothing. If you want, I can teach you too.” You smiled.

“Sounds great to me. Math in the future is... not exactly like this.” He scratched his neck, glancing away.

“I know, alright, let me see what I can do.” You analyzed the question, grabbing a pencil and beginning to explain to both of them how the equation worked, making small pauses to remember things before continuing.

However, Silver was actually more focused on you than on your explanation. He was watching you with a soft gaze, following every movement you made with his eyes, a little smile on his face.

Then he let out a long sigh, catching your attention.

“Everything okay? You seem lost in thought...” You laughed, watching him blush and his eyes widen.

“N-no, it’s nothing! I was just... admiring you...” He looked away, scratching his arm.

You chuckled softly.

“Thank you, Silver. You're adorable...”

He smiled gently, then suddenly stood up from the chair.

“I-I’m gonna make us a snack... I’ll be right back!” He fumbled a little trying to get out of where he was, quickly heading to the cabinets, looking for ingredients.

Now it was your turn to admire him, watching every agile movement and the little smiles he gave.

“Mom...?” The little one called, breaking the spell and bringing your attention back to her.

“Ah, sorry, here, you just have to do this and you’ll finish the equation.” You said quickly. The little hedgehog giggled softly, clearly enjoying the cute interactions between her parents.

Scourge

The hedgehog was sprawled out on the couch, his muzzle fur covered in chip crumbs as he munched away. Every now and then his hand reached into the bag for more snacks, bringing them lazily to his mouth.

He shifted a bit, stretching his back, enjoying the calm of the house at night. In the armchair, you were curled up reading a book, also savoring the peaceful moment.

That was until the sound of a bedroom door upstairs echoed through the house. The familiar creak made Scourge flick his ears back. He licked his fingers and tossed the snack bag aside. His blue eyes followed the sound of tiny footsteps coming down the stairs, already spotting two little green-furred hedgehogs whose eyes sparkled mischievously upon seeing Scourge.

“Dad!” the older one called out, coming down quickly, followed by her younger sister.

“Whaddaya want?” he asked, stretching and sitting upright to look at them.

“...Help us with homework?” the older one asked with an innocent look, showing him her notebook, the younger mimicking her with hers.

“Uh...” Scourge looked at their notebooks, scratched his neck, then glanced over at you. “Hey... think ya could gimme a hand here?” he asked. Slowly, you lowered your book, observing the three—but didn’t even have time to answer.

“Dad! We want your help this time. Mom helps every time!” the older one insisted, crossing her arms and staring at Scourge. His ears turned sideways, clearly uncomfortable. You let out a husky chuckle, enjoying the scene and his interaction with the girls.

“...My help, huh?”

“Yes...” both said in unison.

“You sure? 'Cause askin’ a stranger on the street might be smarter...” Scourge laughed at his own joke, but his smile faded when he noticed the girls were still serious, arms crossed.

“We don’t care if your head’s empty...” the little one said.

“Hey, watch ya mouth—I’m still ya dad...” he pointed to himself, making the two exchange confused glances.

“Anyway... you heard my sister, we don’t care, we just want your help...” The older one placed the notebook in his lap, waiting for his next move.

Scourge sighed, thinking for a moment, scratching his cheek before clicking his tongue.

“Aight, screw it. I’ll help ya two.” He extended his hand, opening the notebook to the last page.

“This one... just this one left...” The little one pointed to the question.

Scourge cleared his throat before reading aloud.

“What’s the volume ‘n total surface area of a rectang’lar prism with... what—5, 7, and 9 cm?” He paused, trying to make sense of what he just read, then furrowed his brow. “What the hell’s that even s’posed to mean?” He looked at the girls.

“Dad, you’re supposed to know that!” The older one crossed her arms.

“Pfft, yeah right. D’you see me lookin’ like someone who loves math?” He raised an eyebrow at them.

“No, but I thought you’d at least be useful for helping.”

“You’re really gonna keep throwin’ shade at ya own father?!” He gritted his teeth.

“Of course! How can you be the leader of a gang, become a king, fight a bunch of strong people... and still not know how to do basic math?” The older one waved her arms, trying to wrap her head around the fact that Scourge just didn’t know how to do that question.

“I never had to know nothin’ about volume or area... or whatever them scribbles are in that notebook... My brains ain’t about stupid numbers, alright?” he muttered, clearly getting irritated.

You let out a quiet giggle, continuing to read but clearly listening to the conversation.

“You laughin’ at somethin’?” Scourge raised an eyebrow at you.

“Nothing, I was just reacting to a funny part in the book...” You winked at him, returning to your reading. It was pretty obvious the book wasn’t the reason for your laughter.

“Tch... Aight, ya little punks...” He grabbed a pencil and started scribbling something—an absolutely horrendous scrawl. “Done and done. Daddy left a lil' note for the teacher.” He grinned smugly.

“Dad... I hope that’s not a threat...” the older one said in disbelief, taking the notebook from his hands and reading the note. “Teach my daughters something that’s actually useful?” she read aloud.

“Whaddaya think? Just saved ya from homework ‘til the end of the year...” He leaned back on the couch, hands behind his head like he’d saved the world.

The little one huffed, grabbing an eraser and rubbing out the note he’d written.

“I’m not showing that to the teacher...” she frowned.

“Daddy... can you help me?” the younger one asked quietly, holding up her notebook.

“This homework’s already meltin’ my brain...” he sighed, taking the notebook—only for his face to light up with a huge smile. “Six times three? Easy, kid. That’s twenty-one—write it down.” He handed back the notebook, puffing his chest proudly, feeling like father of the year.

At that moment, you lifted your eyes and stared at him in surprise, then raised an eyebrow. The girls looked at Scourge with the same mix of shock and confusion.

“Scourge...” you said softly. “Twenty-one?”

“What? That ain’t right?” He scratched his head, starting to count on his fingers.

“Dad... It’s eighteen...” the older one said with her mouth agape.

Scourge’s eyes went wide, his muzzle visibly flushing even through his fur. He looked away, crossing his arms.

“I-I knew that! C’mon...” He squeezed his own arm, then suddenly got up and left, muttering, disappearing into the kitchen.

You watched Scourge carefully, then turned to your daughters.

“Let Daddy rest his brain. I’ll help you.” Smiling, you closed your book and placed it on the coffee table.

You already knew Scourge would probably stay sulking for quite a while after that scene. But you were also determined to comfort him later and make sure he wouldn’t stay upset about it.

[sforzesco]

machiavelli and biagio (and a third person), hard at work in the office :)

[checkadii]

Thinking about this old ass screenshot . I don’t even remember which video that’s under and I’m frankly too lazy to redownload tiktok

[iridescentcrisco]

Ladies, gentlemen, and gentlethem: my writing style

[eyepatchdate]

i can't believe i never posted any of my snk fic. like. i have MULTIPLE NOTEBOOKS of handwritten stuff, and a LOT on my phone but like. i was into snk when i didn't have access to a computer. so almost none of this is typed and so thus also none of it was ever posted.

[sysig]

I'm almost finished with this notebook with it's horrible paper, and I just finished the first page of my Big Project

[ruegracieuse]

thinking of completely changing my diary plans for next year (and I guess the foreseeable) and getting a filofax

[mariasont]

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was practically painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes —"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a dejected sigh, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of movement and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did, like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was, the shift you loved to look for. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up, the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice, wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean — maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life. 

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. 

This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second, bug-eyed panic, but he quickly scrambled for an answer. 

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak.

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption  my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part, it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. 

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that miniscule ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near. 

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile, the one that always made you a little breathless, spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale. 

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date. 

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy, your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over, but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before. 

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it — your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

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[coolcattime]

I've always found having multiple WIPs really useful because it means I always have something to write, but then like I get scene ideas for all of them but obviously I can't write all of them at once and then like I just wanna sob.

[presepohne]

peaches & wine

5.8kish | NSFW minors do not interact 18+

FUCKBOY!JOHN SOAP MCTAVISH X VIRGIN!READER | ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

Summary: Fuck boy Johnny fuck you on your demand.

Warnings: Reader is kind of needy and overachiver girl, very cliche you can say. P in the v sex, fingering and eating out, Johnny is a FLITHY man and we like that. Drinking and alcohol. Mention of Simon rejecting reader.

Note: It's finally here and you can see how I gave up in the end, Only because this has a part two with threesome.

IDEA | INTRO

Johnny has seen many men and women alike, fucked ‘em too. He had the privilege to worship bodies and not care about them. He's a filthy god in his human skin— he can care less.

The party is booming with sounds that send low vibrations through his bones, he's nursing a drink and a cigarette. Tonight had been eventful in a low way— women kissing his cheeks and mumbling how they want his numbers, men slowly slipping hands into his back pocket to squeeze his ass.

Tonight was good, the buzz of the drinks getting to his bones. There is this very light flutter in his chest, the headiness of the alcohol catching up to him. Simon must be around somewhere, Gaz had disappeared with his girl long before he even started to order drinks.

Johnny has not been a good man, in his own sense of goodness. He has been something borderlining filth— the cross rests around his neck which he kisses every time he's at the church praying. He prays god would forget what kind of man he is when he dies.

Except Johnny forgets he himself is the man of God when it comes to fucking someone or getting fucked.

He has been eyeing almost everyone, not particularly in the mood to fuck but enough to have some dance with his people or stangers alike. He remembers the first time he had sex, with some man at the soccer club, in the bathroom.

It was something he would always hold onto, fucking the pastor's son.

You have been lingering around for a while, fiddling with the rim of your glass as you give him side eyes. He did notice you, you're very obviously gawking at him, and he takes it as a sign that you must be admiring him. He snorts to himself, puts another cigarette between his lips and searches his pockets for a lighter.

You have been around for the past two years, not really present. Not really absent, just existing somewhere— where people would notice you when they required you and not vice versa. You would be huddled with notebooks, ball point pen ink smeared across your hands and overfilled pages with notes and rough papers with even tougher calculations.

You were from the Computer Science department. Smart in studies, socialising only when others called you and just enough.

You existed, never lived the life you were given. Goal oriented, that's what he called you when you passed by him one day in the hallways. Always good marks, even better reputation between the teachers, some extracurricular activities when required— mostly sketching.

And that brings him to the thought that you shared one hobby same as him.

But it also makes him curious why you are slowly creeping beside him at a snail's pace with the fruit punch with too much soda. You're wearing a khaki shirt, two buttons at the top undone and sowing the swells of your breasts. There is a small tattoo on your sternum that isn't really visible but it's poking out.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette and chugging down what was left of his drink. He doesn't comment how you've crawled up beside him, in a metaphoric sense. Your attention is elsewhere, but it doesn't go out of his observation that you're still sneaking glances at him, again.

Very obviously that too.

You're a squirmy little thing, a bird who has just learnt how to fly. You aren't fitting well with the crowd— a mismatched jigsaw piece. He pities you for the uncomfortable feeling you must be in, an outcasted abandonment.

Earlier when he had seen you enter the club— he had seen you enter with your friends. A rowdy bunch of people from his own batch. They took their seats at the stall— one by one leaving you after asking if you'd be okay on your own, and to his sweet dismay you had said okay each time.

And that was obviously the most wrong thing, the way you were on the verge of tearing up beside him because of the loneliness.

“Ye know ye are really ain't that nonchalant lass” he snickered stealing a glance at you. He observes a few other things about you then, the way you bite your lips absolutely pink and swollen due to being nervous. There is this thought in his head that is clawing— a slow sliver of arousal winding up his spine.

You look up at him with a pout, “Wasn't trying to be nonchalant… wanted you to notice me” your voice is sweet, scared but it's mostly the fear of new interaction. There is a soft tremble in your fingers, now that he turns towards you and you are playing with the glass between your hands.

“Tryna get my attention lass? That's a sweet things” he chuckles, ordering another drink for him. The ciggy between his lips almost finished as he crushes it on the ashtray beside him, “That so love?” He mutters, leaning a little towards you.

That's when he notices that soft red hue flushed over your cheeks and the pout on your lips, the subtle way you licked them and looked away, muttering something about boys like him always poking their nose in other's business.

“Nah lass it was you who slid beside me now, didn't ye?” He grins, when you look away, flushing deeper and chugging down your soda. A small trail of the drink dripping down your lips. There is an angry frown on your face when you look at him again, eyes a little glazed and he's sure you had a couple of drinks before.

“...won't beat around the bush”

“Never said you were love”

“I need you to fuck me McTavish”

Johnny chokes on the beer he ordered, the bartender giving him a confused look, which said more like you fumbling her? Johnny shot a glare at the bartender and looked back at you, still there in flesh and not a hallucination. You're staring at him with concerned eyes, a hand on his back as you pat his back slowly.

“You— okay?” Your voice this time is ten times sweeter, concern lacing as it turns into a soft murmur. Like one's lover whispers in another's ear.

It sends his head into a frenzy, a hazy state where his brain fucks up and absolute lewd scene in his head and you're the victim of his imagination. He knows he shouldn't, god he knows he won't— but a little imagination has never hurt anyone.

The look in your eyes, the way your lips have turned red now and glossy with your constant licking and biting, your tattoo peeking out of your shirt as you lean a little forward towards him, the small warmth of your hand over his back has his cock chubbing up good in his jeans.

He shifts a little, still sane enough not to wreck his nervous system into shutting down his horniess.

“Aye—? Lass ye joking?”

There is a frown on your face this time, a confused one. Johnny is oh so sure it's the alcohol in your system speaking for you. He makes a mental note that your unconscious thoughts do consist of him fucking you and he rather enjoy that image sometimes later when he wants a wank material.

“I— no… I was serious…” your pouting again, looking here and there and everywhere but at him. Your hands are closed on your lap, there is a small tremble in your lower lips as you bite it again— and god if that doesn't make Johnny's cock strain in his jeans. He shifts again, finding a comfortable position where you can't see the tent in his pants.

“I'm… Sorry— That was so inappropriate—” you're speaking, god's you're stuttering so fucking bad while apologising, a soft tremor in your voice as you trying to articulate whatever the fuck you're saying.

Johnny feels guilty, but he doesn't pay attention to it. He's not listening to half of what you're saying, just glaring very obviously at the dip between your chest and back to your neck, his teeth would look so fucking good on the soft flesh. His eyes go a little up and they are on your lips, trembling and swollen— how fucking soft would they feel against his. How good would it feel to kiss them and roll them between his own teeth, bite them until you're a whimpering mess in his arms.

His eyes now land on your thighs and where your hands settle, the plush fat there bulging against the hem of your denim shorts. They look so soft and pure.

He shakes his head, don't Johnny.

Don't you fucking honey bastard of a man— think about her doing maths– fucking hell that's hot too, nah let's think about Simon— okay hot too— Gaz— fucking hell man nah—

He blinks his eyes and you're already off the stool muttering apologies and leaving. The gears in his head turn as he hops down too, his hands on your shoulder— aye lass, nah don't—

There are tears streaming down your eyes, soft slat clinging to your even softer features, a shallow gasp pushes past your throat, trying to catch your breath. Johnny feels a sick pit in his stomach, what he said wasn't that offending right— man he didn't even reject her, all he did was ask her if she was serious?

He tries to convince himself that it's the alcohol in your system.

A sigh, his hands slide down your shoulder to your waist and he leans over to your ear. Breath hitting the shell of it, lips almost brushing against the baby hairs that are around, “I'll take ye to my home ‘kay?” He murmurs, voice soft, yet raspy. Something sweet yet intoxicating.

That gets you to still, eyes blinking up at him as he pulls away a little, a soft smile on his face. You nodd, lips again between your teeth with a nervous flutter. His hands rests against your waist, the warmth seeping in through the cotton shirt. It warms your face as you look away.

There is a shiver in your form, pressing yourself a little closer to him even if there is this uncomfortable flutter in your stomach. You have never done this before, never have been near a man before— not like this atleast. More like you didn't get time, your head was filled with too much of your achievements to even try to engage with men or anyone for fun.

Because your fun was your work, your goals.

So no. But that backfired. High-school, the nerd, the over achiver with a fucking hell of an reputation around the school and at other competition. Never the one to be let down— just yourself.

At college not that you would join your batch mates, but getting teased by your friends as the innocent one, the sweetheart, a baby— the baby of course the group was the biggest ick you had.

So here you were, standing behind Johnny as he roared up his bike's engine to life and put on his helmet and not forgetting to help you with one too, mindfully putting his jacket around you which ate up your whole frame.

You blinked up at this man, John McTavish. You have heard his name, saw him around the campus, a rowdy man with an unspeakable amount of charisma.

People would think he's a loser, but he's decent in his academics. Almost acing his classes and hobbies. He got that fuckboy charm that attracted everyone, every gender, every fucking age— you had heard your roomates whisper among themselves about getting fucked by him, so fucking good, so fucking amazing, all sorts of compliment.

He's like a sex god.

But he wasn't your type, not really. His pal, that brooding mass of flesh that hovered beside him, always in a balaclava, that non-committal person, Simon Riley. Simon was from the History department. Did great and was as same as Johnny.

No wonder why Johnny and he were friends, except Simon was a lot less talking and more doing.

You had gone to him first, sweet and soft and polite. Asking him about his day, he replied with grunts and sighs. Simon was so quiet you almost missed all his answers. Later on, when you boldly asked if you could come with him to his apartment— god's he gave you a look.

He gave you the look.

That disinterested look, ignorance that wasn't feigned. He had sighed and took a large gulp of his drink before muttering a low, “Don't do innocent bird like you sweet’art” before walking away and not sparing a glance back at you.

Blood had rushed to your head so fucking fast, anger and humiliation burning your face up as his massive frame disappeared in the crowd. You had seen red; anger— something cracking in your with humiliation, so you went to the second best option.

His pal, Johnny.

And Johnny was an absolute sweetheart.

So here you stand, with a pit so deep in your stomach and guilt bubbling in your throat as you wipe your eyes and sniffle a little. He looks at you, mutters a it's okay lass, let's get you my home before his fingers are brushing your cheeks.

You feel warmth, too warm— that kind that makes your heart flutter. You know you shouldn't feel like this, but it's your first time being touched so tenderly by a man, of course your biology will betray you.

You nodd, helping yourself behind him on his bike as he steadies it. Then off you go.

The air is in your hair, your arms wrapped around his shoulder, too afraid to wrap it around his waist. Too nervous would be correct. You can smell his cologne, a soft salty and spicy smell that makes you nerves relaxed mildly, yet you can hear your blood rush to your cheeks. You huddle closer to him,fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as he speeds up.

“Ye holdin’ alright bonnie?”

You blink up at him, he's looking at you through the rear mirror. A slight nod as you avert your eyes again— god's you're shy, so flustered right now. You can feel a weird feeling in your skin and through your stomach. It's warming your body, it makes you think this is what love feels like.

Even if you know for fucks sake that this is far from love, it's just lust.

The bike slows down in front of a building, Johnny is a sweet man to help you get off the bike holding your hands. His fingers are coarser, yet gentle in the way only men who hold respect can be.

“You okay love?” He asks, helping you to take off the helmet, his fingers working on the strap as he lifts your head up a little. You hum, your hands idley hanging beside you as you play with the sleeves of his jacket.

The helmet comes off and you roll your shoulders, “That's a heavy helmet” you mutter, fingers fixing your hair. Johnny chuckles, his fingers coming up to your face to tuck the stray strands of hair away from your face. There is a moment of softness, your eyes on his fingers, then to his face— and god help you he has those baby blue eyes.

“This your first time love?” He asked, fingers curling around your cheek, brushing the skin under your eye. Isn't this far too— soft and romantic— you nod, pulling away a little before another flush of heat creeps up your neck. He chuckles, “Mhm, ‘kay”

You're in his apartment, shared with Simon. Simon isn't here of course, he won't be here tonight— he'd be here the next morning. The guilt again starts to make your tongue bitter as Johnny helps you with your bag, keeping it on the couch. You look around, a decent apartment that smells like grass and cheese.

Johnny disappears in the kitchen, “Ye need anything love? Water?” he asks, poking his head from the doorway. You frown, fingers fiddling with your own hands, “No, Thank you”

That should do it.

You're confused, really confused. Aren't you supposed to get into fucking immediately? Like your friends described? Kissing in the elevator, lifting you up in the staircase— aren't one night stands like such?

You blink hard, trying to erase the cloud of confusion from your own head as your fingers fiddle with the buttons of your shirt— slowly unbuttoning them as the cold air leaves a trail of goose flesh after. Hands skittish as your fingers fold your shirt and keep it neatly beside your bag on the couch.

Your thoughts drift to Simon's for once, even if you may have been avoidant towards boys and men alike— didn't mean you never fantasised their touch on your skin.

Some nights when overwhelmed with studies and emotions, laying on your bed— your thoughts would drift to Simon, wantingly. It was a silly crush when you first saw him, with Johnny, hell you didn't even pay attention to Johnny until he came up to the sketching club and sat next to you.

This silly crush developed into something more lustful. Never intimate, just lustful— with your fingers trailing down your waistbands, back arching as you rolled your sensitive bud between them. Most of your thoughts would contain Simon touching you, his hands grabbing you by your waist, arching your back as his lips trailed along your ears.

Another hand on your nipple, twirling it— a low moan.

Just imagination.

Just imagine.

Your bra was off by now, as you flinged it across the armrest.

You look up only to find Johnny gaping at the doorway, maybe salivating with the way he licked his lips and gulped. There were two popsicles in his hands, melting off now. You don't know how long he had been standing there— you don't really.

Too lost in your own head to notice the man. Hands instinctively coming over your chest to save you some dignity as a small squeal left your throat.

“I— Aye lass ye were serious?”

You take a look at Johnny, skittish on your feet. He had changed into a loose vest, shorts on and just relaxed, but the very visible growing tent through those shorts had you swallowing air. You blink innocently (you are innocent) and look up at him— flushed all red and sighing.

“John McTavish, Fuck me”

That sent all the blood rushing south, the almost hard cock now straining against his shorts as he groaned. He looked, held back— eyes glassy as he let out a long breathe, throwing away the two very molten popsicles into the bin and licking his hands clean as he strode towards you.

“Aye— as you command mam”

Johnny's paln was to send you home. Johnny's plan was to make you drink water, sober you up, give you a popsicle and talk about silly things and talk you out of getting fucked by him— because clearly the alcohol in your system was making you talk.

So god, he never expected you to stand half undressed in his living room under the low moon light looking so damn soft and pretty. He didn't fucking think that the sight of your already flushed and shy face would make his semi hardened cock rock hard.

Hell, there was this soft floral smell of your body mist waiting around the air— even on his shirt because of the bike ride which had made it all even more difficult.

Johnny was good at having control over his hormones.

He wasn't good at controlling what his hormones did when someone else controlled him.

In this case you.

He kissed you, lips licking with yours in that aggressive way that he loves. It made you gasp, fingers curling around his vest as he pulled you closer— it was so clear that you had never done this, so painfully obvious by the way you were squeamish and trying to push him away when his tongue forced its way into your mouth.

A low whine, more like approval vibrated in your throat and he grinned on your lips, pulling you on the couch.

Lips moving slowly, yet some aggressive intensity he possessed— he pulled away, letting you breathe.

And god you looked like a rose in full bloom, cheeks reddened and eyes having those hazy lustful look. You licked your lips, hands now curling around his neck as you part your lips again for a kiss and he complies, lips on yours— this time slower, taking your lower lips between his teeth that earns him a squirm and a yelp.

Your eyes hooded as you look at him, and fuck he finds it's hot— so fucking hit he can feel his precum staining his shorts.

His hands wrapped around your naked waist, skin so soft— and god the tattoo on your sternum. It's a small cross, ink curling under your skin and ending just where the swell of your breasts start. Johnny pulls away again, letting you breath— but you're painting, blinking and trying to clear the haze.

He's reverent, lips under your chin, then down your throat and down below— biting your collars that make you mewl. It's making you feel hot, Johnny can feel the way you're trying to rub your legs together to feel something kind of relief. He grins, as his lips trails slobbering kisses over your neck and up to your ears, biting the shell.

You gasp, nails digging into his shoulder.

His one hand now rests over your breasts, rolling your nipple between them, his other hand slowly trailing down your stomach down to your shorts. The overwhelming sensation causes you to throw your head back and whine, trying to lift your hips up and find some kind of contact between him and yours.

And gods he would have fucked you raw— but it's you, it's your hands wrapped around his wrists with those wide eyes that clearly scream I have never done this please please please help— and he pauses. Leans back a little, hands slowly retreating to your waist.

“I— I’m sorry I haven't really done this before—”

He knows, the softness under you skin, the innocence in your voice, the soft tremble in your body as you let him kiss you, god he knows you have no clue what you're going at— so he smiles, his voice syrupy but so husky, “‘Is alright, wannae take it slow?”

Your gaze fixes on him, a little less nervous, the tension in your limbs melted away the moment he kissed you— so you take a leap and nodded at him, lips parting to let out a soft Yeah… yeah thank you.

So Johnny's lips get back to your stomach, fingers gripping your waist and squishing the fat there. He lets out a heavy breath, teeth latching with the button of your shorts.

You give him a confused look, eyes wide and lips parted in confusion. More like awe, “Hey— McTavish what—”

Click

He teeth bite onto the fabric of your denim shorts, pulling it away slowly and that's when you relaise why the fuck is this man called a fuckboy. He got those tricks up his sleeves.

His teeth grip the zip of your zipper, pulling it down and making you feel so damn hot. You feel yourself panting, naked chest heaving as you try to look away but his hand is already holding your jaw, “Look at me love” and god you know you died on the spot.

He helps you out of your shorts, tautly pulling down your cotton knickers down with them, making you gasp and cross your legs in shame. “McTavish!?”

“It’s Johnny babe” he murmurs, parting your legs with ease as he settles between them and stares at your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ hell love, look at ye all dripping f’me?” he murmurs, his mouth already over your clit, giving it a soft kiss. You hiss at the sensation, hands automatically in his hair as a ragged breath passed through your mouth, “G-gently—”

There is this big grin on his face as he rests his head over your mound, stubble scratching the small trail there, you sigh at the weight, “Don't worry lass— lemme just—” he flicks his tongue out, a soft lick over your folds. You gasped sharply, fingers digging into his hair, “I— Sorry Johnny I didn't mean to—”

But god he looked so blissed out when you pulled on his hair, groaning into your cunt mumbling thank you god.

His mouth worked wonders, tongues lapping at the slobbering hole— and god he was messy, slurping up your essence like so ancient elixir. A low moan escapes your throat, brows furrowed in utmost pleasure, toes curling and nails digging into his hair.

He was filthy, making out with your folds whilst he muttered absolutely nonsense— so fucking sweet now aren't ye girl? getting so fucking wet for me? yeah? such a pretty thing.

It wasn't even a good few minutes in that you started to feel your orgasm wind up your core, stomach clenching as a soft cry escaped your lips— all red and glossy with your drool. The slow coil in your stomach tightened with each suck— lazy yet so fucking good it had you cumming within few seconds.

Back arching as you pulled on his hair, and Johnny being the good fucking dog he is— licked up every drop of your release until you started to whine and push at him, your heels in his thighs crying as he overstimulated your sensitive spot.

“Aye gimme one more bonnie” he grinned, lips on your bud, rolling it between his teeth and pushing his middle and ring finger in. You gasp, his fingers curling at the sweet spot making you cry aloud— “Just like that, good girl” he purred into your pussy.

Pumping his fingers in and out while rolling his thumb over your clit— Johnny takes a moment to admire you're fucked out expression— and he swears by the cross he wears around his neck, he'd tattoo this moment under his eyelids. Eyes rolled back, fingers in your hair grabbing them by roots while you try to push away, which is really trying to pull him closer.

Your second orgasm pulls closer as he hits that spot over and over again— and the coil underneath your belly snaps, making you spray all your release over him. He hums in approval, pulling back as he flicks his thumb continuously over your bud riding out your orgasm, “Aye look at her lass, so fucking beautiful”

You're spent, barely being able to open your eyes as Johnny pulls down his shorts. If you were a little more conscious, you would have noticed the white cum patch over his shorts dripping down his thighs, but you don't. Johnny sighs, pulling his vest off— the cross dangling from his neck.

He looks into your eyes, a pleased sigh leaving your lips as you try to catch your breath, fingers trying to find purchase around his neck to pull him for a kiss. There is this sudden glee flowing through your veins as you kiss him, tasting yourself on him, an approving hum.

Just as he pulls back, you stare at him.

He looks so fucking happy, the grin on his face damn beautiful and that breaks your heart.

The guilt that had left your body coils up again as your muscles tense up— a nervous flare in your bones as you bite your lips to keep yourself from crying. But all the overwhelming sensation and emotions got the best of you, and tears fell down the apples of your cheeks.

Johnny looked so fucking confused, that happy smile wiped out at an instant— hands wrapping around your cheeks as he wiped them, “Hey, Lass? Ye okay? I didn't hurt ye did I?” He's concerned, borderlining anxiety in his own form. You shake your head, “No— I'm sorry Johnny–”

And the guilt is out of the box as you wrap your arms around his neck and sob, muttering apologies that has him confused. Johnny's wondering what the fuck went wrong as he holds you, getting you on his lap and rocking you mumbling hey lass it's okay.

“It's not!” You pull away, with a particular choking sob, “It's not, I used you—”

He's staring at you now, with a look that says, come again? yet you're having an emotional meltdown on his lap, naked, both of you.

Such a good first time fuck.

“Aye lass, breath— breath love, now tell me what is goin’ on in ye head—”

You blink, sobs still wrecking but slowly shimmering into snuffles as you wipe your face, “I— Johnny… I Simon…”

“Simon?”

“Simon didn't want to fuck me so…”

“You're telling me you came to me because Simon didn't fuck you?”

“...Yes,"

You take a pause

"I'm sorry”

“Lass ye better believe that I can fuck ye better than that skull head”

You blink your tears away again, eyes burning now as your hands hastily wipe them. Johnny's grinning, holding you up a little, “This yer first time yeah?” You nodd softly, “No tears bonnie, no fuckin tears– only if I fuck you good”

And then slowly rubbing his cock up and down your folds, easing up to you while you stutter straddling his lap. A low gasp leaves your mouth as he pushes in, rocking your hips slowly. “This hurt sweet’art?” he asks with a kiss on your lips and then to your cheek.

“Not— r-really–” you fumble, walls fluttering around his girth as he bottoms out. He groans, throwing his head back as you adjust to him, “J-Johnny— this—” you stutter again, lips opening apart as he slowly thrushes in at a slow pace letting you adjust.

You're gasping, hands pawing at his chest, mewling and whining. Johnny's keeps his eyes locked on your, lips pressing soft kisses on your collar bones and down your chest— it distracts your attention from the slight pain down there, but god the way Johnny is pacing up is making your head spin.

“F-faster Johnny—” you mutter, hands grabbing the back of his neck as you push your mouth against his, whining as he increases his pace making you gasp loudly, which he swallows. Your walls clenching around him as he moves, “Fucking hell Lass made for me now didn't ye?”

You answer with a moan, nodding your head as he hits that one spot again, cock so fucking thick and stuffing that it has your guts twisting. You can feel your abdomen coil again, the sweet release in your guts wrapping around your spine as he pushes in and out again and again.

Your release washes over you, slow like waves as Johnny lets you ride it out, helping you while he chases his own release. His cock feeling impossibly thick— and then he cums, hard with a groan on your shoulder. Your head falls back as he holds your waist on his lap, pressing kisses over your neck and shoulder.

“S’ good f’me lass”

He can feel himself leak out of you, pooling on his hips as he pulls out. He'll worry about the plan b later, surely get you one before he cleans you up and gets you to bed all coddling.

[synity]

hi hiii can i request a loser core wonwoo hahaha something about him being down bad for yn! in a college setting if i may add! thank youuuu

DOWN BAD 101

(Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)

*Popular-but-nerdy Wonwoo × Oblivious Y/N college AU fanfiction of Wonwoo in loser-core, secretly popular, bookish simp mode, slice of life, fluff, dramatic, romance humor*

If you asked Jeon Wonwoo to define "down bad," he wouldn’t even blink.

He’d say, “Y/N walking into Intro to Modern Poetry wearing that oversized hoodie with a pen in her hair like she’s the main character of a Studio Ghibli film, and I’m just the background bookshelf.”

Which is insane, because Wonwoo is not a background bookshelf.

He’s a walking academic weapon, the unofficial TA of every class he takes, the guy professors ask to “chime in” when no one raises their hand, and the type to correct the textbook during group presentations. He has 600k followers on social medial and once went viral for crying while reading a Murakami novel under a tree.

Wonwoo is popular. He just doesn’t realize it.

Because he only has eyes for you.

The first time he saw you, you were sprinting into class three minutes late, slamming into the door frame and apologizing in a breathless panic.

The professor hadn’t even flinched.

But Wonwoo? Wonwoo blinked, and somewhere in his ribcage, a tiny, clumsy crush woke up and started banging pots and pans like wake up, loser, this is it.

And since then, he’s been doomed.

Every class, same routine.

He saves the seat next to him.

He brings two pens one blue, one black just in case you forgot.

He pretends to scroll through lecture notes but actually re-reads your old discussion board posts, like:

"I think Emily Dickinson was just really dramatic and lonely and needed a snack."

And he highlighted it. In pink.

The worst part?

You have no idea.

You don’t notice the way his ears go pink every time you call him Wonu. You think he’s quiet because he’s shy, not because he’s rehearsing your name in his head before he says it. You just assume he’s nice.

Which he is.

Painfully nice.

Like helping you carry your iced coffee back from the vending machine even when he’s already juggling two of his own and a laptop bag. Or staying behind after class to explain the notes you missed even though you literally wrote them on your phone.

One time you tripped on the stairs and he dropped everything to catch you.

Like full K-drama slow motion moment. Your hands on his chest. His eyes wide. Your cheeks flushed.

You looked up at him and said: “Yo, that was ninja-level reflex. Thanks, bro.”

And his soul left his body.

Bro.

He’s never recovered.

Wonwoo isn’t just a regular student.

He’s the top assistant to Professor Kim a legend on campus and runs the tutoring program. He’s on scholarship, works two jobs, edits poetry journals, and tutors half the football team.

But he still makes time for you.

He doesn’t tell you, though. You just think he’s… always there.

It happens on a rainy Tuesday.

You burst into the campus café with your umbrella inside out and a murder in your eyes. Wonwoo watches from the corner booth, half-amused, half-panicked. You stomp up to him like a monsoon in sneakers.

“I failed the midterm.”

Wonwoo straightens. “Wait, what?”

“I got a D.” You plop beside him, miserable. “I wrote three pages on poetic disillusionment and the TA gave me a 67 because I ‘misinterpreted the author’s intent.’ Whatever that means.”

Wonwoo's hand tightens around his coffee cup.

“Who was your TA?”

You shrug. “Some guy named Minho. Kind of a jerk.”

Wonwoo exhales slowly, nods once, then gently slides his notebook toward you. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll help.”

You show up in sweats and snacks.

His apartment is small, warm, filled with books and plants. You wander around like you’ve stumbled into an aesthetic Pinterest board.

“You live like a Tumblr post,” you mumble, petting a succulent. “Why are you lowkey cottagecore?”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You sit beside him on the floor, back against the wall, flipping through poetry printouts. He watches you tuck your knees up, your hoodie sleeves falling over your hands, your hair a little messy.

And he thinks, I am so doomed.

Hours pass. You fall asleep halfway through a poem.

Wonwoo doesn’t move.

He just stares at you for a moment peaceful, warm, trustingly asleep in his space. Then he gets up slowly, covers you with his jacket, and sits back down with his notebook.

Under his breath, he whispers,

“Please, please, please… don’t fall for someone else before I get the courage to tell you.”

Wonwoo planned to confess on a Wednesday.

Not because Wednesdays were special, but because Tuesdays were cursed (exhibit A: your D grade), and Thursdays felt too dramatic. Wednesday was… neutral.

He even picked the café. The one where you always order the same drink vanilla oat milk latte, no syrup, extra cinnamon.

You called it your “silly little drink for a silly little life.”

He just called it yours.

But on Wednesday, he chickened out.

You sat across from him rambling about some group project that went sideways, and he was too busy staring at the crinkle in your nose when you mimicked your classmate’s whiny voice.

“Wonu, are you even listening?”

“Y-Yeah,” he blinked. “Something about… group betrayal.”

You squinted. “You good, bro?”

Bro.

He almost canceled himself right there.

Later that night, he texted Jeonghan in defeat:

[Wonwoo] Hyung. I’m never gonna tell her. It’s over. [Jeonghan] LMAOOOOOOOO [Jeonghan] okay but also? do you want her or not [Wonwoo] I do. So much it’s embarrassing. [Jeonghan] then stop being a Victorian novel and act like a man

Cue the Intervention.

Jeonghan recruited Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan to stage a “help session” in the library.

It lasted three hours.

It included a whiteboard, roleplay (Mingyu pretending to be you), and a slideshow titled: “Why Wonwoo Needs To GET A GRIP.”

“Step One,” Seungkwan clicked the remote. “Be normal.”

“Step Two,” Soonyoung added, “Stop disappearing when she enters the room like some vampire boy.”

“Step Three,” Jeonghan grinned, “Tell her she’s the prettiest human you've ever seen before someone else does.”

The next morning, you texted him.

[Y/N 🍓] hey wonu [Y/N 🍓] are you busy tonight? [Y/N 🍓] i wanna talk.

He stared at the message for ten minutes.

Then replied:

[Wonwoo] never too busy for you.

You showed up at his door that evening in a skirt and hoodie combo that nearly fried his brain.

“I, uh—come in,” he stammered.

You held up a small bag. “I brought snacks.”

That was the moment he knew. He was gone. Beyond gone. Down bad with no return flight.

Half an hour in, halfway through a bag of chips, you leaned back and whispered:

“I know.”

Wonwoo blinked. “Know what?”

You smiled soft, knowing, almost shy.

“That you like me.”

Silence.

Wonwoo felt the Earth tilt.

“You do, right?” you added, more nervous now. “Or was I… wrong?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then said, very eloquently:

“Holy sh—it’s that obvious?”

You giggled. “Kind of. But only to me, I think.”

Wonwoo rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You nudged his knee. “ I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

You both stared at each other in the warm light of his apartment, snacks between you, hearts pounding. And you whispered:

“Please don’t break my heart, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He leaned in, brushing your hair from your face.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said softly, “but you already have mine.”

The next few weeks passed in what you could only describe as soft chaos.

Because dating Jeon Wonwoo, a.k.a. the shy, insanely popular, overachieving bookworm, was kind of like dating a cat who thought he wasn’t allowed on the couch until you patted the spot next to you.

Every time you reached for his hand, his ears turned red.

Every time you kissed his cheek, he’d freeze like a character in an anime.

And when you texted him “I miss you,” he’d reply, “I missed you before you sent that.”

You were down bad. He was worse.

But nobody else knew.

Not because he was hiding you god no but because the two of you were nervous wrecks. And college wasn’t exactly subtle. Especially not when your boyfriends were in SEVENTEEN.

So when the College Arts Festival rolled around, Jeonghan made it his mission to blow your cover.

“I’m just saying,” he sang, hanging a banner, “if I see one more stolen glance from Wonwoo like he’s living in a K-drama, I’m outing him.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned.

Too late.

That Night.

The festival was packed.

Lights strung between buildings. Music booming. Food trucks lined the streets. It felt like a dream.

A week later, the two of you sat on the campus rooftop.

It had become your safe place somewhere only you two went, somewhere quiet and yours.

You were playing soft music, curled against him, when you suddenly sighed.

“Wonwoo,” you murmured. “Don’t break my heart, please?”

He turned to you.

“I mean it,” you added, voice barely audible. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Wonwoo smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know people think you’re perfect,” you whispered, “but I’ve been burned before.”

He touched your face gently.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, “but I'll be enough for you.”

And then he added, “You’re not my weakness, Y/N. You’re my reason.”

[rafesangelita]

♡ bsf!rafe finds sheep!reader’s diary..

warnings: cnc (you’ve been warned), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, suggestive ending

a/n: read more sheep!reader + cnc here !

as your best friend, rafe knew you all too well. he knew when you were sad, and he knew when you were holding something back from him, but lately he couldn’t figure you out and it was frustrating the living hell out of him. you hadn’t answered any of his calls or messages, you kept a safe distance from him whenever you two were together, he couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong to make you less comfortable with him around, and he was determined to find out what it was.

waiting until you left for your regular visit to the thrift store, rafe used the spare key under the welcome mat to open the front door and slip inside your house. he knew that if you weren’t telling him what was wrong, you were indeed telling the little diary you had hidden in your nightstand. grabbing the floral notebook out of the wooden drawer, rafe briefly flipped through its contents before settling on an entry from a couple of weeks ago.

04/26/25 — oh, i just don’t know what do!! today rafe carried me over his shoulder and slammed me down on my bed like i was one of those old rag dolls my grandmother used to make me. he’s just so strong, i started thinking about other things he could do. i shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts, but i can’t help it. we spend so much time alone together, it just makes me wonder about the manpower he has over me. he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time, and while that idea should scare me, it makes me get butterflies just thinking about the possibilities.

rafe was rendered speechless, his curiosity getting the best of him as he flipped a few pages over.

4/30/25 — i can’t look at rafe without being reminded of everything i’ve been daydreaming about over the past few days. i feel so ashamed when he gets near me and i have to move away from him out of guilt. he’s looking at me like he did something wrong and i feel so bad. how can i tell him that i’m imagining things a ‘friend’ shouldn’t? maybe i just need to stop seeing him for a while…

now it all made sense. the sitting far away from each other on the couch when usually he’s spooning you, the way you look more embarrassed than usual when he’ll say something suggestive to tease you; it was because you were already fighting off dirty thoughts about him. rafe swallowed thickly as he tossed your journal to the side, his jaw ticking as he reflected over your words. ‘he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time.’ — to know that both of you wanted this was all the encouragement rafe needed to hide away in your closet once he heard the lock of the front door click open.

you had forgotten your coin pouch, a sigh leaving your lips as you hastily made your way to your room to look for the little thing. upon entering, you immediately knew something was off. there was a dip print in your sheets as if someone was sitting there when you knew for a fact you left your room pristine. just as you caught a small whiff of rafe’s cologne, you screamed when you were suddenly yanked back with a heavy hand over your mouth. dragging you in front of your vanity mirror, rafe wanted you to see that it was him and not a stranger.

you stopped thrashing against him when you saw that it was rafe’s figure towering over your own. now you stood confused as he slowly removed his hand from your mouth and wrapped his fingers around your neck. “w-what are you doing?” you let out a shaky breath, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as rafe’s arm snaked around your waist, your backside flushed against him. “you’ve been ignoring me..” he started, your eyes widening as his hand slipped underneath your dress, “so i had to come over here and find out why.” you gasped when he cupped you through your underwear, his lips finding the underside of your jaw.

moving your gaze over to the notebook on your bed, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you realized he must’ve read it. “with how innocent you are i would’ve never guessed that you were thinking such things,” he said through gritted teeth, the gruffness of his voice sending a chill down your spine. “now i’m going to do exactly that and there isn’t shit you could do about it, doll.” rafe dipped his fingers between your folds, your knees giving out on you as he held you up by your hips. “saying’ how you want me to overpower you and do whatever i want to you.. just know that you asked for this.”

you didn’t get a chance to take in what he meant when you felt his digits plunge into you, a squeal sounding out from your lips as you reveled in the delicious stretch of his fingers. dragging you over to your bed, rafe forced your thighs open as you gripped his hand, attempting to push him away with a cry. pinning your wrist above your head, you writhed underneath him as you felt an unfamilar tension beginning to build in your core. your bottom lip trembled, the mixture of both pleasure and pain wracking through your body as rafe thumbed your sensitive bundle of nerves.

your pastel nails clawed at the soft cotton of your comforter, your eyes screwing shut as the words ‘please stop..’ softly fell from your mouth. rafe forced your eyes open so you could confirm if you really wanted him to stop his ministrations, but once he caught that mischievous glint in your gaze, he chuckled, wrapping a fist in your hair and tugging so that you could watch his fingers curl inside of you and hit your sweet spot. your back arched up from the mattress, your chest caving in as rafe brought you to the edge and held you there.

“i’m not letting the first time you cum be around my fingers,” he slipped his digits out of you before popping them in his mouth, his hips slotting between your thighs, “i wanna feel this pussy clenching around my cock when i get you crying for it.”

thank you for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[cyofii]

⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

[sodaneko]

❦ IDLE HANDS (Kuroo x f!reader)

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two.

a/n: little something for @husbandograveyard ♡ writing this made me a Kuroo girlie. i get it now. i really, REALLY do. also when i started writing this i was aiming for 1k or so idk what possessed me but here we are. maybe listening to bouncy while writing this wasn't the best idea (lie)

tags: f!reader, mild enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, shameless flirting, food mention, bit of a slow burn, they're so in love your honor

wc: 3.7k

Kuroo Tetsuro is a heartthrob.

With his stupid messy hair and his stupid rolled up sleeves, showing off his stupid toned arms while he’s mumbling stupid sweet things to your favorite cat that’s currently coiling underneath his stupid big hand, getting the best belly rubs of her life from the looks of it. 

It’s not like you’re jealous or something, no; it’s just that you’ve been coming to this cat café for a year now and you thought you and the calico shared a special bond. Maru, who is just as her name implies, very round and very soft, has been sitting and purring by your side while you spend hours typing page after page of your next book. She’d also stretch out all over your laptop and remind you to take a break when you’ve been going at it for hours. Yes, it took you some bribery to win her heart but over the past months she really warmed up to you. Wow, she usually isn’t this friendly with people, you remember the café owner say once. 

What a blatant lie. 

Your peace has been disturbed. A slight shift in the universe when he showed up for the first time merely a week ago. It was easy to remember him, because he was sitting in your spot with your favorite cat purring in his lap, looking like he didn’t have a single worry in the world except maybe that untamed hair of his (and even this was kind of charming, you had to admit begrudgingly).

Sharing usually wasn’t a big deal for you–until it was. You come to this cat café almost every day, feeling much more inspired to write here than in the shoebox you call your apartment at the other end of town. Your landlady doesn’t allow pets, so this place has been a lifeline in the tiring times of deadlines and rejected book deals. At the end of the day there was always a cat rubbing against your legs, reminding you that not everything was bad and that no matter how severe things got, there was always a kitty waiting to be picked up.

You hold this place very dear to your heart, a secret gem you felt a need to protect. It is hidden away in a side street, far from the hectic buzz of the city. The interior is cozy, it isn’t too big and the owner, an elderly lady with candy cotton hair and knuckle tattoos, lives upstairs and treats the place like her second living room with all six of her cats. There’s never too many other guests around and in the corner seat by the window you can unravel your thoughts quietly. It feels homey, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But now there is an intruder in a business suit and you didn’t really know how to deal with that new found irritation.

“That’s my spot.”

Balancing your laptop, notebook, a slice of carrot cake and a hot drink in one hand, all manners aside, you point at the stranger with your other. In your right mind you know it is rude to point at people, but to be fair he kinda started it by sitting where you rightfully belong. His eyes, a certain gleam in them, follow your movement down to the cat curled up on top of his thighs. With the amount of cat hair sticking to his suit pants you could only pray for him that he had a lint roller somewhere at his desk. 

He cocks his head to the side, giving you a boyish smirk that maybe would make your heart skip a beat if it wasn’t for his audacity. 

“Usually I ask someone’s name first and take them on a few dates before I let them sit in my lap, but I guess I can make an exception,” he replies and you never in your life before wanted to strangle someone so badly. If that wasn’t already worse enough, the tuxedo cat lifts its small head and slowly blinks at you before jumping down from his lap, as if it was trying to make space for you. My bad, didn’t know this seat was taken. Here, girl, you have it.

For once in your life you’re too stunned to speak. You watch the stranger check his watch and let out an almost inaudible sigh before he grabs his backpack (one that looks like he has had it since high school) and stands up to full height. He’s in your space now and you have to crank your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Mentally you’re adding stupidly tall to your list of things you hate about him. 

“Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

True to his words he is there the next day, too. This time around you managed to secure your spot by the window, three cats idly sleeping next to you on. You’ve been stuck on a paragraph for almost an hour now when the doorbell chimes and his figure appears at the counter. The cats look up with interest but you force yourself not to pay any attention to him, which is hard when his order is literally “I’ll have whatever she is having”, followed by a nod in your direction and this cheeky smile again. 

This damn smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a dirty chai drinker,” you deadpan when he takes a seat at the table next to yours. The café is almost empty around this time of the day, which is no surprise since most of the workers in this district are having a hearty meal for lunch and not whatever sweet delicacies this place is offering. 

He peels himself out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. The same cat as yesterday jumps into his lap immediately after he sits down, giving you a look of “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him” and you almost roll your eyes. Kuroo (you learn his name from the ID he is wearing around his neck) seems to notice and he grins at you. 

“Then what did I strike you as?” he asks, his chin resting in one hand while his other finds the soft fur of the kitty, stroking it gently. 

You look him up and down, now taking your time while stretching out the silence between you two. Only the purring of the cats and the soft music in the background could be heard. At first glance he seems like your typical office worker in the three piece suit who spends his time filling out spreadsheets and drinking cheap vending-machine coffee from the conbini next door. Everything a little rumpled, himself included, someone so used to tristesse he doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Only at second glance do you notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, not from age but from laughter. The dimples when he smiles down at the tuxedo cat in his lap, now showing off its belly. His calloused hands, atypical for an office worker, more like you’d see them at craftsmen or athletes. Something in his eyes that radiates warmth and an air of calm confidence. None of it is unpleasant.

“If I had to guess, maybe three espresso with a pump of caramel and honey,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Kuroo looks at you in surprise before barking out a laugh. You hate how you like the sound of it.

It’s the beginning of spring and you award Kuroo Tetsuro the title of the greatest nuisance you’ve ever met.

In the midst of summer, you pity him. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you radiate a natural fragrance of catnip,” you say as you stir your iced oat milk latte. Kuroo got you that one when he popped in during his lunch break and saw that your glass must have been empty for a while. By that time you were hunched over your laptop, trying to decipher your notes from last night. You had saved him a seat at your table, but if he asked you, you’d say you just happened to put all your belongings on one chair and nothing more.

The man is swarmed by the cats of the café. They didn’t even bother to hide who their favorite is, rubbing around his legs, sitting pressed to his side or just straight up climbing his shoulders. It would’ve been enviable if he wasn’t already sweating from wearing a suit in the humid heat of the summer month alone. 

“Can you get at least one or two off me?” he asks and his tone is close to pleading. It makes you laugh as you stretch out in your light sundress, giving him a look as if you’re contemplating his question. 

“I could, but it’s really much funnier seeing you struggle like that. Serves you well,” you chime and pull out your phone, snapping a photo of this moment. You hold it up for him to see, a kitty phone charm dangling from it (they just happened to come in a pack of two and you gifted him one out of generosity, nothing more). He snatches it from your hands and makes a face.

“So you like seeing me suffer, is that how it is?” he snarls at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His slender fingers fly over the screen of your phone and you let out a small gasp.

“Don’t you dare delete it,” you huff and grab the orange tabby mercifully off his shoulders so you can lean over him better. 

“Relax. I’m only saving my contact info since you never bothered asking me for it despite being my constant for the past three months.”  

There was this cheeky smile again. You blame the flutter of your heart on the caffeine and not the way his pupils are dilating when he gazes at you. 

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close you’re leaning over at him. Kuroo gives you a little glance from the corner of his eyes and taps the now revealed side of his neck. 

“What do you say? Do I really smell like catnip?” 

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two. You can feel the heat radiating off him and for a brief moment you wonder what it would feel like to press open mouth kisses on his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as you engrave this moment into your heart. 

“Definitely irresistible,” you murmur once you pull back–reluctantly, as if a hidden part of you ached to be in his proximity, in the inside of his soul.  

By autumn you miss him on the days when he was gone. 

He traveled quite a lot. You didn’t know one would need to be on the road so much for something as simple as volleyball (you can imagine the look he’d give you over this). But he was passionate about it and that’s also something you liked about him. The way he talks about the sport holds so much love and you wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Kuroo Tetsuro.

Gentle, you think. Honest. Treasured.

A tap against the window pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, you're met with a pair of honey glazed eyes. Whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s making him grin from ear to ear before he hurries towards the entry door, eager to meet you again.

Kuroo is holding up a bag, some brand of sweets from Hokkaido he’s been texting you about, but you didn’t think he’d actually go so far and bring you some. He sounds breathless when he speaks, as if he rushed all the way to get here and when he keeps on rambling, you order him and yourself a hot matcha boba and a chocolate mousse to share. 

The cats are happy to see him back too, and you laugh when you help him take his scarf off before some kitty claws can tangle up in it. It was a precious gift after all, one you knitted for him, under the feeble excuse of “keeping my hands busy helps me come up with ideas for my writing process”. It makes you happy to see him wearing it, and the color makes you feel as if you took the red string of fate connecting you two and turned it into something to help him stay warm.

You think a lot about kissing him now. Sometimes your hands would brush against each other on the table, neither of you pulling away. He spends his lunch breaks with you and comes to pick you up from the café in the evening, walking you to your station. The two of you still bicker at each other, but underneath lies a certain kind of softness, one that feels too fickle to put it into words just yet but also too bright to ignore. The leaves of the trees are falling and so are you. 

With winter comes snow and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s unadulterated love. 

You spend a lot of time huddled together in the corner by the window now. He looks over your shoulder when you type on your laptop, one arm resting idly on the back of your chair, fingertips brushing against your spine sometimes. You don’t think he even notices when he lets them run up and down there. Often you forget which cups on the table belong to who but it doesn’t matter since you order the same things anyway and because this could count as an indirect kiss, right? 

On some days he’d just close his eyes and laze next to you, with his head resting on his folded arms on the table and your fingers idly weaving through his hair, before he had to hurry back to work. On others he would tell you excitedly about a special match he was organizing and you can hear the pure joy in his voice. It’s contagious.You get them now, the cats. How drawn they are to him, like chasing sunbeams. 

He spells L-O-V-E on your back with his fingertips and something inside of you softens. 

Then there’s snow, more snow than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and Kuroo comes to pick you up early, the tip of his ears bright red and his cold hands seeking yours to warm them up. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m closing the shop early today,” the café owner apologizes and puts a box of cinnamon rolls for you on your table. “You two kittens better hurry and get home, too. On the radio they said they’re gonna shut everything down soon.”

It can’t be that bad, you think. But when Kuroo and you stand in front of the closed station, it dawns on you that maybe you’ve underestimated the amount of snow a teeny tiny bit. You huddle a little closer to him for warmth and to shield yourself against the snow as you pull out your phone. 

“If there’s no more trains running, I better start looking for a place to stay. With some luck there’s still a few vacant rooms in the hotels nearby…”

Kuroo puts a hand over your screen and gives you a stern look when you open our mouth to protest. 

“You can crash at my place for the night. I live close by," he mutters and it doesn’t really leave room to decline his offer. Maybe it’s not really an offer to begin with; more of a silent pleading to stay. Not just for the duration of the snowstorm, but forever maybe. 

His place is just like you imagined it would be like. Not overly spacious but it feels like a home in every corner. There’s photos on the wall, back from when he was a kid to his high school and college years, and pinned with a magnet to the fridge is also a polaroid he took of you back in summer. In it you’re laughing about something silly he said and you’re holding up two cats at once, one strap of your sundress almost slipping down your shoulder. You still remember how he fixed it for you because you didn’t have a hand free and how his fingers lingered for longer than necessary. 

You hope one day he won’t pull his hand away anymore.

The apartment is certainly not messy but you can see he lives in this place, with some papers scattered across the coffee table and the unmade bed and the slightly concerning stock of buldak noodles in the kitchen shelves (in which you peeked out of curiosity into while he was in the shower). You imagine yourself living here, too. Maybe you’d get a cat on your own and plants for the balcony once this winter was over. 

The laundry machine rumbles quietly in the background after you step out of the bathroom, too. It wasn’t just the steamy shower that had your cheeks feel hot, it was also his clothes that he put out for you, with his scent lingering on them and engulfing you softly. Kuroo appears with two cups from the kitchen and pauses when he sees you, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flicker over your form. He doesn’t want to stare but also he does want to stare, wants to drink you in and memorize every detail of this moment. 

You can see his Adam's apple bop slightly when he swallows and nods over to the couch, and it’s at this moment that you know you’re not leaving this apartment again before every inch of your skin has been plastered in kisses. 

“It’s not as good as the one’s at the café but I tried my best for my special guest,” he laughs quietly when he hands you your cup, his fingers brushing against yours. The hot chocolate looks impossibly sweet, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top (they’re not ordinary sprinkles, you realize, but tiny cat shaped ones), and the first sip would’ve been enough to send you in some higher spheres if you weren’t in a state of bliss due to his proximity already. You put the cups to cool down on the coffee table and sink into the couch. 

Outside the snow is falling relentlessly, muffling the sounds of the outside world and opening up a new one, right here in these four walls.

In his arms. 

Without realizing you both settled down in your now familiar positions, only closer this time. Huddled next to each other, with one of his arms around your shoulder drawing you nearer to him. It feels natural, the way your head comes to rest against his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

He’s warm. Kuroo is so warm. 

And when he presses a fleeting kiss on top of your head it’s like everything is falling in place; the months of pining and yearning and unspoken desire. In the midst of a snowstorm both of your hearts are set ablaze, with a tenderness you haven’t experienced in this lifetime before. You sure hope he will find you in the next and the one after that as well because you never want to miss his embrace ever again. 

“That’s my spot,” you murmur and Kuroo laughs, the kind with his head tilted back and his chest rumbling. His grip around you tightens and he pulls you impossibly closer, till you’re really in his lap now, your head tucked under his chin. 

“Damn right it is.” 

You can feel his heart drum, or maybe it’s your own that’s doing somersaults–either way, it’s the same rhythm, a steady thrumming and rattling, begging to be felt. Time seems to freeze at this moment and you’re both quiet. Cat’s got your tongue. Kuroo has both arms around you now, and one of his hands settles on your waist, at the part where your sweatshirt is bunched up a little. His thumb draws small patterns against your bare skin, his touch featherlight and gentle.

You lift your head, only enough so you can catch his gaze. For the first time in your life you understand what it means to have your heart in your throat, because he takes your breath away with a simple glance. His other hand comes to rest against your cheek, cupping your face softly while his grip around your waist tightens a fraction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters and you can see his sharp teeth flash in the corner of your eyes when he laughs. 

“Like what?” “You know what.” “I think I’ll need to have it spelled out for me.”

He laughs again and this time he leans in closer till his breath is fanning over your skin and everything is happening all at once. Honey and caramel eyes asking you to drown in them. The heat of his body mingling with yours. Your fingers playing with the shaved part of hair in the back of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’ll spell it out for you alright.”

Kuroo kisses you with all the gentleness of the world. It feels as natural as if he had done this countless times before, as if he had kissed you in every life prior to that. He hums into the kiss and smiles when your lips part for him so willingly, and then he deepens the kiss in a way that makes you forget your name for a heartbeat or two. 

Sweet, you think. Soft and saccharine. And warm. So warm. The same what loving Kuroo feels like.

[moon-fics]

Lewis Pullman character request idea 💡: Dr. Calvin Evans doesn't know how to act when his lab tech/research partner is going on a date with a colleague from his past (perhaps yearning, jealousy, and a declaration of love ensues 👼) I highly recommend everyone to watch Lessons In Chemistry if you haven't

Lessons in Chemistry has destroyed my life and soul. It's amazing and deserves a bigger fan base. I grant you your request. (Please note I chose a major FAR away from the sciences. I know NOTHING about chemistry.

It has been months since you started working as Calvin's lab tech. For the most part, you help organize his lab and brainstorm. You also spend most of your time reading research papers and textbooks to find solutions or get a different perspective. So far, things have been going well.

Except for the fact that he's hardly been talking to you recently. You can't remember the exact day things changed, but it can't have been more than two days. Every time you try to bring up an idea, he nods his head and gives you a one-word answer. It's gotten to a point where the other chemists talk to you more than him.

You expect the same treatment as you enter his lab. You've learned to ignore the signs on his door that grow in numbers every once in a while. The newest one is 'stop asking for my supplies'.

"Morning, Calvin," You greet him. He's hunched over one of the black laminate lab tables. He's staring intently at two beakers with different liquids in them. You know better to ask at this point.

"Morning," He replies in a low tone. He's dead focused and lost in thought. You pay him no mind and grab a textbook from his shelf. You've decided to go back to the basics to find anything you can use as a breakthrough. You can feel his eyes watching you as you sit at his desk.

You ignore him the same way he's been ignoring you. You won't give him the satisfaction of having all your attention unless he's earned it. Except, every few minutes, you can sense him watching you. It drives you mad that he won't even say a word. You want to throw the textbook at him to see if he'll finally speak, but you need it.

"Could you pass me my notebook and pen?" He asks after an hour of silence. Your eyes flicker from the page to him with an unamused expression. Without looking away, you reach for the notebook and pen. You hold it out in front of you and dare him to ask you to get up. "Thanks," He mutters.

He approaches you and takes the requested items. He doesn't move away from you. At least, not right away. You follow his line of sight, and he's zoned in on your hand. You clear your throat, and it snaps him out of his trance. He slaps the notebook against his hand and walks back to his experiment.

Another long space of silence passes, and you've finally gotten into the reading. You've relaxed in his chair, and your mind is filled with equations that you're trying to alter.

"Do you mind-" He tries to start, but you twist around in his chair to glare at him. Your fingers press against the chapter page as you silently loathe him.

"Listen, if you're going to keep me around to fetch you items, then I'd be more useful helping the other chemists." You snap. You're tired of only speaking to him when he needs something. You miss the banter and jokes you'd share with him. It used to brighten your day, and if he weren't so handsome, you'd have left by now.

His soft blue eyes search your face for a joke or for any sign that you're bluffing. You wish you were. His jaw clenches and unclenches as if he has something important to say.

"I heard you got asked out," He declares. He rests his fist against his mouth as if he regrets speaking. "I can't have you getting distracted," He mumbles.

"That's what this is about?" You scoff. He's been acting off because you got asked out. He's more interested in you remaining devoted to chemistry than your personal life. "One of the lab techs asked me out and I agreed. Is that enough information for you?" You speak harshly.

His eyes squint and reset at your reaction. You can see the gears working in his mind to figure out what to say.

"You agreed?" He asks. There is internal screaming inside your head that fuels your annoyance. "Does this mean you'll be here less?"

"I'm not sure! If things go well, then maybe. That isn't important, though." You throw your hands up. "I'm dedicated to helping you, so I'll be here enough."

"We need a submission for the grant, and if you're busy running off on dates, how am I supposed to rely on you?" That was more than enough for you. You close the textbook and set it on his desk. Your body is way too hot, and you cannot stand to be in the same room as him right now.

Without a word, you storm out of his lab and slam the door shut behind you. You can hear one of his signs hit the floor from the force. The farther you get, the worse your heart feels. As if it's being pulled in two different directions.

---

The day went by quickly after you left his lab. You distracted yourself with mindless tasks, but you still couldn't stop thinking about the argument. It doesn't make sense in your mind as to why he'd react that way.

You step outside the building to see heavy rain pouring down. Thankfully, you're covered where you're standing. Unfortunately, you didn't bring an umbrella to work. With a grunt, you step out from your protection and allow yourself to be exposed to the rain. The soft drops cool your skin down, and it soothes something inside you.

By the time you reach your car, you're soaked. You press the key into the slot of the door and right as you're about to turn it you hear your name.

Your head snaps up to look around the lot. You notice a figure running towards you and recognize them to be Calvin. You don't know why he's running in the rain to you, but you don't jump in your car.

He stops a few inches from you, and he's not even out of breath. His eyes instantly stare into yours as he tries to collect his thoughts. Rain drips from his hair down his nose. It's maddening how dignified he looks while getting drenched.

"Don't go out with him," He isn't ordering you, but he isn't suggesting either. "Please."

"This again? I'm not going to be distracted!" You groan. You press your hands against our face to contain yourself. You cannot believe you're about to have the same argument from earlier.

"I'm not saying this because I'm worried about your commitment. I know you're just as devoted to getting this grant as I am," He huffs. "I'm saying it because the idea of seeing you and your smile less drives me crazy. You brighten my lab just being there, and you make me feel unstuck." He confesses hastily.

You can't find the words to say as he admits his feelings. You had no clue he felt this way. You should scream at him for treating you poorly, simply because he was jealous. Yet, you're almost glad he is.

"Working with you has been the greatest pleasure of my life. I'd give up ever winning an award if it meant I could stay by your side." He places his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry I've been distant and I've been wasting your time. I just wanted more of it." It's clear he has more to say, but he's waiting for your reaction.

"I'll accept your apology, but if you ever treat me like that again, I'm breaking all your beakers." You warn. You want to look serious, but a smile creeps up on your lips as you speak. "However, you're going to have to do more to convince me not to go on that date," You taunt.

"Say less," He nods. His hands gently cradle your head, and he tilts it so his lips can press against yours perfectly. Rain enters your mouth during the kiss, but it doesn't bother you. Not when his warmth is consuming you. The kiss is desperate but slow. He's trying to get his point across, and it's working.

When he finally pulls away, you continue to stare at his lips. Your hands go to his wrists to keep his hands in place.

"I think I can cancel that date," You hum.

"Oh, you think you can?" He chuckles. His thumb rubs circles over your cheeks.