#I was so afraid to draw her but I like how it turned out

[kobitoshiningneedle]

??? new PnF episodes spoilers???

Ranking the dreams from The Nightmare-inator (but contrary to the ep's title Doof's new device wasn't making nightmares come true, only regular dreams with verious degree of distubingness)

The Perry one was curious. It's obvious that he's afraid that the boys could be harmed because of his secret identity, but the way it was played out implies that one of the scariest (or at least concerning, something he would rather avoid) things for Perry is to draw too much attention and wreak havoc because of his duels with Doofenshmirtz. And, again, harming the boys in the process (which makes me relize that perhaps Perry at least suspects Doof's inators hit various things in Flynn-Fletcher residence. 7/10

Vanessa's. Yay, finally! Olivia Olson's song! As always, it's a bop! 10/10 for that alone. Also funny how she actually lowkey is afraid of Ducky momo (Candace would be heartbroken if she learns that).

The next one I didn't get - was it Buford ol Baljeet's dream? Or maybe they were sharing this one? Judging by the dream sequence itself it was Buford's. I remember an OG episode about Baljeet getting his brain amplified and kids battling with him, this one was really similar. 6/10, the reality show gag was funny.

Candace's high fantasy thingie. We got a fair share of glimses of Candace's inner world, so it was pretty obvious how things would turn in this particular dream. Dragon Jeremy moment was funny though. Also there's one interesting detail that I probably overthunk - the boys being sucked by the Mysterious Force along with Candace, why? So, she subconciously fears that something might happen because with the boys' shenanigans after all? Candace Against the Universe and some other PnF episodes imply that Candace perceives her brothers not as just kids with annoying and dangerous activities, but people with agency and authonomy. These qualities (along with creativity and many abilities) are something Candace envies which adds to her frustration and desire to bust to satisfy herself. But here (along with Monster from the Id where the boys were potrayed as deers or whatever) Phineas and Ferb don't have that much of authonomy. Hmmm. 8/10, too much food for thought. The Linda was creppy ahaha

Ah, the Ferb one. It's alwas a treat to see the inner world of this enigmatic boy. There's a plenty to analyze (like, why is Vanessa's shoe next the torn up teddy bear and paper towels? Why is there a reference to Pinhead Pierre?) but I've fizzled out because of the previous dream. Maybe next time. 8/10, definitely wanna see what Ferb's nightmares are like

And then we have Isabella's. I admit, I was expecting something Phinabella-related, but this one is much better imo. It was like the Lord of the Firesides episode I'm a fan of. It really is in character for such a goody-two-shoes as Isabella to have fears that if she somehow breaks some rules (like eating a cupcake before than necessary) there will be havoc. Also her fighty personality. 9/10.

Linda's little tidbit was really pitiable, guess from her POV Candace really is stubborn and annoying and she can't relax because of it? Made me feel bad for her, 6/10

Doofenshmirtz's Inception-esque sequence. The song was a bop (two bangers in an episode... nyom), the "there's a platipus controllin me" callback was callbacky as heck. I guess this final act of the episode was made just for lulz and the action, but if we take this overanalyzing approach Doof kinda DOES worry about his inators harming anyone (specifically Perry). It's not exactly a revelation, so I'll stop at "wee funny shenanigans and Perry battles all of these dream concoctions! 7/10"

No Phineas dream, 0/10 :(

[asher-agere]

Alien Stage!

Ok so. This is much later than I said it would be I’m SORRY. I struggled to write these a little bit because we never see the characters casually? Like I don’t have casual body language and dialect to pick up on… I wanted to write fanfics but that was just dead end. For these reasons I won’t be taking Alien Stage requests! But I’m always up for talking about it :3

ANYWAY. Have my thoughts on them all being babies. In no particular order/Lies. Shoutout to @st4rb4byyyyy and @amiagere for letting me know I got the right amount of angst as I bounced ideas off of them :3

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

Luka

⭑.ᐟ BABY. HE’S A BABY. Literally on his character wiki it mentions that he seems like an age regressor… Official wiki guys. Not agere space. SO UH YEAH. I reward him with the 1-4 age range

⭑.ᐟ Okay I think he’d be a permaregressor actually… I saw a theory that since he’s an artificial human he likely wasn’t placed into a newborn body, so his minds actually less developed than his body. So I think he’s permanently regressed like a few years younger than his physical age

⭑.ᐟ Must have something in his mouth at all times! Drools all the time… Sometimes he’ll suck on his fingers until they get all red and wrinkly, but a lot of the time he honestly prefers a sleeve. He doesn’t bite much! Just wants to suck on something. Pacifiers work but he doesn’t love them…

⭑.ᐟ Hyuna is his caregiver. He won’t accept anyone else and he’s incredibly possessive over her. He’s not at all afraid to tell her about his regression, she won’t turn him away right? After she joined the rebellion he basically treated her like a fictional caregiver, pretending she was there to take care of him

⭑.ᐟ He plays in incredibly morbid ways… Storytelling turns graphic, toys get set up for war, drawings are anyways covered in red crayon… First time caregiver Hyuna absolutely horrified but still trying to support him. The kind of kid to rip limbs off his toys and put them back wrong. His only form of traditional play is his rubix cube! 

⭑.ᐟ I think his first introduction to playing was with his clones in the scene where he killed them. He just wanted to play! Of course over time he learned. Hey that’s not how it works… But when he regresses he goes back to how he used to play. He’s almost broken Hyuna’s fingers multiple times because he’s just trying to bend them into different shapes. Imagine a baby playing with a parents hand but unlike a baby when he meets resistance due to bone he just applies more pressure

⭑.ᐟ Curls into fetal position… All the time. He’s in so much pain all the time… Overall he has a really weak body. He’s practically never given enough food to actually keep him full. He has migraines and a heart disease… He just needs to curl up and cry sometimes. It doesn’t physically help much at all but he’s trying…

⭑.ᐟ Breathing exercises are the best way to help him! Especially ones with counting… Especially especially counting on his fingers.  He still tracks his heart rate while regressed, he just can’t control it anymore. So when it gets out of the desired range he starts to panic, and it gets worse, so he just panics more, and it’s an endless cycle. A lot of the time he’ll literally hyperventilate to the point of passing out

⭑.ᐟ When he has meltdowns he usually ends up hurting himself! Hitting himself in the head or arms, sometimes biting! He finds it to be self soothing. It reminds him of his harsh training, he tells himself that the momentary pain makes him better in the long run and that’s a soothing thought for him. That pain is temporary. It’ll make him better

Till

✮⋆˙ Ough Till… Voluntarily regresses down to 4-7! Involuntarily though he’s a 1-3 baby. He WANTS to be a big kid! Wants to make his arts and crafts and run around and play. Instead doomed by the baby beam and forced to feel comforted by being swaddled…

✮⋆˙ Doesn’t have a caregiver! He asked Mizi to be his caregiver but she seemed uncomfortable with the amount of commitment that role required, so they settled on her being a babysitter! He doesn’t want to male her uncomfortable after all. Ivan has also offered up helping out! But Till doesn’t seem very interested in that, so he also stays as a babysitter. Sua is a last resort, never ends well

✮⋆˙ Loves arts and crafts! Especially in the toddler age range. He likes the idea of making things! Loves making things for Mizi and giving them to her, sometimes makes things for others but like. If it’s compared by what he gave Mizi they won’t feel as good about it anymore…

✮⋆˙ He always goes to Mizi when he’s voluntarily regressed! It’s when he can try to keep things more fun! He’s more in control of what he does and they can run around and play! But if Sua shows up… Mizi won’t pay as much attention to him anymore. He’s struck with the reminder that he’ll never be her top priority. And it’s a slippery slope into baby town! A slope he usually falls down head first

✮⋆˙ Very bitey baby… He’s gonna bite everything. He stops himself from biting Mizi! He doesn’t wanna hurt her. But Ivan gets bit whenever he watches Till (Ivan doesn’t mind). Don’t give him a pacifier, he’ll chew right through it, needs a proper teether. Also will chew holes in clothes and/or stuffed animals. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing. He’s just a little guy…

✮⋆˙ He never really liked the idea of Ivan taking care of him while he’s regressed, in fact he’s pointedly told Ivan that he wants to regress around him less. Ivan knows a lot of the little things that lead to Till slipping though, he’ll act on those triggers to trigger Till’s headspace because he wants to feel Till relying on him. For example when Mizi and Sua are busy together Ivan will go over to Till and start gently babying Till. During the times Till just wants to be alone

✮⋆˙ After the timeskip he only regressed alone, some of the members of the rebellion have seen Till while regressed, but he refuses to talk about it with them. He doesn’t want them to talk to him or touch him while he’s regressed. Completely non-verbal even after he gets his voice back. Even if he isn’t seeing Ivan there, he’s scared that talking might make him come back. That terrifies him more than anything else

✮⋆˙ More on post-timeskip Till. He’s very quick to try to hurt himself. How I interpreted the scars on his neck was he was imagining Ivan scratching his neck and choking him, but really he was the one doing it, or in trying to pry hands off of him that weren’t really there he ended up scratching himself. It’s not that he physically couldn’t talk, he didn’t want to. He was telling himself he couldn’t, searching for a way he was physically still broken to try and match how mentally broken he felt

✮⋆˙ Stopped voluntarily regressing after the timeskip. It’s 100% involuntary for him. He’ll just curl in on himself and cry. He usually likes to push himself in corners, with his back to the corner and his knees up to his chest. He can still look out to the world. But no one can sneak up on him. It’s the closest he can get to safety. Only exception to this is when he’s dealing with his hallucinations of Ivan, then he’ll hide under a blanket to try and get away. If Ivan’s there he’s already not safe, there’s no longer a point in his false sense of security

Hyuna 

༘⋆ Honestly I don’t really see Hyuna as a regressor? I see her as much more of a caregiver. Mainly for Luka, but sometimes Mizi, also various people in the rebellion at times… She’s a caregiver I’m telling you. But! I already talked about her taking care of Luka and I’ll get to her and Mizi! So little Hyuna! I’ll give her the age range of… 3-9! Big kid! Loves to be a big sister honestly, just doesn’t get many chances…

༘⋆ She started regressing at Anakt! I think she was helping Luka with his regression and she was just… Kind of curious. So she tried it herself! Coming up with little ways to help her feel tiny until she could get it to work. It was a lot of borrowing clothes from her brother and Luka, curling up hugging a pillow, maybe even a stuffed animal, and singing herself lullabies! (Singing herself early workshop versions of Wiege as she fully forms the song…)

༘⋆ Initially she wanted Luka to be her caregiver! It seemed like a perfect fit, they were always really close after all! But… I don’t think it went very well. Luka has little to no empathy, and while yes he wants to try as hard as he can for Hyuna especially… It doesn’t make sense to him. If she starts crying? What is he supposed to do? She likes to play games and he plays them morbidly wrong. She expects praise over every little thing… Of course he’s happy to praise her but he doesn’t UNDERSTAND praising her for something simple like brushing her teeth. Why does she need that? It ends up being a pretty upsetting experience

༘⋆ After the disaster of Luka as her caregiver she sort of gave up on regressing. It was mostly voluntary for her anyway, she didn’t need it. And when it tried involuntarily creeping up on her she could usually push it away. While she was with the rebellion I think she briefly accepted Jacob as her caregiver? He saved her after all. But of course he was killed… After that she just vowed never again. She pushed her regression away at all costs and when she couldn’t she isolated herself

༘⋆ Not enough people talk about her prosthetic leg… That’s rough for a little one to move around in! Especially because she wants to move around a lot… Doesn’t want to be carried around even though it would be easier for her. Ends up stumbling a lot because of it… But she refuses to crawl around unless she’s feeling really really young. So bandaids are always on stand by! If she gets ouchies she handles them like a pro!

Sua

୨୧ Tiiiny baby! 0-4 age range though! Absolutely head empty no thoughts kind of baby. Constantly looks vaguely upset unless she’s around Mizi, it’s not that she’s genuinely upset she just doesn’t smile much unless Mizi’s around. When she’s a toddler she’s pouty though, like she’s upset pretty frequently and wants to take it out on people, once again not around Mizi though! Mizi cures all sad feelings

୨୧ If you couldn’t already tell… Mizi is her caregiver. No questions asked. She does NOT like Till, and she isn’t very fond of Ivan either, she won’t even let them babysit her. If Mizi’s busy she’d rather isolate herself in her room than let one of the boys look after her. And when Mizi’s able to go see her the sweet girl will just hold her arms out with teary eyes, never wanting Mizi to leave her never ever again

୨୧ Incredibly clingy to Mizi! Sua planned to sacrifice herself for a long time, I think her conversation with Ivan changed her mind, that’s why they truly had a harmony in the end and their scores were so close, but most of the time… She truly planned to sacrifice herself if and when she was ever up against Mizi. She was viewing every moment with Mizi as precious time before she passed on for Mizi to keep going. I don’t think it was upsetting for her, she was at peace with that decision, but the idea of losing Mizi before she’s ready is beyond upsetting for the poor little girl

୨୧ She doesn’t like regressing in front of many people! Mizi of course, but she likes it when they’re in a secluded part of the garden, perhaps ever in one of their rooms. She doesn’t like anyone taking Mizi’s attention off of her, even for a second. Mizi is happy to comply of course! She likes focusing on Sua best, she’s happy to be away from any distractions and just focus on her little one

୨୧ Very particular with nicknames! Mizi’s favorite nickname to use with her is “Snowflake” hehe, in general likes snow themed nicknames because she loves how pure Mizi’s first impression of her was. But she hates nicknames that comment on physical appearance. She doesn’t want to be called “Beautiful” or “Gorgeous” or “Pretty”… I think her and Mizi have a mutual hatred for the word pretty. It’s a nice compliment to slip in but it should never be the main focus. She doesn’t want to be acknowledged for her looks

Mizi

𝄞 The widest age range honestly… 1-8 regressor! She prefers it when she regresses to her older ages so she can keep up her usual front of innocence easier, but when she’s a baby it’s harder to act oblivious to certain things that go on around her… So when she’s regressed down to a baby she likes being relatively on her own! Sua is generally an exception but sometimes she even tries to isolate herself from Sua

𝄞 Her main caregiver is Sua obviously! Till is a pretty frequently babysitter while she’s in her older ages though, and Hyuna was a temporary caregiver when Mizi was with the rebellion! I say temporary caregiver not babysitter to differentiate between Till and Hyuna’s roles. She was much closer to and more reliant on Hyuna, Till watching her was more like a kid visiting their uncle for the day instead of staying with her mom like usual. Still close, but not even close to permanent or the one she’s most reliant on. Hyuna is more like a foster parent, Mizi learned to rely on her but in a perfect world Hyuna would still never be her first choice

𝄞 Sua is the only one Mizi can truly be herself around, she can be herself and be comfortable! Around Sua she doesn’t need to hide things, even though she still tries to put on a smile for her caregiver! Mizi loves to just happily babble to Sua about how amazing she is, Sua is happy to brush through Mizi’s hair with the smile, thanking the girl for her praise, even if Mizi’s in her younger ages and it isn’t very intelligible

𝄞 Till as a babysitter is only for kiddo Mizi! Till… Isn’t as subtle with his crush as he tries to be. Mizi’s aware of it, but it still grosses her out. She doesn’t like the way she feels like Till objectifies her, plus… That’s a boy. Why does everyone keep saying she’s supposed to like boys? It’s kinda gross/ref While in a kiddo headspace she can act oblivious like she usually is! But… Baby Mizi lashes out. And she doesn’t wanna hurt Till… He is really sweet…

𝄞 Mixed feelings about play dates with Till… She loves the idea of it! Till is fun to play with! But little Till is even less subtle about his crush when he’s tiny… He gets all pouty when she’s paying attention to literally her caregiver, and he always stares at her… Why is she expected to care about cheering him up when this is her time to relax? Play dates usually happen when Till’s voluntarily regressed so he’s in a bigger headspace age, he’s doing this voluntarily, she isn’t, why do his feelings need to take priority?

𝄞 Hyuna as a caregiver! Hyuna sees Mizi at her worst, when the poor girl doesn’t really have the energy to hide behind her mask anymore. She still tries to stay strong, choose the right things, but very often Hyuna has to explain to a little Mizi about how people dying now hurts, but it’s to save people in the future! Little Mizi doesn’t have a very good grasp on that concept. She doesn’t like the way Hyuna dismisses Sua’s death

𝄞 Really likes it when Hyuna brushes her hair! Her hair isn’t long like it used to be when Sua would brush it, and that’s upsetting, but still the feeling of someone brushing her hair is soothing enough! Luckily Sua never really styled it much, just liked to brush it, so it doesn’t feel all that different

𝄞 Has a tendency to lash out at people… Certain wording can trigger her and she’ll just lash out without thinking, she can’t hold herself back like she can while she’s big. Sometimes it’s wording, being called “pretty” or someone saying it “must be nice” or “how cute”. She doesn’t want to hurt people! It’s just… Certain words make her think about bad things. She doesn’t want to think about bad things

Ivan

ᯓ★ Ivan… Little guy… 0-5 age range! Very much head empty no thoughts kinda guy in his baby age range, but when he’s in a kiddo age range he’s pretty smart! Always plotting and scheming something… Whether it’s ways to get more attention or the right things to say to earn him another cookie. He’d also enjoy brain teasers! He likes feeling smart

ᯓ★ Time for my ranting to really start… He wants Till to be his caregiver. Till… Isn’t very enthusiastic about that idea. Being a caregiver really isn’t comforting to Till, so why would he want to do that? He’s okay with like babysitting, but even that he’s a little hesitant to do at times, so being a full time caregiver? Ivan responded respectfully to this! Even though it really hurt him. He really wanted at least that little way to be close to Till, but Till is showed him little to no interest in being in that role

ᯓ★ Ivan during his times regressing with Till looking after him… He loves it. Ough he’s absolutely overjoyed. He’s getting Till’s attention! Till cares about him! And… Well he wants more of it. He can’t help himself. He just slips in little comments, sleepy mumbling mentioning how he knows Till doesn’t really like him. Self depreciating comments, calling himself unlovable. It makes Till feel awful. And… Eventually he gives in! He agrees to be Ivan’s caregiver and Ivan is absolutely overjoyed. All he needed to do was say how he felt!

ᯓ★ Ivan sometimes will try to reach out to Mizi to babysit him? But only as an absolute last resort. He wants Till obviously, most of the time if Till is busy he’d rather just regress on his own, though I think he’s mainly a voluntary regressor so he can also just try not to regress. But if he’s alone and feeling pretty bad he’ll reach out to Mizi! Sua tends to stay with the pair which Ivan isn’t fond of, but he doesn’t mind too much. Though being around Mizi too much makes his head hurt… She can be exhausting

ᯓ★ For a long time Ivan was content with Till as his caregiver, it was everything he wanted after all! But… Then he saw Till babysitting little Mizi. He saw the way that Till lit up taking care of her, the way Till went out of his way to make her happy, and…. How Till didn’t do that with him. That night he told Till that he didn’t need to be his caregiver anymore. Till asked him if he was sure, but he didn’t really pry deeper, he just accepted the offer at surface level, and that felt so much worse. Ivan started repressing his regression a lot after that

ᯓ★ While he’s big Ivan tries to work on showing emotions, but while he’s regressed the aliens training tends to be meaningless. He always has a blank look on his face, he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t cry. He’s just… There. If he is asked to smile and does it he’ll complain about how it hurts his mouth. His mouth has been stretched and pulled into that shape by machines too many times to count. It just hurts. He doesn’t want to

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

I have more thoughts about Ivan but I can’t for the life of me articulate them… He’s just a guy/silly

[pebble-sleepy]

I wanted to practice one of the girlies <3

(also line-of-action is actually helping me study so much idk why)

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you’s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

yearning nerdjo x shy reader, fluff & humor.

a/n: this is so embarrassing bc this is literally how miserable i am irl.

satoru is down so bad it’s starting to rot his brain. like. visibly. tangibly. his leg’s bouncing under the desk like it’s on fast-forward, the heel of his sneaker thudding rhythmically against the floor tile like a metronome set to desperation. his fingers are drumming nonsense rhythms onto his scratched-up laptop case like he’s trying to decode the algorithm of your absence—tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap, like morse code for where is she. his eyes—red-rimmed behind silver-rimmed glasses with one slightly crooked arm—keep flicking to the lab’s entrance like he expects you to materialize in a puff of soft pink mist.

his hoodie’s three days old, and it shows: the sleeves stretched from him pulling them over his hands, the fabric bunched at the elbows. his white t-shirt underneath has a tiny ketchup stain from wednesday’s lunch. the keychain you gave him—blue enamel cat, chipped at the ear—dangles off his pencil pouch like a beacon. his code’s running fine. tabs are hyper-organized. debugging queue nonexistent. he even fixed suguru’s late-night python spiral that nearly bricked the department printer and summoned the wrath of the IT gods.

but it doesn’t matter. because you’re not here.

he’s been looking. he’s always looking.

in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in the reflection of vending machine glass. he leans his stupid giraffe neck around corners like he’s expecting a spontaneous reveal. he scopes out lecture halls he’s not even enrolled in, notebook in hand just in case. every time he hears the soft shuffle of flats in the distance, his head snaps toward it like a bloodhound. he’s started recognizing the rhythm of your steps versus every other pair on campus. your soft-soled shoes tap lighter. more deliberate. his ears practically perk up when he hears a backpack zipper. once he dropped his pen and nearly dislocated his neck looking up, thinking it was you.

and every time it’s not you, his expression glitches—eyes dimming, mouth tightening like his soul just flatlined. it's pathetic. it's art.

he sits sideways in group study like he’s waiting for you to pass by the window. laptop askew. chair half-turned. a ridiculous image—this lanky nerd in a grey hoodie and cargo pants with one pant leg caught in his sock, white wires tangled in his ears and dark under-eyes that make him look like he’s been stress-coding in a cave. (he hasn’t slept. not really. he keeps replaying the way you laughed that one time you dropped your highlighter. it echoes like holy scripture.)

his glasses are smudged. he keeps adjusting them, even when they’re fine. his knuckles are red from resting his chin on them too hard. he keeps fidgeting with your keychain when he’s not typing. thumb brushing over the worn metal, like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep touching it. a nervous tic disguised as reverence.

“dude,” suguru says, from two monitors over, voice dry, hair tied up in a lazy half-bun. “you haven’t scrolled in thirty minutes.”

suguru’s slouched in his chair, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows, rings tapping against his thermos. his screen's frozen on a meme. he hasn’t blinked in five minutes.

“maybe she’ll walk by,” satoru murmurs, eyes locked on the frosted glass wall outside the lab, hunched forward with his chin on his palm, as if willing your silhouette into existence.

“you said that an hour ago.”

“maybe she’s shy today. maybe she’s building up the courage. maybe she dropped her student ID and fate’s guiding her back here. what if the universe is lining up our pixels right now, suguru? what if—”

“she’s shy every day.”

“and that’s what makes it beautiful,” satoru sighs, dreamily. he stares out the window like a man in a tragic romance film. “she’s mysterious. like a foggy horizon at sea. you don’t know what she’s thinking, and that’s the best part. she could be plotting world domination. she could be drawing cats in the margins of her notes. it’s art.”

suguru groans into his hoodie sleeve.

and then like a glitch in the matrix. like god reached down and clicked “unmute” on the simulation—you pass by.

no footsteps. no warning. just a blur of your jacket sleeve on his left peripheral, and he flinches so hard he nearly spills his water bottle. the water sloshes. he slaps the bottle upright. you’re so close. the scent of your shampoo—jasmine and something warm, like vanilla and late-night bookstores—floods his senses. his head whips around before he can even think, pupils blown wide behind his crooked glasses, mouth parted like a cartoon character seeing a pie on a windowsill.

your gaze meets his.

not one second.

two.

wide eyes. startled. curious. the slope of your brows twitch upward slightly, and your lashes flutter—a beat too long, like a reflex or a stutter in time. your lips part just slightly, like you meant to say something—but don’t. your fingers tug at your sleeve, pulling it over your knuckles in that way you always do when you’re flustered. a half-step pause. your mouth twitches, just barely, like you might’ve smiled. then your gaze drops, your shoulders stiffening as your pace quickens, like you’re embarrassed to have looked at all. your fingers curl tighter around your binder. there’s a sticker on it he hadn’t noticed before.

and that’s it. you’re gone.

satoru slaps both hands over his face and releases a sound that is one part gasp, one part squeal, one part glitching modem.

“oh my god,” he whispers. “oh my god, she looked at me. TWO SECONDS, suguru. TWO. that’s statistically significant. that’s a scientific breakthrough. that’s… that’s eye contact with depth. it had nuance. it had arcs.”

“you’re not well.”

“no, listen. the way her eyes flickered? like she wasn’t sure if she should look away or say something? and her lashes twitched, just a bit. like she was nervous. did you see her hand? she pulled her sleeve down. she only does that when she’s flustered. i know. i’ve studied her. i’ve got timestamps. i’ve got spreadsheets.”

“you’re insane.”

“i’m in love.”

satoru slumps in his chair, limbs sprawling dramatically, glasses askew. he exhales like he’s just seen god. his knee knocks into the desk. his sock has a hole in the toe. the corner of his laptop screen catches the light and reflects a faint shimmer onto the ceiling, and it feels, to him, like stars. his fingers are still frozen mid-air, clutching the keychain like it’s the only proof the moment happened.

“i’m gonna marry her,” he says. “drop out, become a florist. i’ll propose with baby’s breath and carnations—those are her favorites, don’t ask me how i know. maybe a little lavender tucked in. something gentle. delicate. a bouquet that says ‘i know your soul.’”

“you need help.”

“i’ve named our cats already. ichigo, milky, and toblerone. toblerone’s the shy one. milky’s chaotic evil. ichigo wears a little red bow tie. we’ll live in a little flat above a cafe and drink lavender lattes. she’ll wear soft sweaters. she’ll draw comics on sticky notes. i’ll iron her lab coat. it'll be perfect.”

“she doesn’t even know your name.”

“wrong,” satoru says smugly, lifting a single finger like he’s presenting hard evidence. “she knows me as the guy who always looks left and right like a cracked-out meerkat. that’s recognition. that’s brand awareness.”

“romantic.”

“don’t be jealous just ‘cause she didn’t look at you.”

“she’s cute, i guess.”

“NO.” satoru jolts upright like he’s been electrocuted. “DON’T even THINK about perceiving her. your eyes? shut them. your brain? turn it off. opinions? delete them. she’s too good for this world. if anyone’s going to romanticize her, it’s me. with accuracy. and passion. and nuance. only i’m allowed to think she’s cute. and i do. constantly. it’s my full-time job.”

“fine, jeez.”

“say she’s ugly, then.”

“what?? no??”

“exactly. you can’t. because she’s perfect. ethereal. a goddess walking among midterms and overpriced coffee. and she blinked slow, too, did you notice? it was like… like a signal. maybe morse code. she’s trying to tell me something. she’s reaching out. spiritually. through kinetic energy and eye twitches.”

suguru closes his laptop with the tired resolve of someone preparing for battle.

satoru, still glowing with delusion, goes back to staring at the glass wall, head tilted, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“she looked left,” he murmurs. “that’s my side. she always looks left.”

he swears his hoodie still smells like you.

[bluewxrld07]

Soap

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap

Warning(s): angst, Lando being an ass (so sorry), Max being bestie

Y/N had always been a lovergirl at heart.

She was never afraid to show it, show how much she cared about the person. Whether it was family, friends, or lovers. She thought they deserved to be shown how much she cared for them being a part of her life.

It was something she would never change doing. She grew up in a household where that's all they ever did. Showed how much they loved one another.

So, when she met Lando, she had never stepped away from her normal self. It was why he fell in love with her.

He met her at one of the F1 races, the girl working alongside Redbull, and being close to Max. Childhood friends, if you will. Max was the one to introduce the pair, always raving to both parties how well they'd be together.

Lando had always noticed the way she would hug or wrap her arms around Max. Not in a way that could lead to it looking like they were more than friends, she was just always friendly with everyone in a mature way.

It was the way she would brighten up a room when she came by, always making sure to give attention to everyone in the room equally.

After they had been introduced at an afterparty, she didn't hesitate to bring Lando in for a big hug.

Her scent smelled addictive, drawing him in more. That's when he realized that everything about her was addicting to keep around.

It wasn't long after that that the pair had begun dating.

It threw him off at first, the way she would nonchalantly be within his vicinity, like it was a reflex. It wasn't something he was used to, as his past flings and relationships were always very aware of their distance with Lando.

He had put two and two together when her touches were sly; things like wrapping her arm around his bicep or waist, when she'd run her hands through his curls randomly, or linking pinkies when they were in a crowded room.

She always had to touch him in some way, but at the same time, it was never something that overwhelmed him. It was just how she loved. How she cared.

Especially when she was drunk or tired. This girl was always by his side. Lando had soon became obsessed with it.

She wasn't afraid to show her love or affection towards Lando. She did have a brain, keeping it to a minimum as she didn't want people to roll their eyes every time a pap photo came out.

The fans had grown to love her, not too long after one of Lando's streams, she had made an appearance in. The way she wrapped her arms around him from behind, the boy leaned back in his gaming chair, at the feeling of her arms around him.

It was Raceday in Canada, Y/N was already in her game mode for the day.

Y/N was currently putting things together at the paddock, signing off on a few documents before handing them to one of the engineers and walking down towards Lando's garage.

She peers in, waving and going to give a small hug to Zac as she sees him, the man pointed to where Lando was.

The girl thanks him before making her way over towards the curly-headed boy, his back turned away from her as he spoke with one of his techs.

She softly wraps her arms around his torso, the man not alarmed one bit by her touch. Immediately knowing it was her without a glance.

He wraps his hands around her arms that wrap around him, letting them trail and slither to her hands before lacing them with his as he carries on his conversation with the tech.

Y/N presses a light kiss to his shoulder, patiently waiting as he speaks, not in any rush to pull him from the conversation.

Once the tech finishes up with Lando, the Brit turns to face his girlfriend. A goofy smile on his face as he wraps his arms around her figure. He looks down at her, placing a light kiss on her lips.

"Hi baby," he mutters softly against her lips. She grins against them.

"Hello, my love. How're you feeling?"

He shrugs, pulling back enough to look down at her as he rubs her back lovingly. "Pretty good. Pretty confident. Starting off high up after Qualifier for Canada is always a good sign. I think this will be a good one," he explains, Y/N nodding as she takes in every word.

"You got it, I feel it too. Gonna be a good one."

He hums at her, giving her a look. "Hm I don't think you should be telling me that," he jokes. "Sounding like a traitor to your own team."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Let me just my loving boyfriend goodluck on a race he needs, yeah? How's that?"

He chuckles before his eyes flicker to her lips for a second. She presses a couple chaste kisses to his lips after catching him, the boy smiling against her lips.

"Alright," he chuckles as she presses kisses all over his face. He backs away as she teases him, laughs leaving his lips. "Enough, gonna get lip gloss all over my face now."

She gives him a look. "Like you care."

He purses his lips, nodding curtly. "Got me there."

Y/N breaks away from his grip, grabbing his face one more time to press a big kiss on his cheek before backing away. "Goodluck, Norris!" she jokes. He rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah yeah."

"I love you!"

He smiles widely at her words, blowing a few kisses towards her as he gets handed his helmet.

Y/N chuckles as she makes her way back to the Redbull garage, seeing Max getting his gear ready to go. He looks over towards her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"You give your Romeo his goodluck kiss?" He jokes, earning a playful shove from her.

"Shut it, Verstappen," she giggles, before pulling him for a hug. "Tear it up out there, yeah? Let's get this shit going."

He scoffs with a smug look before nodding. "It's me we're talking about. Of course I'll come out on top," That answer makes her push him away as they broke their hug, Y/N making her way back over to her spot in the garage.

Before she knew it, the race had started, and the cars were off. Y/N in complete game mode as she kept her eyes on the screen in front of her, cutting in when she needed to with Max.

Things had been smooth so far. McLaren was rocking it with their pole positions to say the least, and Max wasn't too far behind.

Y/N only froze when she had caught sight of both McLaren cars racing against one another, soon watching Lando's car get caught up and crashing into the wall.

It had made her chest tighten, and her stomach drop to her ass. She felt some of her coworkers look her way, waiting for a reaction from her. Y/N only sitting there in her chair, hands covering her mouth in shock as she watches it unfold.

The girl couldn't move. Not only because she was frozen. But they were still in the middle of a race.

As much as she wanted to drop everything and go make sure he was okay, she still had her job to do. She knew he'd understand that.

"Y/N, he's okay. All good. No injuries," Max's voice comes in, as if knowing she would immediately drift over to thinking about him. He was anchoring her back, making sure she knew he would be able to assure her to snap back into race mode.

She nods more to herself, muttering a 'thank you, keep pushing' to Max through the radio.

Her knee bounced the rest of the race, not wasting a second to stand up straight from her spot to join the crew over where Max met them as he finished P2.

Max immediately went to Y/N first, seeing both freight about Lando and excitement in her eyes for her best friend placing, in her eyes. He could tell she was in a mental battle.

So he says nothing, just gives her a tight smile and pulls her into his arms. She doesn't hesitate to hug him back, placing a friendly kiss on his head. "Still a good spot to place," she says, her tone uneasy. "That's worth something."

He chuckles before breaking away from her, his eyes looking down at her antsy state.

He nods towards the garages.

"Go find him," he says, making her snap up and look at him.

"What-"

"Go make sure he's okay. I can read you better than you think."

She gives him a sad smile, kissing his cheek before squeezing her way past people and darting straight to the McLaren garage.

Her eyes search through the crowd of reporters already over there, seeing that Lando was interviewing with one. His face showed nothing but a blank state, trying to make it look as neutral as possible.

Y/N makes her way towards the side of the garage, managing to squeeze by the reporters, watching as Lando finishes with his interviews. He starts to walk back towards his Driver's room, Y/N following cautiously behind him.

By the way he was walking, she could tell he was pissed off and disappointed.

He shuts the door behind him, Y/N stopping it before it can fully slam, before slipping inside. It clicks behind her, the girl saying his name softly as she approached him.

He huffs as he leans against the desk in the middle of the room, Y/N seeing he was trying to not lose it.

"Lan," she says once more, her arms coming out to reach for him. "I'm not going to ask how you are, I know you hate that."

He scoffs at her words, nodding and still remaining silent.

"I'm sorry. I know how bad you want it," she assures, trying to be cautious of her words. Her hands softly make contact with his back, running her nails up his spine.

It's not too long after he immediately snaps up and away from her touch, walking to the other side of the room.

She frowns at first, but just turns her body to watch his figure walk towards his closet. "You can talk to me," she says. "Say anything to get it out of your system. I'm here to listen."

He shook his head. "Stop."

Her brows furrowed. "Lando I'm just-"

"No, just stop," he snaps back at her. His head snapped over to glare at her over his shoulders. Y/N just nods, understanding he doesn't want to talk. "I'm sorry," she mutters.

So instead, she just advances towards him, beginning to wrap her arms around him. He doesn't hesitate to rip her arms off of him and turn to face her.

"Y/N fucking stop, enough! Stop touching me!" he yells at her, the tone he was using was something she had never heard him use on her before. This was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her.

"I'm sorry. Lando, I swear I was just trying to help-"

"Well don't! I don't want to talk about it, or have you always clinging onto me," he shoots, making her eyes harden. "It's fucking too much. You're too much."

"Excuse me?" she asks softly. "You always tell me my touch helps calm you down."

"Well I lied," he snaps, making her face drop. "You're always hovering. You're fucking suffocating me."

Y/N swears her heart drops.

Was she really making him feel that way?

"You're always fucking touch me, fuck," he huffs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't need this right now. You need to leave, or I'm gonna say some fucked up shit."

Y/N nods, trying her best to keep her composure. "You already did."

Lando's eyes soften as he finally turns to look at her. He sees that her eyes are glossed over with tears, but her stance and stare are harsh.

"I'm too much? That's fine," she scoffs before heading to the door, not even aware that tears are streaming down her cheeks.

"Y/N wait-"

"Feel better, Lando," she sniffles. "I hope you know you don't need to be so down on yourself."

With that, she shuts his door with a light slam and scurries her way out of the garage. Her head is down as she excuses herself past people, wiping away the wetness on her face.

Once she's back in the Redbull garage, she doesn't hesitate to make her way back towards the staircase to the offices, heading to the second floor.

She misses the way Max sees her walking in, his proud smile dropping immediately as he sees her red and blotchy face.

He excuses himself from the last of his interviews, immediately following her hurried steps. When he reaches the top of the steps he feels his heart tighten, hearing her break down into sobs behind her office door.

Max doesn't waste any time opening the door, Y/N whipping around to see him standing there.

His face falls, making his way towards her.

"Don't," she says shakily, wrapping her arms around herself. He furrows his brows, but stops in his tracks.

"What happened?" he asked her. She shook her head slowly, closing her eyes as she felt her heart break. Her chest burned as her head replayed Lando's tone. His words.

"Y/N," Max presses, a more stern tone and hard expression. "What happened?"

Y/N says nothing, just sniffling before her eyes meet Max's. The next words that leave her mouth nearly make his knees give out.

"Am I really too much? Do I suffocate people?"

Max tilts his head, confused by her words. He steps closer to her, not caring if she tries to push him away. Her words slowly starting to click in his head.

She was thinking she was clingy.

"Y/N no," he softly answers, immediately pulling her in for a tight hug. His arms encircled her entire body as he felt her body shake. "Absolutely not. You're never suffocating. You love so physically. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Then why does Lando think that?"

Oh, if he didn't have a reputation to hold, he would've easily left that room and made Lando run for his money.

He'd do it regardless, actually.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I don't mean to be. I just wanted to help him. I'm sorry," she sniffles in between hiccups.

Max shushes her softly, taking one of his hands and caressing her head. His other hand stays wrapped tightly around her waist. His mind was going a million miles a minute.

Y/N was always the strong one between the two. She never cried. It just wasn't something she did. It was rare, and Max would know that.

So the fact that Lando had made her cry spoke volumes in his mind.

Lando had a lot of explaining to do, and Max wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it.

Not after this.

[splinterclan]

It's finally done!!! This pmv took a lot longer than I planned it to but I'm happy with how it come out :) This is Come Along: Splinterclan's Separation.

Youtube version

Story explanation beneath the cut!

Oakclan was a large and prosperous group of cats lead by Palestar and his mate/deputy Swiftminnow. They ruled over the other clans in the forest, backed by their numbers and the rich territory they controlled (and the strongest warrior in the clan: their daughter Moorsnow, who was with kits). Palestar believed they had starclan's blessing and lead his clan without ever really having to raise a paw, until one day a portion of their territory was stripped of it's trees and resources by twolegs.

Angry and afraid at this, Palestar chose to believe that the size of their territory and the blessing of the stars would protect them from the twolegs. Only one cat who had more experience with twolegs, a warrior named Whorlfang, disagreed, but she couldn't dare bring up to Palestar.

By the time the twolegs' encroachment became real for the clan, it was too late. Their camp was surrounded and razed by animal control. Cats were taken to be fixed and released, kits and apprentices were taken to never return, and elders died from the shock and movement. Moorsnow lost her mother, her kits, and her trust in her father all in one go.

At the end of it Oakclan was at a forth of their numbers and their territory was destroyed. Palestar, refusing to ask for help from the other three clans he'd once bullied, moved the clan to a dumpyard and there they struggled for survival.

Whorlfang was the only warrior to keep hope. Having been born with twolegs, she knew how to hunt in the streets and she tried to teach the others without drawing Palestar's wrath, but most refused to leave the yard. Then, the stars sent her a message -there was a place out there where a clan could flourish, far away from their old territory.

Whorlfang knew Palestar wouldn't listen so she approached Moorsnow, who was withering away overcome by grief. Whorlfang's dream gave her something to follow again and she agreed to try and help convince her father and the rest of the clan.

But Palestar only saw the plan as a usurpation to his power. He denounced Whorlfang for a cowardly kittypet wanting to run away and turned the clan against her. Left with only very few who would follow her, (a healer named Wingstep, a warrior named Myrtleflower, and Moorsnow) Whorlfang left behind Oakclan and they traveled to find the land Whorlstar had dreamed of and formed a new clan: Splinterclan.

(the kittens are Cedarkit and Pansykit, who Myrtle gave birth to along the way - whoops!)

I hope you all like this video showing more detail of Splinterclan's founding ;V; !!!! It was a lot of work lol I wish I could've added Dropletkit but the way the timelines are (Pansy and Cedar being three months older than her) I decided they'd have to have found her after finding camp. The side effects of making a story up as you go ffff just don't think about the timeline too hard!

[naeirichill]

mingyu wants a baby

kim mingyu x fem!reader cw: 18+ mdni, fluff, angst, smut, breeding, unprotected sex

mingyu doesn’t think there’s anything he’s ever wanted more. he’s thought about it early in your relationship, when he truly realized that you’re the one. the one he could start a family with. and when he was sure of it, he was never afraid to share with you how much he wanted this. a baby.

he talked about it a lot with you. it became your regular pillow talk. “you want it too, though, right? like, you think about it sometimes?” mingyu would ask while holding your back against his chest in bed. his voice always got awfully quiet and soft during those moments compared to his normal tone.

you’d indulge him, tiredly listening or answering him in the best way that wouldn’t make him think having a baby is completely off the table.

he gets so excited, thinking about those things so far ahead. he made sure to promise you that he would take such good care of her. promised he’ll be there to watch her every step. and he was sure to use ‘her’ because he had the deepest feeling that your first child would be a girl.

“of course i do, mingyu. it sounds so nice but.. just not right now. it’s not the right time.”

and he’d nod in understanding. your lives were just insanely busy, bringing a child into the relationship while things weren’t slowing down as soon as you’d liked it to, would probably bring more chaos than joy.

“but one day, right? we’ll have a baby one day, won’t we?” he whispered quietly in the darkness of the room, burying his face in your hair.

you pulled apart his hands from where his fingers locked over your stomach and brought it up to your lips, leaving soft kisses on the back of it. “one day.”

but as the weeks turned into months, that one day was never brought up again. after things had finally calmed down a bit, he thought that maybe you’d be the first to bring it up because he didn’t want to seem too desperate, (although he was) but you never did.

mingyu silently planned things out to himself. it was going to be nothing but staying home and wasting time together. he even planned the day he was going to propose to you. not exactly in that order.

he was even convinced he was being given signs from a simple and innocent encounter with a fan who happened to be a new mother. she wore a white dress and all mingyu could think about was what you’d look like in a white dress, post-birth glow.

the fat, rosy cheeked baby sat in her stroller, squealed in utter joy, easily entertained at the childish game mingyu had initiated. a smile almost wider than his face came playing onto his lips, entranced and in complete awe of the adorable infant and her baby giggles.

mingyu doesn’t think there’s anything he’s ever wanted more.

the night dragged on as it usually did. attending important parties with you because something’s always being celebrated. and then leaving before someone could convince him to take a private plane to another party in a different city.

when you made it back to your hotel room, there was just no way he could keep his hands off of you. kissing all over your face and neck, gripping each part of your body he possibly could and dug his fingertips into your plushy skin.

there was just no way he could stop himself. not when you’re so warm around him, your gasps and whimpers echoing in his ear. not when he’s so balls deep inside of you, his fingers gripping tight on the sheets, making his knuckles turn white.

“tell me when to stop.” he choked out, the vein running down the side of his neck looking prominent.

“w-why?” you didn’t want him to stop and you didn’t know why he’d ask that of you.

“cause if you don’t,” he groaned, hips snapping forward into yours, “i’m afraid i might put a baby in you.” mingyu closed his eyes, not sure he wanted to see your reaction, and leaned his forehead against your shoulder.

the soft gasp you let out didn’t go unnoticed or the way you clenched around him, making him draw a sharp breath. he tried to get himself to stop, brought his rutting to a minimum but didn’t completely still inside of you because that would have been pure torture.

“okay.”

mingyu sweetly whimpered when you tangled your fingers in his hair and gently tugged at it, making his head tilt back up. he looked at you with widened eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

“okay?” he repeated, wanting to be sure that he heard you correctly.

“yeah.” you shrugged. “i want you to put a baby in me.”

he was so blissful, removing himself completely off of your body and burying his face in his hands. you allow him to revel in it. even if he was too loud, putting you both at risk of getting kicked out. even if he was jogging around the room, nakedly, with his fists in the air, as if he’s won a boxing match. you didn’t mind if he basked a little more.

“we’re going to make the fattest, most cutest baby girl, ever.” you felt mingyu’s body again, his frame fit like a missing jigsaw piece.

“what makes you so sure it’s going to be a girl?”

“i’ve got a really good sense for these things. trust me. you’re having a girl.”

your heart suddenly got overly emotional. he was so beautiful and you were in complete awe over his certainty. it didn’t take long for your gawking to finish before his lips were feverishly against yours.

he was so desperate, yet so slow, savoring the moment. the feelings that he caused to belly within you were unexplainable.

mingyu lowered his mouth to your breast then, took the nipple between his lips, pressing lightly with his tongue. you cried out – like your whole body was too hot and you couldn't breathe – bringing up a hand to trace his fingers across your other breast, but if he stopped you felt like you would die. you gripped his bare shoulders, holding on for dear life against the onslaught of sensations.

you gasped as he pushed into you for the second time, amazed by the electricity that rocketed through you. your legs wrapped around his hips of their own accord, seeking a better angle, searching for more. even now, he moved with grace, sliding in and out of you slowly and steadily. only his rapid breath, occasionally coming out in a strangled moan.

it’s pure torture how slow he is sliding into you but feels exquisite. you gently roll against him, moaning as he slowly moves in and out of you. the pace is keeping the orgasm just out of reach, keeping you on edge; desperately clenching around him and pushing your hips into his to increase speed. but mingyu’s hands remain firm on your waist, controlling the movements. both of your breathing is heavy, both moaning loudly as the need to find your release hits an all-time high.

going so slow was hard for him as well, though. he couldn’t hold it for long but he also didn’t want to rush it. and he never liked cumming before you did. what kind of man would that make him? had to treat you right.

mingyu dropped down to his elbows, leaning on either side of your face as he panted heavily, the foot of your heels digging into the curve at bottom of his spine.

“please, just a little harder…I need more…I can't…take it…oh god, gyu– “

he interrupted you with a hard kiss, hips rutting a little faster now. the rush of pleasure hit you, and your fingers grasped for purchase on his back, needing an anchor. it was almost unbearable, the electricity building where the two of you were joined, tingling down to your toes and making you lightheaded. mingyu panted hot air against your neck, your lips, kissing you again and again, and the energy was building and building.

you looked at his face, knowing his was trying to hold on a little longer. maybe the realization had seriously hit him for real, this time. that this was it and he’ll probably be an actual dad like he wanted.

“mingyu,” you panted, cupping his face with your hands, fingers wiping the sweaty hairs that stuck to his forehead, “it’s time.” you whispered.

and he nodded and replied, “okay.” his voice weak and strained.

you noticed his movements had grown more erratic, almost frantic, and the low grunt deep in his throat seemed to shudder down your spine and rocket down to where your bodies were joined.

"oh god," you breathed as the sensation overload finally seized you. your chest was tight and your nerves sizzled and your thighs clenched as the pleasure exploded and seeped into every cell of your body. he groaned, his forehead dropping down to the crook of your neck when your walls fluttered around him.

you fell into the aftershocks when he thrust into you one last time and cried out your name. you felt the rush of fluid inside you and reveled in the feel of his body shuddering in your arms.

not even mere seconds after, he started moving again, pushing even deeper, a whimper escaping your lips.

“m-mingyu?” you stuttered, thighs tensing around his waist.

“one more time,” he grunts as he began to pound into you heavily even after he had already came, “just to be sure.”

[rafesteddy]

Is it possible if we could have any more dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Im literally obsessed with the family dynamic atm!!

Hi bb 💕💕💕 of course!! Thank you for your ask. This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au. Thank you for your ask!!

+18 -> smut | on prom night, a very protective rafe wrestles with old grudges, growing pains, and the realization that letting go might be the hardest part.

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: pet names, swearing, praise, dirty talk, fingering, cum tasting, older rafe, roughish, semi-public male oral <- in a car with tinted windows, he is driving, intentional texting errors, ⚠︎ smut cross-posted on my nhl account. ⚠︎

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You’re standing out in the front yard with your camera, doing everything you can not to cry while your daughter twirls around in her prom dress—glowing, radiant, almost too beautiful to look at.

Her boyfriend’s got his arm around her waist, holding her like it’s second nature. They keep catching each other’s eyes and laughing over nothing, cheeks bumping, sneaking little kisses between whatever secret they’re whispering like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It’s sweet. It’s perfect. And honestly? It’s a little brutal. Because no matter how grown she looks, she’s still your baby.

Your husband’s next to you, taking pictures with his phone, but you can see it clear as day—he’s tense. His smile is forced, fingers stiff around the edges of his phone. He hasn’t said more than two words to JJ, who’s mere feet away. It’s awkward… painfully so. But what’s new between the two of them? Your husband never forgot how much he hated him. And now? Now that guy’s kid is dating his baby girl.

It’s hard to imagine this would be a bigger deal… And it would be, if the kid wasn’t a literal angel: polite, gentle, thoughtful, smart; a D1-bound quarterback. He’s good. But try telling Rafe that.

Your daughter squeals, adjusting her corsage, leaning into her boyfriend with the biggest grin on her face as the limos pull up. She gasps, eyes snapping to you. “Oh my God. Mom, I forgot my clutch!”

You look over at Rafe, lost in his own world as he looks between the young couple and his archenemy, going through his own existential crisis; jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together like this is all somehow a personal attack on him. “Baby…”

“Mhmm…” He grunts as his eyes continue to survey the scene.

“… Baby?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, meeting your eyes before drawing a deep, pensive breath.

“Just take a second. Take a breath… Get the purse.”

He gives you a look, lips drawing to the side, wanting to protest like he’s afraid if he lets his guard down for a moment the thoughts that he’s been stewing on will manifest. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, then turns and stomps toward the house.

You watch him disappear through the front door, then turn back to your daughter. The yard is buzzing with excitement, teens gathering their things as they wander toward the rented cars.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You look down at your phone, rolling your eyes as you see three back-to-back text messages coming in. “Where’s the purse, baby?” You mock his deep voice under your breath as you unlock your phone. Not surprised in the slightest that he’s stalling to prolong the inevitable.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The twins are bouncing with excitement, already changed into their pajamas, stuffed animals hugged tight.

Sarah’s in the kitchen grabbing snacks for movie night, laughing as your son climbs all over him like he’s part jungle gym, part superhero. Meanwhile, your daughter’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, Cameron-pout on full display—a full-blown daddy’s girl—not thrilled in the slightest about him leaving.

“C’mon now,” Rafe says, gently tugging her closer. “Be right back, princess. I’ll kiss you on the head when I get home, okay? I’ll be there in the mornin’ when you wake up.”

She narrows her little eyes at him, her buttoned-nose furrowed in frustration.

“I heard mommy’s makin’ blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Rafe adds as he cocks an eyebrow, hoping for the best, his smile widening as her face lights up over something so simple.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“I am?” you ask through a laugh as you loop your arm through your purse, pulling it on your shoulder.

“She is,” Rafe confirms, shooting you a smile and wink. “Isn’t she the best?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as he kisses your daughter’s forehead and sends her off.

The you both step outside into the quiet; the cobblestone driveway glowing under soft light. Rafe reaches for your hand as the front door clicks shut behind you. You barely get a step down the private lot before he loops his finger under your dress and tugs the hem upward with a cocky smirk.

“Rafe!” You gasp, swatting his hand as your skirt falls back down, looking back toward the house with a smile.

“They didn’t see, pretty,” he murmurs, totally unbothered. “Besides I needed a distraction. My brain was spiraling again.”

“You’re not gonna lift my dress every time you start panicking about your daughter growing up.”

“I mean…” He steps a little closer, stuffing his hand in his pocket, the other draping around your shoulders as he dips down to press a kiss on your head. “I could just pull it down next time, get a glimpse of these,” he hums, reaching over to give your boob a playful squeeze, “for balance.” He lets out a sleazy little laugh as you giggle.

Rafe spins you around and pulls you in for a kiss: deep and sweet. The kind that says ‘sure, I might be losing my shit, but you’re my favorite way to come back down’. He opens the passenger door for you, still grinning as you slide into the car.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you sit side by side at a table on the water. The twinkling lights strung from the patio of the Island Club swaying in the breeze. Dinner was delicious, drinks were flowing, and Rafe… was present.

You could see it in the way he stared out at the water for a second too long. The way he blinked back to you like he’d just remembered where he was, and even so he wasn’t deep in thought. Almost like he wasn’t clenching his fists or checking his phone every two seconds or trying to crack a joke to distract himself from the ache in his heart.

But even still, he was there with you. Holding your hand, letting you finish your wine without interruption. He ordered your favorite appetizer before you could, stole bites from your plate like it was his job, kissing you tenderly after every lingered glance.

At one point, you were both leaned back in your chairs, full and content, watching the last sliver of sun bleed into the horizon when he said, “She told me they’re headin’ to Lexi’s after prom.”

“She did?”

He nods, sipping his drink. “She didn’t need to tell me that… She’s seventeen. Fuck, baby, I mean I woulda lied for the hell of it. I sure as shit wouldn’t have told Ward where I was goin’. And she just told me—didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yeah, baby?” You hum as you tip your head on his shoulder; Rafe’s fingers twinning in yours. “What else did she say?”

“Bonfire, snacks; some movie, I don’t know.”

“What about Jackson? Are juniors and seniors gonna be there?” You question this time, feeling your own unease rise about her possibly mingling with upperclassmen.

“Just juniors. She said ‘he didn’t care… He just wanted to be with her.’”

“Sounds familiar,” you smile as you squeeze Rafe’s hand.

He gives you a look—the one he always does when he’s caught remembering being seventeen with you. “Hmm… Sounds about as much, sweetheart.”

“They’re sweet,” you say quietly as you snuggle in a little closer. “We raised a good one, Rafe.”

“She’s everything,” he breathes. “My stubbornness and your heart—”

“We get to do this all over again in a couple years.”

He groans like it hurt, but he smiles anyway. “Twins too… Better start stocking up on wine now.”

You glance down at your phone, thumb tapping the screen as you check the time. It’s late enough. The twins are definitely asleep by now—if not completely passed out in a pile of stuffies and blankets, at the very least curled up on the couch mid-movie with drool on Auntie Sarah’s shoulder.

You look at Rafe, swirling the last sip of his whiskey, that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sees the twinkle in your eye; the man no doubt thinking about taking off the lingerie you teased him with earlier.

“So?” You ask, soft and suggestive as your foot brushes against his under the table.

“That time, huh?” He smiles as he pulls out his phone as well, checking it.

His brows furrow slightly. The smirk slips a little. Not in a full-blown way, just enough to make your stomach flip.

“What?” You ask as you lean in. “Did Sarah send something?” Rafe doesn’t answer right away. “What’s going on, baby?” You press again; still no answer.

You reach across the table and snatch the phone from his hand before he can stop you. Your eyes flick to the screen to check what’s going on, eyes widening on the screen as you see the flashing pin on a tracking app. And your daughter’s car, not where she said she’d be.

You stare down at his phone, then up at him. “Why are you tracking her, Rafe?”

“I don’t just track her, sweetheart. I track Max too… It’s a scary place out there, okay? Ya’ll are all I have,” he stammers. He takes a deep breath, blowing it out his nostrils as he tries his best to collect himself. “I’m trackin’ her because of this—”

“—Because she’s at the beach?” You question, letting your annoyance bleed through each word.

“She didn’t tell us she was going to the beach,” he says, voice tight. “So yeah, baby—that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“Well, what now?”

Rafe tilts back in his chair, pushing out a shaky, uneven breath. “Guess we’re takin’ a trip to the beach—”

“Rafe…”

“If anything we’ll check and leave—”

“—Baby.”

“We will check. And, we will leave.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. Rafe stands and tosses some cash on the table before looking down at you.

“Nothing more, baby. I swear. I’m not gonna enjoy my night if I don’t know that she’s safe. Just a piece of mind.”

“And what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

He stops in his tracks looking at you like you just dropped a weight on his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

You arch a brow as you take his hand, rising to your feet. “I mean… you found a condom wrapper in her bathroom, Rafe. So again—I ask—what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

Rafe runs a hand down his face, letting out a long, deep breath. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you pull into the quiet parking lot, headlights cutting through the soft fog that’s rolled in off the water. It’s dark but not deserted—distant voices, the occasional pop of laughter, the soft flicker of firelight down by the shore.

Rafe leans forward, squinting out the windshield. “They’re probably hidin’ somewhere,” he mutters, tone edged with something sharp. “Thinkin’ he’s bein’ slick.”

“Mhmm…” You flick your hand lazily in their direction, spotting them almost instantly, right in plain sight.

The two of them are sat side by side in front of a small fire, shoes kicked off, a blanket pulled over both their legs. Winnie’s head tilted on Jackson’s shoulder.

Rafe exhales through his nose, and it’s not quite relief, but it’s not disappointment, either. And at that moment you realize he didn’t want to be right—he just didn’t want to be wrong either. You take out your phone, open your messages, and type:

You: Hope you’re having a good night sweetie. Be safe.

Barely ten seconds pass before your daughter’s phone lights up on the sand. You see her glance down at the screen, smile, and start typing back. Then your phone buzzes.

Winnie: we’re having a great night!

Winnie: we left the party because it got kinda crazy. Jax was worried it might get busted.

Winnie: we’re down to the beach

Another second later, she sends a selfie—her cheek pressed against Jackson’s, both of them grinning, firelight flickering. No red cups. No chaos. Just two kids who genuinely like each other, making a smart choice together.

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he looks at the photo. He leans back in his seat, sighing as the guilt hits him square in the chest.

“Goddamnit.”

“Mhmm…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—I don’t know. This shit is hard,” he huffs.

You smile and reach over, lacing your fingers in his. “Why don’t we get out of here, baby… Go for a little drive on our way home.”

Rafe nods and pulls out of the lot, his jaw set, one hand tight on the wheel as the silence stretches between you. The engine hums low, but he doesn’t say a word.

He’s still wound up—his whole body carrying the weight of everything he’s been trying to hold back. The guilt, the stress, the slow ache of watching his little girl grow up. On top of that, work’s been brutal lately, you know it’s been eating at him, even if he won’t say it out loud.

You watch him quietly, the way the dim streetlights flicker across his profile: strong jaw, furrowed brow, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms you’ll never get tired of looking at.

Even tense like this, he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—and all you can think about is how badly you want to help him relax.

He glances over at you, still high-strung, blue eyes heavy with thoughts he hasn’t shared quite yet. He shifts in his seat, spreading his thighs a little wider, fabric stretching over them—and your gaze drops without hesitation.

Your breath hitches. All you can think about is straddling him right there in the front seat, grinding against him with your skirt bunched around your waist, the windows fogging, and music muffling your moans—

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” He asks, voice low.

You turn to him slowly, letting your voice drop into something warm and wicked. “You.”

His eyes flick to yours in surprise. “You’re thinkin’ about me?” He says, almost like he doesn’t believe it himself, half-expecting to be in that doghouse you were talking about earlier.

You smile, reach for his hand resting on the console, and guide it toward you. He exhales sharply, shoulders finally starting to drop, the tension melting into something else entirely. “You’re not mad at me, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, baby. I like when you’re protective. Can’t fault you for that. Maybe just calm down a little… Just a little.”

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want.

“Wanna help you forget all those thoughts distracting you from me…”

“Distracting me from you? My girl? Impossible… But, please,” he says with a smirk, “make me forget.”

You lift his hand from your thigh, slowly, and press a kiss to the top of it—light and teasing, just like he would.

Then, with your eyes still on him, you part your lips and slip two thick fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips. Rafe’s breath catches. He flicks another glance at you, then another, making the car sway gently.

You reach over, trailing your hand down his chest, feeling the heat and tension thrumming through his body. Your nails drag lightly down his shirt’s crisp, white fabric until you hit his thigh, scratching just enough to earn a quiet exhale from him.

Your fingers graze over his bulge—growing thick and heavy beneath his designer pants—and he shifts again, jaw clenched tighter, not from stress, solely to keep his eyes on the road and avoid them rolling back.

You lean in closer, the scent of his rich cologne washing over you. Your fingers work open his belt. The metal clicks softly before you slide the zipper down. Your heart pounds with the bass, excitement swelling in your chest as he barrels through the night.

He shifts in his seat, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants and boxers down. “You sure, baby?” He asks through a crooked smile as you grip his thick dick in your fist—hardening fast in your palm, long, pulsing with need.

Your mouth waters as you stroke him slow, teasing, your thumb brushing over the head. “I need it… Is that alright?” You ask coyly. Rafe’s cock twitches in your grip, his breath stuttering as you swipe your thumb across his tip, rubbing in a bead of precum.

“Fuck,” he moans as his head rolls slightly.

“You like that?” You ask.

“Yeah… Yeah, fuck. Keep goin’,” he mumbles, his eyes on the road, but barely.

Rafe reaches over; fingers slipping under your dress. He groans at how wet you are, teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of his fingers inside. The pace you set with your hand mirrors his—slow and purposeful, a shared rhythm that leaves you both panting.

Click.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide across the center console. Before he can even register what’s happening, next you take him into your mouth; his cock hot and heavy on your warm tongue.

Rafe’s whole body jerks. He draws his fingers from between your thighs, slicked with your wetness, and sucks them into his mouth, the corners of his lips curling into a smile at the taste.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” His voice is thick and hoarse. “You’re perfect. Too fuckin’ good to me.” His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sting sharp, and your moan vibrates around him as he spanks you.

A second later, his fingers knot in your hair, guiding you, controlling your pace. “Atta girl,” he groans, hips lifting gently. “Fuckin’ take it—so desperate, huh? Couldn’t wait ‘til we got home?”

You hum in response, lips and tongue working him while your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach. His moans start spilling out, competing with the music in the car.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he pants. “That’s what you want, huh? Gonna swallow it all? Don’t wanna get dirty, baby—” he mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as his leg bounces beneath your hands, breath rough and ragged, chest rising faster now.

“Shit, baby… I’m gonna cum—” You suck him harder, throating his cock until he’s cursing and twitching, praising your name as he slams his big fist against the steering wheel, spilling down your throat.

His body unwinds in the seat and his hold loosens on your hair. You pull off slowly, watching his cock throb still as he tucks himself in the waistband of his dress pants, hissing in sensitivity as he zips back up his pants, covering himself slightly with his jacket. He shakes his head, unable to wipe that wide smile off his perfect lips.

You sit up and smooth your hair in the visor mirror, licking your lips, catching the last of him as you giggle dizzily. He chuckles, low and lazy, as he rolls his head on the headrest, locking eyes with you. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

And then just as you lean over to press one last kiss on his lips the car’s screen lights up with an incoming call.

Deputy Shoupe

Rafe fumbles and swears under his breath on his way to accept the call, already assuming the worst. “Shoupe? Everything okay?”

“Rafe. We got a little situation down at the yacht club. Someone called in a report—female screamin’. Thought it might be a domestic or worse. Turns out… Uh, well… We found your son and that Thornton girl entangled on your yacht.”

Rafe freezes; eyes beating a few times slow as he takes it all in. “Max?”

“Yes, sir. A bag of weed, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, and a pocket full of Magnums—”

“—Dude. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me right now,” your son snips as he cuts the officer off. “You’re seriously cockblockin’ me? This is harassment. We’re on my boat. S’Private property. I can’t help it if we got a little loud, alright? That’s between me and her.”

“I’m fine… Obviously,” Topper’s daughter sasses as well, her Cali-girl, vocal fry that pours through the car speakers like nails on a chalkboard.

Rafe’s jaw is locked, one vein in his temple pulsing so hard you can practically hear it. Rafe stares straight ahead, dead silent.

“You gonna arrest us for lovin’ each other now? Is that where this country’s at? You people are fuckin’ sick—”

“Tell him to stop talkin’,” Rafe sneers.

“Want me to tase him a little?” Shoupe chuckles.

Rafe mutters something under his breath making Shoupe laugh. There’s a beat of silence as you stare at Rafe, your husband staring right back at you. His features soften—the man hit with yet another wave of guilt—he was so hyper focused on your daughter that everything else flew out the window.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper.

He shakes his head ‘no’ and rolls his eyes, tipping his head back against the headrest.

“What do you two want me to do about all this?” Shoupe asks through another amused laugh.

“Fuck… Bring ’em into the station. Take the weed if you have to,” Rafe adds. “Leave the bottle.” You raise your brows at him and he just shrugs. “Kid’s a pain in my ass but he’s got good taste,” he mumbles. “I’ll be there in two-three hours,” Rafe finishes. “Got some shit I need to handle first.”

“Copy that.”

Click.

“We’re not gonna go get him?” You ask through a laugh as you glance back at Rafe.

He smirks, letting his hand slide higher up your thigh. “He’ll survive, baby. Might even learn somethin’… Right now, I need to take care of my girl.”

[mariasont]

Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear. 

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen. 

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly. 

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest. 

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped. 

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily. 

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand. 

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip. 

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down. 

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all. 

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny. 

You went back to your phone.

Hi

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud. 

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter.  It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip. 

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood. 

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side. 

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[mcu-binge]

Smallville, USA || Clark Kent x reader one shot ||

Pairing : Clark Kent x Reader Word count : 3135

Summary : You spend a weekend in Smallville with Clark where you see that the real magic isn’t in his powers it’s in pot roast, photo albums, and the quiet, overwhelming love of a family.

Tags/warnings : boyfriend!Clark, established relationship, lots of inappropriate jokes.

=====================================

I should’ve known he’d wake me up like this.

Not with an alarm. Not with a nudge. But with his whole body wrapped around me, bare-chested, warm, mumbling sleepy praises against the back of my neck.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers like a secret only Kansas air deserves to carry.

His hand is already under my oversized shirt…well technically his, drawing idle circles along my stomach as the early sun begins to rise beyond the curtain. He shifts closer, and I smile when I feel the obvious evidence of how much he missed me in his sleep against my back.

“You’re crazy,” I murmur.

“I’m in love,” he corrects, voice gravel-soft.

I roll over, just enough to kiss him. It’s lazy, sweet, and a little messy from sleep. His thumb brushes my cheek, his mouth lingers like he’s got all the time in the world and maybe today, we do.

“Come on, farm boy,” I tease once we separate. “Didn’t you promise to teach me how to milk a cow or fix a tractor or… whatever it is you Kansas boys do before breakfast?”

He groans dramatically, flopping back into the pillows. “I promised Ma I wouldn’t put you to work.”

“And you promised me fresh eggs.”

His grin is slow and dangerous. “Fine. But only if you wear the boots and the little denim shorts.”

“Pervert.”

“You love it.”

“Get dressed,” I say as I get up and grab clothes out of my suitcase. “I have chickens to feed.”

It’s comical how useless I am on a farm.

Clark tries to keep a straight face as I trip over a garden hose, nearly spill a basket of eggs, and scream when a rooster looks at me sideways.

“You’re doing great, babe,” he lies, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You’re a natural.”

“Liar.” I squint at him. “You sure you don’t want to show off and like… lift a tractor or something?”

He chuckles. “You think that will get you out of scooping chicken feed?”

I hand him the bucket. “Yup.”

He takes it and pecks my temple. “I’ll show you my party trick later, Ma needs these eggs for breakfast. Wanna take these to her and I’ll help Pa with whatever trouble he’s got himself into.”

“Absolutely,” I smiled, giving him a salute before walking towards the modest house.

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and flour, and Martha hums softly while shaping dough with practiced fingers. I stand beside her at the counter, apron too big, sleeves rolled high. There’s flour on my cheek now, butter on my wrist, and a sense of home I didn’t expect to feel in a place like this.

“Clark was always tall for his age,” Martha says, laughing as she hands me a dish of butter. “Tried to hide it by slouching. The sweet boy thought being big made him stand out too much.”

“I don’t think that worked out for him,” I say, smiling as I glance toward the window. Outside, Clark is splitting firewood like it’s made of sponge cake.

Martha chuckles. “No, but bless him, he tried. Once, when he was eight, he got upset that the other boys were afraid of him. I caught him trying to make himself shorter by squatting in photos.”

“Oh my god,” I laugh, nearly dropping the knife. “Please tell me you still have those.”

“I do,” she grins. “Somewhere in the attic. Wait until you see the bowl cut era.”

I gasp. “Clark Kent had a bowl cut?!”

“Worse. He insisted on parting it in the middle. Like he was trying to summon boy band energy before it was trendy.”

I wipe my hands on my borrowed apron, heart full. “This is the best day of my life.”

Martha’s eyes soften. “I haven’t seen him smile like this in a long time. I think… I think he needed you.”

My throat catches a little, but I nod, turning back to the cinnamon rolls with a full heart.

Behind me, boots creak against the old floorboards.

“You talking about me?” Clark says as he leans in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold and a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

“No,” Martha and I say in unison.

Clark raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He crosses the room to stand behind me, looping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Smells good in here,” he murmurs.

“Your mom taught me your favorite.”

“She teach you my real favorite?” he whispers, low enough for just me to hear. I elbow him gently in the ribs, trying not to blush in front of his mother.

Martha raises an eyebrow without turning. “Clark Joseph Kent, don’t tease when there’s flour involved. Last time you got a full fistful to the face.”

I grin up at him. “You heard her. Be careful. I’m dangerous when armed.”

Clark kisses the side of my head, nose nuzzling your temple. “Worth the risk.”

After breakfast I help Martha clean up while she writes on a paper.

“Clark, I'm gonna need some things for dinner. Take this list and go show off this beauty,” Ma handed us the list with a knowing smile. “They’ve got fresh corn and tomatoes at Marla’s stand,” she said, pressing it into Clark’s hand. “And Chloe asked if you’d stop by and say hello.”

Clark lit up like a porch light. “Chloe’s in town?”

“Briefly,” Ma said. “Just don’t let her drag you into another debate about who really won the eighth-grade science fair.”

I bit back a smile. “Should I be worried?”

“Oh, always,” Ma replied, already turning back to the kitchen.

We drove into town with the windows down and the breeze tangled in my hair. Clark kept stealing glances at me while he drove, one hand on the wheel one on my thigh.

The bell over the door of Sullivan’s Books & Beans jingled as we stepped inside, a little bell that clearly hadn’t been replaced since 2002. It smelled like cinnamon, old pages, and something distinctly Smallville, maybe nostalgia.

Clark was practically beaming. “They remodeled the shop a little.”

“It’s cute,” I said, running my fingers over a worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird stacked beside a vintage espresso machine.

“You mean I remodeled it,” a voice cut in. “Clark Kent, get your big corn-fed ass over here.”

Clark lit up. “Chloe!”

She popped out from behind a shelf, arms wide. “In the flesh. Still five-foot-one, still smarter than you.”

They hugged, warm and tight, like people who had decades of memories stored in a single heartbeat.

When she pulled back, her eyes landed on me, then darted to our intertwined hands.

“Ohhhh,” she said, grinning like she just cracked a code. “You’re the girl.”

Clark raised a brow. “What girl?”

“The one Ma said you don’t shut up about,” she said, ignoring him and offering her hand to me. “Chloe Sullivan. High school bestie. Keeper of embarrassing stories. Congratulations, by the way, you’ve domesticated a human Labrador.”

I laughed. “That checks out.”

“Oh, you think it does now. Wait till you hear about the time he jumped off the barn roof with a homemade cape because he was testing gravity.”

I leaned into Clark’s arm. “Were you trying to impress anyone?”

He looked sheepish. “Maybe.”

Chloe jumped in, “Yeah, Lana Lang. His kryptonite, if you will.”

He sighed. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.” She turned to me. “He also once cried watching Free Willy. Full-on sobbing.”

“I was ten!”

“You were sixteen Clark.”

Clark buried his face in his hands. I reached up to kiss his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”

Chloe waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, she’s definitely a keeper.”

Clark couldn’t stop smiling. That full-body kind of happiness. the kind where you feel it buzzing through his hand holding yours, the way his thumb rubs little circles along your knuckles.

“I like her,” Chloe said, turning to him. “You did good, Kent.”

“I know,” he said, not even pretending to be modest. They exchanged quick life updates before we headed out into the sun-drenched streets, a short list in my hand and Clark’s fingers looped through mine like he didn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. I caught his reflection in a store window. His shoulders relaxed, smile soft, cheeks still a little pink from Chloe’s barn roof story.

“So,” I said, lifting the list, “Ma wants potatoes, carrots, beef stock, and cornstarch. She’s making the pot roast.”

Clark beamed like she was getting a James Beard award. “You’ve had it before, right?” he asked, opening the door to the tiny co-op that looked like it hadn’t changed since the ‘70s.

“I dream about it,” I said seriously. “I would legally marry that gravy.”

“Should I be worried?” he teased.

“No, I think the one you give me is just as good, if not better.” I say with a wink as I walk by him.

Inside, the place smelled like fresh bread and garden herbs. Clark was greeted like royalty, hands were shaken, backs were clapped, babies were waved at. I felt like I was walking around with the town mayor, a Golden Retriever, and the most eligible bachelor of 2003 all rolled into one.

At the vegetable display, he handed me a canvas bag and pointed toward the carrots. “Choose wisely. She’ll know if you don’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are we talking psychic farmer intuition or actual carrot snobbery?”

He leaned in and whispered, “Both.”

A woman at the bread stand waved him over. “Clark Kent, I haven’t seen you since your mama’s birthday picnic!”

“That’s because you tried to set me up with your cousin,” he said with a chuckle, holding up a hand in greeting. “And she kept calling me Cliff.”

I snorted behind a stack of produce.

He rejoined me with two loaves of sourdough tucked under his arm. “You good on carrots?”

“I chose with my spirit,” I replied solemnly. “These spoke to me.”

He gave me a look. “You’ve been around Ma too long.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

We headed toward the back for the beef stock, and just as I reached for a can, someone tapped Clark on the shoulder. It was a short man in overalls and a camo hat.

“Clark Kent. I’ll be damned. You back in town for good?”

“Just the weekend,” Clark said, shaking his hand warmly.

The man’s eyes flicked to me. “And this must be the girlfriend your mom keeps going on about?”

I smiled. “Guilty.”

“You know,” he said with a grin, “we always figured Clark would marry the town’s valedictorian or a librarian or… a farm girl, maybe. Never thought he’d bring home a city gal in yoga pants.”

Clark rested his hand on my lower back. “Yeah, but this one keeps me grounded. Even when she’s got no cell reception and thinks chickens are out to get her.”

“That one charged at me,” I hissed under my breath.

“It walked.”

“It sprinted! And it had murder in its eyes.”

He laughed as we moved to check out. “I’ll protect you from the chickens, I promise.”

“You better,” I said, poking his side.

By the time we pulled into the gravel driveway, the truck bed was rattling with bags and bread loaves. Clark parked like he’d done it a thousand times and probably had. I hopped out with a bag of produce and he reached for the rest, insisting he could carry “everything but the kitchen sink.”

“I swear, your back must be built like a brick wall,” I muttered, trailing him up the steps with the baby potatoes.

“Gotta keep your canvas nice and big,” he called over his shoulder, kicking the door open with practiced ease.

Inside, the house welcomed us with the kind of comfort you don’t find in cities. The curtains swayed gently with the breeze, and the worn wooden floors creaked like they were happy to see him again.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Ma said from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “You got the carrots?”

“And then some,” I said, dropping the bag onto the counter.

“You’re a doll,” she said with a wink, already reaching for them.

Clark kissed her temple on his way past and went to set the rest of the bags down by the pantry. I moved to help, but a low voice behind me stopped me.

“Sit, honey,” Pa Kent said, patting the sofa beside him with a gentle grin. “She’s got the cooking under control.”

I smiled and obeyed, curling up next to him as he laid a thick photo album across both our laps.

“Clark ever show you any of these?” he asked.

“No, but I’ve been dying to see the evidence,” I said, flipping open the first page.

“This is why. You get too excited,” Clark teases, making me laugh before he walks into the kitchen.

The first photo was a grainy print of a chubby-cheeked toddler in denim overalls just Clark, unmistakably, with a single curl sticking to his forehead and a look of serious concentration as he attempted to lasso a fencepost with a jump rope.

I choked on a laugh. “Oh my god.”

Pa chuckled. “He used to say he was practicing for when he became a cowboy. Had it in his head he could ride cows. Martha had to hide the step stool so he wouldn’t try mounting one.”

From the kitchen, I heard Clark groan. “Dad, are you telling her the cow story?”

“Absolutely,” I called back.

“Don’t believe everything he says!”

“Oh, I don’t. I just like hearing it.”

Photo after photo came with a story: Clark on a tractor with sunglasses too big for his face. Clark in a school play dressed as a tree. Clark winning a pie-eating contest at the county fair with blueberry all over his face and an expression of pure, unfiltered joy.

“He always looked after people,” Pa said softly, tapping a photo of a young Clark with his arm around a smaller kid at the bus stop. “Didn’t matter if they knew his secret or not. He’s always had a heart too big for his own good.”

I felt my heart tug just a little tighter in my chest. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”

Ma’s voice rang out. “Dinner’ll be ready in an hour, and I need potatoes peeled!”

I stood, but Pa waved me down. “You sit. I’ve got potato duty.”

I didn’t argue. I stayed on the couch, running my fingers across the glossy photo paper while Clark walked in and caught me staring at a picture of him in high school gangly, goofy-smiling, and completely unaware of how good he’d end up looking.

“Find anything embarrassing?” he asked, setting down a bundle of fresh rosemary.

“Just enough to negotiate with,” I teased.

He walked over, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m glad you’re here.” He whispers

“Me too.” I whisper back.

By the time the sun dipped low enough to bathe the kitchen in amber, the table was set, and the pot roast had transformed the whole house into a warm, savory dream. Rich aromas of slow-braised beef, rosemary, garlic, and red wine clung to the air. Carrots and potatoes soaked up the juices like they knew exactly what they were doing.

Ma laid the roast down like it was a centerpiece, steaming and tender, glistening under the warm light. Homemade rolls wrapped in a towel to keep warm, a tangy coleslaw on the side, and a simple green salad rounded out the spread.

“Clark, honey, would you grab the iced tea?” Ma called from the stove.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, already moving, already knowing.

He poured us both a glass and handed me mine with that soft smile the one that makes my chest flutter no matter how many times I see it.

“Before we dig in,” Pa said, hands gently folded, “let’s bow our heads.”

Clark reached over and laced his fingers with mine under the table. I bowed my head with the rest of them.

“Lord, we thank you for the food before us, the hands that made it, and the hearts around this table. Thank you for bringing our boy home and for the light he’s brought with him.”

My cheeks warmed, but I didn’t let go of Clark’s hand.

“Amen,” they said in unison.

“Amen,” I echoed quietly.

As we served ourselves, the love around the table felt thick enough to lean on. Ma insisted I take the first slice of the roast. “Gotta see how it turned out,” she said with a wink.

It melted in my mouth. “Oh my god,” I mumbled. “You cooked the soul into this.”

“That’s the red wine,” Pa said, chuckling.

Clark bumped my knee under the table. “As good as you remembered.”

“Better!” I exclaimed before having another forkful.

Between bites, Clark and Ma traded playful jabs about who forgot to bring in the laundry last summer. Pa grinned through it all and kept piling more carrots onto my plate. Clark kept his hand resting on the back of my chair.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in my life,” I said honestly, full but somehow not wanting it to end.

Clark leaned in and murmured just for me, “You haven’t had dessert yet.”

I turned to look at him, amused. “Is that code for something?”

He laughed, nearly choking on his tea. “Golly, no. I really meant pie. It’s peach.”

“Oh,” I said, grinning as I sipped my tea. “Disappointing.”

His smile lingered even as he blushed. “I’ll redeem myself later.”

Ma caught our exchange with a knowing look and a smile of her own, one that said he blushes for you now. The rest of the dinner carried that gentle glow. The kind that fills your belly and your heart all at once.

His parents went to bed and we stayed behind not wanting the night to end. We’re curled up on the porch swing by dusk, a quilt over both our legs, his hand under my shirt again always touching, always seeking skin.

“I love watching you here,” he says into my hair. “You’re so… out of place. But you make this place better.”

“I thought you liked me in heels and city clothes.”

“Oh, I do.” He kisses the curve of my neck. “But something about you barefoot in my Ma’s kitchen makes me feral.”

I laugh, turning to face him. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a man in love,” he says, making my heart flutter.

My throat tightens. I kiss him before I can say something equally sappy.

And when we finally sneak back inside, quiet so we don’t wake his parents, I tug him by the shirt into his childhood bedroom and whisper, “Show me how much you love me.”

[syrecjh]

── .✦🌼Not All of It Was the Quirk

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

(Sec req in which the reader is hit with a love quirk and it makes her really lovey dovey towards their friend katsuki)

You and Katsuki Bakugo have always been close.

Not the loud, attention-drawing kind of close — but the quiet, steady, always-there kind. You were the storm’s eye to his thundercloud. A strange, magnetic balance of fury and stillness. He barked; you blinked. He scowled; you shrugged. You spoke in glances, breathed in silences.

It worked.

And it was safe.

He knew how to read your pauses.

You knew how to translate the gritted vowels between his teeth.

You’d been this way since the early days of U.A. Kirishima used to joke that you and Bakugo shared a language no one else understood — that if anyone were to finally humanize Bakugo, it would be you. You just rolled your eyes at that. Bakugo rolled his eyes harder. But neither of you denied it.

So maybe that’s why this hurts so good.

Because the mission was supposed to be routine. Just a clean sweep, a villain with minor psychic disruptions. Easy. Until the bastard smirked and released a shimmer — pink, weightless, almost beautiful.

The quirk was called Emberglow.

“Emotion amplifier,” they said later. “Temporarily intensifies any hidden or repressed feeling. Especially love.”

You barely remember being hit. One second you were chasing the target, heart pounding from adrenaline. The next, your knees buckled — not from pain, but because you turned your head and saw him.

Katsuki.

Your best friend.

Katsuki, with the ash-blond hair and the sun-burnt temper. Katsuki, who peeled your oranges but grumbled the whole time. Who memorized your coffee order and barked at you to hydrate. Who stood outside your door during storms, pretending he “just happened to be passing by.”

The same Katsuki who now looked at you, brow furrowed, and asked, “You good?”

You blinked.

And your brain? Went stupid.

It hits harder back at HQ. The BakuSquad is gathered in the common room, sharing snacks, debriefing, joking. You’re still in hero gear, flushed and dazed, smile lazy and lovesick.

And then you're beside him. Way too close. Practically climbing into his lap.

“Hey, Bakugou,” you purr.

The room freezes.

Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours — it’s dipped in honey, dreamlike, a shade too slow. Your hand grazes his bicep. “Have I ever told you how pretty your hands are?”

Bakugo tenses. “The fuck?”

“No, like—seriously,” you coo, fingers tracing him like you’ve known his skin forever. “You have the most kissable knuckles. Rough. Strong. Hero hands.”

You giggle. Loudly.

Mina gasps like she’s watching a live drama. Kaminari’s jaw is on the floor. Kirishima has stopped breathing entirely.

And Bakugo? He’s gone stiff as a statue. “What the hell’s wrong with her?”

You tilt your head, grin sly. “Nothing, Katsu. I’m just finally saying what I’ve always thought.”

You never call him Katsu. Ever.

That alone nearly kills him.

“Katsu,” you sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder, “you’re so hot. It’s honestly distracting. I don’t know how I haven’t jumped you before.”

“Jump—?!” he chokes. “You’re not actin’ like yourself, dumbass.”

But you’re not done.

You reach up and twirl a strand of his hair between your fingers. “You always smell good. Like… explosions and cinnamon. I like it. I like you.”

He yanks his head back like you just threatened his life. “Okay, seriously. What the fuck kinda quirk was that!?”

“Love amplifier,” Sero mutters, half-laughing, half-afraid. “Guess it brings out all the hidden feelings. Looks like someone’s been hiding a lot.”

Bakugo stares at you like you’ve just kicked him in the heart.

Because this isn’t a crush. This isn’t flirt-for-fun. This is confession dressed in candyfloss.

You shift even closer. Hands now smoothing down his forearm like it belongs to you. “Have I told you how good your ass looks in those pants?”

He jerks back so fast it’s a miracle the couch doesn’t explode.

“I—okay—someone do something before I let her kiss me back!”

And that’s what undoes him.

Because he wants to.

God help him, he wants to.

Not because of the quirk.

But because every word dripping from your sugar-sweet lips sounds too real.

He’s been biting back this hunger for years. Watching your eyes crinkle when you laugh. Knowing your silence better than anyone knows your voice. Feeling something warm curl in his chest every time you pick sleep out of your lashes and smile like he’s the first thing you see.

So now? With you slumped beside him, warm and love-drunk, babbling truths you’ve locked away — he can’t even breathe.

“I’m just being honest,” you whisper again, voice soft now, like it’s meant only for him. “I really like you. I always have.”

He exhales sharply. Like it hurts.

And then, gently, like holding fire in his hands, he shifts you off of him.

Not far.

Just enough.

“Not like this,” he mutters, brushing your hair back, heart pounding. “You’re not gonna remember this right. You’re not in control.”

You frown. “But I meant it.”

“I know,” he says, eyes fierce. “That’s why I’m waiting.”

—

The quirk fades by nightfall.

You wake with a headache and a mouth full of regret, blanket tucked around you, a glass of water at your side. Bakugo is gone. But on the table, you find a note in his unmistakable scrawl:

> “You said some dumbass things today.”

> “Not all of it was dumb.”

> “Call me tomorrow.”

And just below that:

> “For the record…

> …you smell like peaches and ink. I like it too.”

[letteremi]

feelings are a finicky thing, and yours are going to destroy you. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

With how natural it feels to have Satoru Gojo's arms wrapped around your waist, you could almost believe that he’s your real boyfriend.

That he’s not the result of a contract woven into existence through unfortunate timing and worse circumstances. 

“Is he looking at us?” you whisper, leaning back into his chest. His heart beats steady, a quiet metronome that tells you how unaffected he is by your presence.

Unlike you. This close, the smell of him — something sweet, something earthy — is something like that of a romantic death sentence. Even as a fake boyfriend, he’s ruined your future relationships with the impossible standard he’s set. 

“Yes. Is she?”

 ‘He’, the bane of your existence. A cheating scoundrel of whom you had no intention of ever exchanging a mere glance with, ever again, yet, who insisted on talking to you like nothing had happened. Offered plenty of excuses — they always do — but nothing could erase the memory of his lipstick stained lips, as he strolled out of the bathroom like a fucking movie star on the red carpet, another girl draped over his arm. 

‘She’ being Satoru’s ex. 

You nod, and take another sip of the glass you’re nursing. 

And then suddenly, one of Satoru’s entwined fingers taps at your midsection. 

One. Two. Three times. 

Code for ‘an ex is coming over, act like your life depends on it.’ And tonight, it does. 

With the way Satoru’s heart feels like it’s leaping out of his chest behind you, the way he squeezes you tighter — a small, involuntary motion, like his body is reaching for something it can’t have anymore — you know that she’s the one coming over. Your stomach twists into familiar knots. 

You shift in his arms, tilting your head back with that love-sick look in your eyes (it’s becoming second nature in the way that makes your heart ache), and you laugh like he’s just told you the most funny joke you’ve ever heard in your life. 

“If we’re going to pull this off, we need to get you into acting classes,” Satoru whispers into your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine that you know he can feel. 

“Oh? That’s more like it.” 

And you’re about to snap back something clever when — 

“Oh…Satoru.” Her voice wraps around his name like silk, smooth and intimate. A right you pretend to have, but has always been hers. “It’s been forever.”

And he breathes her name like she’s the air he needs to live. 

“How have you been?” Like you weren’t beside him. His arms are still around you, but they feel like an empty gesture now. Like he’s using you to hold himself together. 

And they fall into a stilted conversation. Long pauses punctuating heartbreak and things left unsaid. She leaves soon after, her perfume lingering like a phantom. 

Slowly, you turn to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you might find in his face if you don’t prepare yourself for heartache. 

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the way his eyes are still locked on her retreating figure, expression raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen. 

“Satoru…” you start, though you don’t know what to say to someone who looks this shattered. 

He blinks, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he remembers that you exist. 

You try to tease, try to draw the Satoru you’re well-acquainted with out again. “So…how did I do?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stares at the floor, his thumb absentmindedly brushing your side, like he’s mentally replaying every memory of her. Finally, he looks up, a flicker of something unreadable passing across those clear, blue eyes. 

“Oh. Perfect,” he says. “You were perfect.” 

But he’s not looking at you when he says it. 

And for the thousandth time this week, you remind yourself. 

This is a ruse. This is to get Sukuna off your back. This is to make her jealous.

But fuck. Seems like you’re a method actor at heart. Because somewhere along the way, you forgot where the script ended and your heart began. 

a/n: i was actually trying to write a cutesy ‘to all the boys ive loved before’ inspired one shot but idk what happened 😭 but speaking of one shots i do intend to turn this into one (give me a minute..or like a million minutes pls)

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[snowgrieve]

my in-depth analysis of dess's room: a long, long thread

before you read: this is a thread focused on each part of dess's room, and it includes my own theories and headcanons about certain aspects of the story. feel free to comment/reblog with anything i missed or if you have any differing views! (likes & reblogs are appreciated, i worked a lot on this ^_^)

walls & floor: the walls (and overall colours of the room) seem to represent northern lights! turquoise, dark shades of blue and purple, with that pattern, are very clearly northern lights.

it immediately made me think of the song "northernlight" in the soundtrack, along with the message in the cave ("go to northern light") in the second s-rank game, and i wonder if it’s supposed to reference something about dess. it could be related to where she truly is/where fragments of her are, but the message could also just be about the weird route and how to find the ice door.

the floor in her room seems to be a fuzzy carpet meant to look like snow or straight up a turquoise floor that represents ice, fitting with the theme of the holidays.

stars + calendar: of course, glow in the dark stars to go along with the northern lights... it could be just decorative but maybe she herself was somewhat afraid of the dark as well? going along with the "don't forget" song (that i personally headcanon as dess' "lullaby”), it might've been a song for both for herself and for her sister. any light is better than total darkness... and also it matches with asriel's part of his own room, he has his own stars that turn light green in the dark :,) my cuties!

next to them there's a calendar, but i don’t know what to make of it, since it can’t be interacted with it. it just makes me think of the calendar in noelle’s room, with the dark world counterpart having all dates be december 25th, but i’m not sure what connection to make here.

posters: the posters on the closet door… ough my heart hurts. it’s so nice to think she had the posters of some of her favourite groups next to her own with her own show(s) that she may or may not have ever done!!

obviously the most noticeable one here is the one with a sword, it reminds me of the knight… the other poster that seems like it’s drawn out is also interesting imo, honestly i can’t figure out exactly what it is but it looks like either a bed or an attempt at drawing a piano which could imply a dess and kris duet that never happened? maybe it could be part of the reason they’re so reluctant to play…

stop/caution tape: speaking of the decorations on her closet door, it intrigues me how the “caution” tape and the stop sign are there instead of her front door.

it might not be that deep, maybe it’s just because carol is so strict on having everything look perfect on the “outside” so dess had to put them somewhere inside her room, but it does make it seem like there’s something forbidden in there. it could tie in with her possible fear of the dark as well, something like “monsters in your closet” paranoia except they’re actually real and she is/was terrified of them, so she wouldn't want anyone to go in there (but i might be reaching). this also has an interesting parallel with the closets seen at the end of each room where the dark fountains were opened, which could potentially be where the knight is hiding.

dess' bed: alright, finally the first item in the room: dess' bed. talk of the town! why is it facing the wall in the corner of the room?

i have two guesses: 1. she's being a rebellious teenager or 2. the bed position ties in to my theory of her paranoia. 1 is plausible just because she seems to be a rebellious, messy teenager, standing as an antithesis to her mom’s "perfectly organized" life, so she'd want to make her room as chaotic as possible, including the layout. 2 is just a continuation of my previous theory about her being "scared" of what's in her closet, so she's facing away from whatever that is, so she doesn't have to see it when she goes to sleep. besides all that, she also has quite a few items under her bed, as detailed down here.

they seem to be simply related to her interests (music/sports) and survival items (possibly related to the shelter?), with the silly little addition of a badly traced drawing of a dragon, clearly referencing the book asriel still hasn’t returned to the library <\3 my dessriel… he clearly doesn’t have the heart to return it… and also this could be me being delusional as always but can i just add that dess' blanket and mattress colours are the same colours as the two main colours shown in the roaring knight fight… coincidence? maybe. i think not!!

shelf/desk: i think it's kinda cute that she kept all the holiday-themed games/movies and pretty funny that she hid the scary ones behind those LOL

the next line really made me think more about dess & kris' relationship even more 🥹 it just keeps on getting clearer to me that they really had a close bond and maybe dess told kris they'd be able to play some of these together (or lend them to kris) when kris was older but… it never happened ;; ough my favourite little guys… and it’s pretty interesting to see that her computer monitor was unplugged?

was there something she was hiding? was there something she was seeing on there, similar to the weird things that noelle has seen on hers? was part of her disappearance planned? because why else would there be a conscious decision of unplugging it before disappearing? who knows… (and also do notice that the mouse is on the left side of the laptop, implying she might be left handed. you know who else is left-handed? the knight. just saying !!!)

cd player: this little dialogue is just adorable to me!

despite her punk rock tastes being very clear asriel still gave her a ska cd that she still kept in her collection even if she never listened to it. these two are so silly and it’s just really interesting how much of asriel is intertwined with dess, how they were so close, how we can see glimpses of their distant past… man. i really hope we can see more of this in upcoming chapters as well !! and the lamp… is just there. just a lamp. cute colour tho

box of odds-and-ends: a very fascinating box! the first few items are actually pretty interesting, because they can be glossed over as just other survival items, but the fact that they seem to have been used is intriguing to me.

the lighters are already burnt, the knives rusted, the rations expired, this could indicate a previous failed “mission” related to the shelter (or several), depending on whatever dess’ goal was. the walkie-talkies could indicate that there might’ve been a plan to split up, maybe her heading into the shelter, who knows… binoculars and a pair of shoes for dess wrap up those items, fit for someone who is planning or had planned some sort of survival expedition, perhaps in the woods as it was mentioned that the holiday and dreemurr siblings went once.

next, no surprise at the violent comic books, seems like her type, a cracked hockey mask from her days as a hockey player, and frayed yarn and buttons that could’ve been used to repair/modify toys/plushies? (seam?)

deeper in the box, asriel’s retainer… i had to laugh a bit because my first thought was he took it out before they kissed and it was lost forever at some point LOL it could be something else (like eating or smoking, considering the next item) but that was my first reaction & i stand with it! dessriel is real!!!! and of course can’t leave out the old cans of mint leaves with unique leaves. definitely something she’d have and take a hit of from time to time lmfao

instruments: interesting that she has so many different ones in this corner.

it seems to me that carol was trying to push dess into more classical, elegant musical hobbies instead of what she really likes, but it didn’t seem to work as all the high quality instruments sound like they’ve been roughhoused with, because she wasn’t (perhaps purposefully) delicate enough with them, or she actually overused them to the point of damage lol i wouldn't be surprised if she tried to learn many of them but ended up sticking with the guitar! and speaking of the guitar, i feel like i don't have much to say about it since the only thing we know about it is that it's dess's main "symbol" (as seen in the deltarune website) and it's used to hide one of the codes, but nothing more…

rollerblades & wifflebat: knowing kris' history with dess and the wifflebat, this is honestly pretty funny, like they must gotten hit quite a couple of times for them to get a headache just looking at those.

i wonder if they got chased while dess was on rollerblades as well it's so hilarious to think about… lightning fast rollerskating dess chasing small kris to hit them in the head… and also i think the head hurting could have a double meaning, signalling that just the thought of these memories / remembering those times hurts kris as well…

and now... CLOSET TIME!

clothes: i cannot overstate how HAPPY i was when we saw her closet, because it's been my own personal headcanon since chapter 2 that this is kind of how she dressed (just missing a varsity jacket imo, esp considering how many sports she does)! the army/camouflage jacket works well with all her survival gear, the red flannel is just a classic and makes sense since it evokes winter and a more masc vibe imo, the other black/silver ish jacket i can't tell exactly what the design of it is but it could be a winter jacket, and of course last but not least asriel's sweater <3 my dessriel heart… it's so cute that she has a sweater of his, i'm sure it's something he must've let her borrow once (or more than once, as noelle mentions very casually how dess was wiping her younger sister's tears with azzy's jacket, definitely making me think she was wearing it) and just kept it bc of how close they are :( it's just so sweet!! and noelle saying the sleeves smell like cinnamon… dess i can see you being a yearner girl you can't hide from me !!

hearts: i think it would be hilarious if the reason she had these in her closet os that dess kept hiding the hearts that kris would find around the house to scare noelle with and shove them in her closet, stopping the little menace that kris is!!! and could it have any symbolism with dess perhaps being aware of the soul as well to some capacity…? i don't know exactly how she'd be aware of it, maybe shelter shenanigans before she disappeared, but yeah who knows just a thought i'm throwing out here!

hockey gear: ice skates, hockey sticks, hockey pucks, she was definitely a hockey girl!! maybe carol tried to push her into ice skating at first (esp considering ressemblances in the knight's moves and ice skating) but she likes the rougher aspects and competitiveness of hockey!

instruments: more instruments! here we see a trumpet, a drum set, and her famous guitar again! like i said before she might've tried to play several instruments before sticking with the guitar, including these other two, and she might've kept these to perhaps start a band, reflecting the chapter 3 round 2 minigame which seems to be inspired by her. the concert posters could be related to all of this as well.

red shoes + baseball balls: it's funny how both of these piles are abundant with these red and white items, i have no idea why she'd have so many of both of these things except if she tends to ruin/lose both of these very often somehow. dess did your parents not know what to give you for christmas or do you just keep ruining your shoes while playing sports/baseball/anything with your wifflebat. answer me !!!

miscellaneous items: i think the santas and the gift boxes were solely put there for the little soul obstacle course, i'm not really sure they're there for any lore reasons but i could be mistaken. i just don't see much relevance except yk. holiday family has holiday items everywhere! maybe she hid these santas from kris since they glued shut the other ones LOL

and that's what i have for my analysis of dess's room! thank you if you've read until the end, it was pretty long but i hope it was worth it! i've been a fan of dess (and dessriel!) since chapter 2 so this was an insane moment for me and i'm so happy about this ❤️!!

[riotgurlll]

Chance (From Date Everything) Headcannons... NSFW

Okay so I'm obsessed with DE as well as Chance, And i've seen SO little material for this cutie so I'm taking it into my own hands.

TW: NSFW content, aka explicit material, spelling and grammar errors probably, plz be warned and lmk if I missed anything.

Contents/Mentions: Dom/Sub dynamic, Roleplay, depictions of male genitalia, mentions non-monogamy, gender neutral/afab or amab inclusive

---

-Chance is a nerd. A dork, if you will. Did you see how excited he was when you indulged in his interest in GnG? The way his pretty brown eyes lit up when you expressed that you'd be interested in joining a session of his? He's such a sweetheart.. The more you visited him, the more he felt himself growing fonder and fonder of you. The way you went along with his stories, listened to him ramble on about the subject in it's entirety- gods, everything about you was just so perfect...

-He'd be a liar if he said you didn't turn him on.

-Chance may be a dork, but that doesn't stop him from teasing you- in his own cute and cheesy way, sometimes. Take things from the character sheets, to the other sheets? Say less! If chance is sure that you're interested in him, he's not afraid of making some flirty remarks.. clearly.

-He's a switch, 100%. Sometimes, when you two are playing a game and you're heavily debating you options, or he's watching you as you write about or draw your character, he can't help but admire your features. His mind drifts to... other things, as well. He just can't help it! You're so... alluring. The way your clothes fit your body- whether they're tight or baggy, doesn't go un-noticed by him. It's not uncommon for him to compliment you openly, simply- because deep down? He knows you love it when he does.

He can't help but imagine taking control over you- to show you how grateful he is that you spend so much time with him.. He'd quietly tell you sweet nothings, praising you for your kindness and creativity. He'll stroke your hair gently, holding it back for you to it doesn't fall in front of your face while bends you over and fucks you on your desk. You can't help but feel flustered... Poor Dasha! Mac too... But let's be honest, Mac has seen all the fanfiction you've read on your nerdy crushes, so they aren't surprised. And Dasha? Honestly probably rooting for Chance in her head. She's... so proud...! (sniffle)

But alas, there really is no true privacy in the house, and honestly, we all know not a single object in that damn house objects to seeing you that way. (haha. get it. objects. ha..)

But what if you were to get on top of him? Even if things started out with him having more control, he'd fall apart. Can you blame him? Seeing you bouncing on him like that is literally one of the hottest things you could do, like... ever. He'd be letting out all sorts of noises- whimpers, moans. I just KNOW he would get all whiny when he gets close, for sure. Feeling you clench around him drives him insane... Don't even get him started on the view.

-Speaking of, I think he's vocal ALL the way. Moans, Whimpers, whines, it doesn't matter. Personally, he hates the whole idea that men should be quiet during intimacy- why would he hide his pleasure from you? He wants you to know. He wants you to know how your beautiful self makes him feel. He'll talk you through it too, his voice getting all soft and low while he fucks himself into you. Chefs kiss, fr. Expect to here "yeah?" from this man. Especially if you're into it, cuz he knows full well what that'll do to you. He'll have the audacity to ask you if you feel good while you're cock drunk.. like mf? Obviously????

-Definitely into praise, both giving and receiving. He'll tell you how good you feel, how pretty/handsome you are.. He'll go on and on about how you're perfect for him, about how he fits inside you just right. He'll tell you that all he want's is to make you feel good, just like how you make him feel.

And if you praise him? That's a quick way to get him into a submissive space reeeeaaaal quick. Something about hearing you compliment him, tell him he's doing so good? He'll fold immediately. Tell him he's pretty- he'll whimper with no hesitation as he rests his head against whatever part of your body is closest to him. Your stomach, crook of your neck- forehead, he's down bad. BAD bad.

-Biceps. this doesn't have to be NSFW, but if you're like me, it is. iykyk.

-^^^ Okayyy, I'll expand upon this... I think he's both buff and chubby at the same time- I mean, look at him. He probably works out just so he can look like an OC of his or something, but who gives a fuck. He's strong, and soft. I just know this man gives the best hugs, don't even fucking play w me rn. Imagine him hugging you close while he fucks himself up into you? Yeah. Yeah. I don't need to say anything else about this.

-He's a solid 4.5 when he's soft- and now I know some of ya'll think that's tiny but it really isn't. Regardless, he's a grower anyways. When he gets hard, he's around 6 inches. I don't think he's circumsized though in all honesty. I just know this mans tip is sensitive. Chance is also thick, like serious girth here. You know those mini sized soda cans? That's probably the closest thing I can compare it to. I'm thinking his base is #f5ae8a- (Yeah. we're getting specific). His tip is probably around a #fb9888 color.

His cock is def curved too- upwards, to the left. It's so heavy that it has to lean one way anyways.

-OKAY. Imma state the obvious here. CLEARLY this man is into roleplaying in the sheets. It's cannon bruh. Now, this can be a spectrum- And if roleplay in bed isn't your thing, he won't force it on you whatsoever. It's not something he requires sexually.

However, if you are into it, he's happy. It doesn't even have to be some elaborate scenario. Cosplay as one of your GnG characters? He's sat. Or just cosplay in general- Put on a Tifa Lockhart (FROM THE LATER GAMES.) fit if you're fem leaning, he's acting like a damn dog. It doesn't have to be a fantasy outfit, it could be any reasonable character, he doesn't give a PISS. Going to a Renaissance festival with friends? Better see him while you're in that outfit cuz he's gonna be all over you. He's a nerd, he can't help it.

-Two man w Parker?- OOP??? Who said that... guys.... oh my gosh...

-When it comes to oral, of COURSE he loves giving. He would eyp or syd for hours if u could take it, that's just the truth- but he does have a guilty pleasure for receiving. Watching you go down on him is literally a dream come true. He'll be grabbing your hair, fucking up into your mouth, all while sounding like a damn porno above you.

"Just like that.." "Please, don't stop.." "y'feel so good...-"

-He'd call you nicknames for sure. Beautiful, Handsome, Honey, Love, Sweetheart- anything,really. And he'd love to hear you call him those things too. Could definitely get behind sir and ma'am in a roleplay scenario.

-Honestly a thigh/ass guy. Phatty or nah, he doesn't give a fffFFFFUCK. Wrap those damn legs around him- crush his head, do whatever. And you best believe he looooves hitting it from the back. He'll grab onto your hips like he needs it to live.

-He doesn't care what you look like, but I feel like he would have a sweet spot for chubby people. Def the type of guy to say there's "more to love". He loves a tummy.

-Sit on that mans face. He loves that shit SOOO much. And no, don't hover either, he'll grab you and make you sit if he has to- he's not playing.

-He'd also love to see you lingerie. Put on something dark red and lacey, he'll be on his knees unwrapping you like a present in seconds. He'll press kisses all over you, down your stomach, your thighs, chest, neck- he can't get enough of you.

-Chance would love it if you grinded on his thigh while he was doing something- maybe updating a character sheet, taking notes for a storyline while also having a hand on your hip/ass as he helped you rut your hips against his strong leg. Occasionally, he'll press kisses to your lips and jaw before getting back to work.

-He loves his hands. He loves running them all over your body in places you like and allow him to. He loves being about to grope at your body, being able to hold you, move you at his will. He's got big hands too, no doubt. Big, strong hands with thick fingers that feel amazing inside of you, or wrapped around you.

-Would mumble "Holy crit" During it. Don't lie to urself, he would. That man will be giving you the most dubious back shots in centuries and you'll hear him whisper it under his breath.

-If you were to tease him, he'd definitely get all blushy. he's so cute!!! He'd get all stuttery, probably avoid eye contact. Just because he's more confident than he may seem doesn't mean you can't make him flustered, and TRUST me, it's easy to make him flustered- if it's coming from you, of course.

-Not smutty or nsfw but I headcannon him to have HELLA tattoos up and down both his arms. I know he already has one on the underside of his forearm, but I'm talking SLEEVES.

-Check ups every now and then. You guys have a safe word too- which just so happens to be Gargoyle.

-Aftercare is sooo important to him. He'll be sure to clean you up gently, get you some water, a snack if you need it. He'll cuddle with you, run his hands through your hair- whatever you need, you have it. And it's the other way around, if you're domming him, make sure you take care of this man. It makes him feel so loved and cared for- if you brush him off, then he just feels tossed around and used.

[thecchiiiiiiii]

Rose by D.O – “I might not have a fancy car, but I fancy you. So gimme a chance, If you need a lover baby” (Sophia Laforteza x Reader)

Synopsis: Bee’s often buzz around, wandering, making people annoyed, or scared when an interaction is initiated. Unfortunately, Sophia has encountered one that takes the form of a human; you.  Find part 2 here

—☆

Bee’s often buzz around — that’s just what they do.

 They drift through quiet afternoons, wander into picnics and rehearsals, hover too close to skin that flinches. Some people brush them away gently, afraid of the sting. Others swat at them, panic swarming their hearts. But no matter how you react, the bee keeps circling back. It doesn’t know how to want anything else. It brings sweetness to flowers that never asked for it — and sometimes loses itself trying.

For Sophia, that bee was you.

That was you.

Not on purpose, not at first.

Sophia Laforteza. She was a second year, a freshman with a frayed backpack and bruised sneakers. She had her world: the theatre club, the corner seat at the cafeteria window, her circle of friends who moved with her like orbiting moons.

You’d seen her a hundred times before you ever really saw her. She laughed with Marquise under the big tree near the admin building. The one with roots that cracked the sidewalk tiles, so everyone tripped at least once a semester. You watched her lean over Lexie’s shoulder to see a video, her laughter spilling into the wind like confetti you couldn’t catch.

One day she dropped her pen. You were three desks away but you still saw it roll under your chair. You picked it up. A stupid, cracked pink gel pen with half the glitter worn off.

You meant to give it back. Really. But then she looked up, right at you, and your tongue turned to static. So you kept it.

It’s still in your drawer, hidden under folded poems and dried petals.

You never planned to be the bee.

But some flowers just pull you in.

—☆

You didn’t own anything fancy. No car waiting at the curb after rehearsal, no branded sneakers squeaking in the hallway. You had your backpack, your notebooks, and the corner of the library where your pen ran out its ink for her.

You were a year younger than Sophia. Invisible in your own way, drifting between rows of desks with your hood pulled up, your headphones always in but never really on. You weren’t dazzling on stage like she was with the way she stepped into the warm lights during theatre practice, humming her warm-ups while Marquise teased her and Lexie filmed her on an old phone. You watched from the sidelines. Just another pair of eyes flicking up from half-finished homework, your earbuds humming static you didn’t hear.

But you were there. Buzzing. Hovering in circles only you knew how to draw.

—☆

It started small:

Sophia’s locker had a rusted hinge that squeaked when she opened it. You learned that by heart— the soft squeal of metal before the clatter of textbooks.

When you were 14, you didn’t have a phone fancy enough for messages. So you learned to speak in ink. 

 A note tucked into the seam of her locker.

A square of watercolor paper slipped into her bag when she wasn’t looking.

A folded poem left on her desk before the morning bell.

The words pressed tight beside a mini portrait or a sketch of the places where you imagined she might exist with you.

Little scraps of poems slipped through that locker vent— your small voice in tight stanzas:

There’s a street behind the library

Where the shadows bend like arms.

If you ever walk there, maybe the wind

Will carry my name to yours.

You sketched city skylines and tiny trees bent toward each other like shy lovers. You painted candle flames when your words felt too cold alone.

You became a ghost for her.

You knew her locker number by accident— once, you stood behind her while she turned the dial, mumbling the numbers under her breath like a song. You mouthed them too, just once, feeling them click on your tongue.

27 — right. 14 — left. 36 — right again. Click.

After that, it felt too easy. Slipping a folded paper through the vent. A watercolor scrap with half a skyline and your shaky lines clinging to the edges:

I saw you in the hallway —

You didn’t see me back.

So I pressed this into metal,

Hoping you’d find what I lack.

You’d go home every night and write another one while Yoonchae would hover at your door.

“You’re writing again?” she’d ask, head peeking through the crack.

“Shut the door.”

“Make me.”

“Please.”

Yoonchae— your little sister, only two years behind you in school. She’d find you hunched over your small wooden desk, your lamp flickering over scraps of watercolor paper.

“You’re gonna run out of pens,” she teased once.

“Then I’ll write with pencil,” you said, tongue caught between your teeth as you pressed a brush to a tiny square of paper.

“You’re so obvious. You’re the only bee who keeps stinging themselves.”

You stuck your tongue out at her. She stuck her tongue back. Then she sat on the edge of your bed and read your lines upside down, half-lullaby, half-judgement.

When you told Megan and Lara about it, they’d grin and shake their heads, teasing you for the obvious softness in your eyes. 

—☆

A note slipped into the vent of her locker on a Tuesday when the hall smelled like stale floor wax and wet shoes. You’d folded it so the edge peeked out just enough, like an invitation she could ignore if she wanted.

There’s a street I pass on my way to class,

The trees bend in pairs like shy lovers.

If you walked there with me,

Maybe they’d whisper our names to each other.

You drew two trees leaning just close enough that their branches brushed like fingers touching for the first time. Your initials weren’t there— they never were. You just drew a star on the corner as if it was your codename. You wanted her to guess, maybe, but a small part of you knew she already did.

You watched from your usual spot at lunch. She found it while pulling her jacket out of the narrow locker, the paper brushing her fingertips. Daniela leaned in, saw the edge of your sketch. Her laugh echoed down the hall.

“Oh my god, Sophia — again?”

Sophia just rolled her eyes, pretending it was nothing. But you saw her slide it into her math textbook instead of the trash. That was enough to keep your wings beating.

When you told Megan and Lara later that day. Heads bent close over your untouched lunch and then they exchanged that look, the one that made your ears burn.

“You’re hopeless,” Lara sighed, stealing a fry off your tray.

 Megan propped her chin on her hand. “No, they’re not hopeless— they’re romantic.”

“Same thing,” Lara muttered. But she didn’t sound mean about it.

—☆

Yoonchae found your notebook open on your bed a week later, half your poems written sideways in the margins. She dropped onto your pillow, a cat settling in for the kill.

You found her all curled up on your blanket, reading upside down while you scribbled. You hated it and loved it at once— her nose crinkled when she hit the sweet lines, her fingers tapping your page like Morse code.

“You know she won’t read them all,” she’d say.

You shrugged. “That’s not the point.”

You snatched the notebook away, cheeks burning. “You wouldn’t get it anyway”

She leaned in, nose to nose. “Then sting her good next time. Or stop flying in circles.”

—☆

So you tried. You kept trying.

A square of watercolor paper slipped into her bag between notebooks that smelled like fresh highlighters.

You waited three days, sick with worry that the ink might smudge.

The bench by the old fountain—

You sit there, turning pages.

I pretend I’m reading too,

but all my lines lead back to you.

You’d painted the campus fountain at 1 AM, brush trembling so badly the sky turned darker than you meant. You left the smudge where it was — imperfections were honest. So was the tremor in your hands.

Sometimes you were bolder. On mornings she had rehearsals before homeroom, you’d stand by her empty desk. Knees locked, throat dry, and slide down a square sheet of lined paper. A poem on one side, a scribbled sunrise on the back.

If I could, I’d fold the sunrise

and leave it here for you —

but paper doesn’t hold fire well,

so here’s a candle flame instead.

You colored that sunrise with cheap colored pencils until your palm cramped.

Lara found you. She wasn’t even sorry about it— she just stood there beside you and read the letter.

“Oh my gosh, you’re gonna get a nosebleed one day,” she teased, reading your metaphors out loud in a mock-serious voice.

Megan just laughed behind her hand, offering you a sip of her orange soda like it’d wash the sting away.

“You’re brave,” she told you when Lara wandered off. “I’d never have the guts to keep trying like that.”

You snorted. “It’s not brave. It’s stupid.”

“Same thing sometimes.”

Sophia never said thank you. She never left anything in return. But she didn’t throw them away either. You’d catch glimpses— a folded edge peeking from the corner of her binder, a sketch tucked into the pocket of her pencil case. It was enough. It had to be.

—☆

The first time you heard Kaakit-akit was in the library, headphones slipped over one ear while your pen dragged nonsense lines in your notebook. You didn’t know what you were looking for until you looked up and there she was— Sophia, on the lawn outside the window, laughing with Lexie about something you’d never hear.

The guitar chord struck your ribs like a match.

Kaakit-akit. Alluring. A sweetness that stings.

(Kaakit-akit: Alluring/Enchanting)

You replayed it four times, fingers tapping the table in time with your heartbeat. You decided then— this was hers. Yours, too. Maybe the only way you’d ever say the thing you couldn’t say out loud.

Megan caught you then. At the library printer with your bag open, pages of drafts and half-finished poems spilling like shed wings.

“You’re writing again, bee” she laughed, snatching a folded square before you could hide it. She read it aloud, voice gentle where your own would’ve cracked:

If I could fold the sunrise

I’d leave it in your bag.

But paper doesn’t hold fire,

So here’s my trembling match.

Lara leaned over her shoulder, flicked your ear. “You’re gonna get your heart broken.”

You only shrugged. Bees don’t learn. They just keep flying.

—☆

You were 14 the day you folded your first paper flower for her.

It was math class— your seat in the back row, right under the broken ceiling fan that hummed like a tired bumblebee. You should’ve been copying equations, but your notebook was half-torn, the lines stained with pencil smudges and soft daydreams.

Instead of solving for x, you tore a page from the back. The one with doodles of her profile in the margins and folded it into a crude petal. One became two, two became three.

Each fold softened under your thumb, each crease a quiet wish: Notice me. Please.

You hid it in your pocket for days, too scared to give it. It ended up pressed flat in your pencil case, petals crooked but brave. It was almost your first sting. Almost. 

So, you got brave in new ways.

You hovered near Daniela and Manon whenever you could. Holding stage doors open, offering your spare water bottle when they looked too tired to bother refilling theirs.

One humid afternoon, after helping them pack leftover flyers for the musical’s second run, you asked.

“Can I — can I ask you something about Sophia?” You hated how your voice cracked at her name.

Daniela paused mid-stack, one eyebrow cocked. Manon bit the inside of her cheek, hiding a grin.

“What about her?” Daniela said. Not cold. Not warm either.

You swallowed. “What does she like? Favorite flowers. Songs. Colors. I just… I don’t want to keep guessing.”

Manon nudged Daniela— just tell them. So, they did. White roses. Paper cranes. Pastel blues and soft rain songs. You memorized every syllable like scripture.

Before they left, you asked if, maybe— they could give something to her for you. Just once. When your hands were too obvious, too clumsy to deliver your own hope.

Daniela’s sigh was soft. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either.

—☆

Days passed by. Poems on sticky notes. Drawings of city skylines she’d never see the way you did. Sometimes you saw her smooth them flat, tuck them away before class. Sometimes you found them weeks later— folded into tight squares at the bottom of her bag when she pulled out her lunch.

One night, your sister found you hunched over your desk, pen scratching the same line for the tenth time.

“You write so much for her,” Yoonchae murmured, climbing into your blanket pile without asking.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t know how to stop.”

She pinched your cheek, gentle. “Then sting her good. One last time. Maybe then you’ll finally sleep.”

—☆

Your friends didn’t get tired of your hope, not even when Sophia swatted it away again and again.

There was that day in the cafeteria when someone asked if you were together. Sophia laughed, loud enough for your chest to tighten.

“Them? No way. They’re just… persistent.”

She didn’t see you slip past the milk dispensers, tray trembling in your hands. Lara followed you out while Megan stayed behind, eyes narrowed at Sophia.

“They’re just a bee,” Sophia told Daniela later. “It’s harmless.”

Daniela frowned. Maybe she knew then how wrong that was.

And then, you almost stopped.

Like the time you caught Sophia standing by the old fountain in your spot while your next note burned a hole in your pocket when you saw her kiss someone else’s cheek. Not a boyfriend, maybe just a friend. But that tiny moment popped your lungs open like a bee under glass.

You crumpled the paper right then. Toss it in your bag. But that night, you smoothed it out again, ink smeared, lines bent. You rewrote it on a fresh sheet at 2 AM, telling yourself maybe this would be the one she’d keep.

—☆

You heard about the fair weeks before but it didn’t click until you saw that poster taped by the admin door: Over October.

The band that sang Kaakit-akit.

 “Dude— move,” Megan grumbled, until she leaned over your shoulder and read it too.

You stood there so long Megan had to tug your sleeve to make you move. But you didn’t so  Megan leaned over your shoulder and read it too.

“Oh my god. That’s your chance.” Her grin was so soft you thought it might break you.

Lara took a photo of the poster, circling your name in a group chat like a threat.

Lara: If you don’t do it now, you never will.

She was right.

—☆

When the final class bell rang each day that week, your friends drifted home with aching backs and half-finished props. The hallways emptied, but you stayed. First in the corner of the library, then on the dusty bench behind the science lab where the WiFi still reached if you angled your phone just so.

You brought your old laptop— the one with the flickering hinge you’d fixed with a strip of black electrical tape. The screen glowed cold blue on your face while your fingers tapped at lines of messy code you barely understood when you first started.

It wasn’t much, that hidden corner of the internet you were building for her. A single page at first: white background, soft serif font, your poems stacked like folded letters no one else would ever open. Then you added color. A pale blush that reminded you of the sky before dawn. You found a way to embed music to loop Kaakit-akit on the landing page so that when she scanned the QR code, her song would echo softly back to her, your heartbeat coded in mp3.

Sometimes you’d pause and scroll through your drafts of half-finished confessions, scraps of lines you’d written on old receipts and tucked into your wallet for weeks. You typed them out, line by line, until the page felt like a map of your chest cracked wide open. You proofread every word, deleting a dozen, rewriting ten more. Some nights you’d just stare at the blinking cursor, half wishing you’d lose your nerve so you could sleep instead.

At the bottom: If you find this, you’ve found me.

—☆

After you saw Over October taped to that glass door, the world inside the campus shifted. It always did, every year— but that year it felt bigger, heavier. Everywhere you turned, the fair was there: creeping into homerooms, splashed across the bulletin boards, whispered about in bathrooms and half-finished class group chats.

It was the paint-smudged banners hanging from the second-floor railings — WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL CULTURE FAIR! — half of them drooping at the corners because no one remembered the extra tape. It was the old tables dragged out from storage rooms and lined up outside the auditorium, waiting for paint and price tags and hopeful student councils selling whatever they could to raise funds for next year.

Every hallway smelled faintly of bond paper, acrylic paint, and fried snacks someone was already test-batching for the food stalls. You saw Sophia everywhere in the middle of it. Her and the other musical theatre kids plastered posters for the club’s showcase, tying ribbons to the lamp posts that flickered near the main quad.

You’d pass by her at lunch when she laughed with Marquise and Lexie, a pair of scissors dangling from her wrist by a string of yarn like a charm bracelet. Once, you watched her cut out paper cranes at a bench near the quad fountain. She didn’t see you. Not really. But you stayed just close enough to catch the faint sound of her voice as she told Daniela how the flyers still weren’t straight.

It was all so loud. Students haggling over booth placements, teachers barking about cleanup rosters, your friends waving you over to sign your name on volunteer sheets you never planned to fill. You drifted around the edges of it— the bee, never the banner.

But every paper crane Sophia pinned to a board reminded you of the bouquet waiting in your head. Fourteen flowers— one for each year of you, folded small and quiet so she’d see all of you at once. 

At night, you’d lie on your bedroom floor, your back pressed to the cold tile, Yoonchae’s soft breathing in the next room. The sounds of the fair would hum in your ears like a tape tearing, laughter spilling through stairwells, the faint echo of Kaakit-akit playing on repeat from your cracked phone speaker.

In the corners of your mind, you watched the stage go up. The lights strung overhead. The booths crowding the quad like petals around a single flower.

You knew your moment was stitched into all of it. Somewhere between the paper cranes and the stage lights— somewhere in the hush that would come before your song.

You just had to get there. You just had to finish folding your wings.

You folded three butterflies by hand. Each wing pressed with your tiny handwriting, each body stitched together with glue that stuck to your nails. Your fingers cramped around the delicate folds.

Yoonchae found you hunched over the dining table.

“You look like you’re performing surgery,” she deadpanned.

“Shut up and pass the scissors.”

She did. But before she left, she kissed the top of your head. A sister’s tiny blessing. “Good luck, bee.”

—☆

On your bedroom floor, fourteen square sheets of colored origami paper spread around you like soft confetti. Each one a flower waiting to be folded, creased, pressed into the shape of the feeling you’d never dared say out loud.

You worked in soft pools of lamplight. The fan overhead did nothing for your sweaty neck as your fingers folded the edges in on themselves. Petals curling, stems twisting shut with thin wire and floral tape you’d borrowed from the craft store in town.

Beside you, your phone played the playlist you’d built just for this night. It wasn’t just Kaakit-akit. It was every song that had ever reminded you of Sophia— her laughter, the tilt of her head when she listened to Lexie tell a story she’d heard a hundred times before, the way she never quite looked your way but somehow still stayed in every line you wrote.

Adie’s Mahika. Kursunada. Suntok sa Buwan. A scattering of Ben&Ben, a quiet ballad from December Avenue. Songs that made your chest ache in the nicest, cruelest way. A reminder that your tiny confession could live longer than your voice ever would.

(Suntok sa Buwan: A punch from the Moon)

You were 14— what did you know of heartbreak except the ache you folded again and again into thin colored sheets?

You decided: fourteen flowers. One for every year you’d been alive. One for each time you’d circled her in the hallways, your backpack brushing her locker, your eyes catching hers across rows of desks and iced coffee lids.

Each flower was paper. Origami petals crisp under your thumbs. Some white, some soft pink, some pale blue like the dawn sky that leaked through your window at 3 AM when you realized you were still awake, still folding.

The bouquet took shape in secret. Between worksheets and cold instant noodles, you sat cross-legged on your floor, the glue stick crusted at the edge, your fingers stained with watercolor.

Yoonchae found you there one night, knees sore, eyes bloodshot. She didn’t tease you this time. She only sat beside you, pressing petals into your palm when your hands shook too much to crease them straight.

“Fourteen flowers for fourteen years?” she whispered.

You nodded, voice hoarse. “It has to be enough.”

You didn’t sleep that week. Three butterflies. Each smaller than the last. Wings trembling under the light when you held them up to the lamp at 3 AM. Between shifts and half-done worksheets, you painted paper petals— pressed every unfinished poem into the folds of a bouquet you’d hide behind your back.

Yoonchae cracked your door open once, blinking at the mess, at the petals, the watercolors, the scraps of receipt paper with half-drawn QR code squares where you’d tested your lines by hand.

“You’re insane,” she mumbled, the same way she always did when she found you like this. Hunched over your tiny world of paper and hope.

You only smiled, lifting your mug of cold coffee in a quiet toast. “It has to be perfect,” you said. “Just this once.”

She didn’t say you were hopeless. She didn’t tell you to sleep. She just pulled your blanket off your bed and draped it over your shoulders like a shield.

And when she padded back to her room, you bent your head to the last square of paper, your headphones slipping from one ear, Kaakit-akit whispering its first warm chords again.

One more fold. One more petal. One more wing for her to hold.

You planned it all. Two butterflies for Daniela and Manon. Each with a line from a song that said everything you couldn’t. The last butterfly— the smallest would be yours to hand her directly when Kaakit-akit played.

—☆

The day of the fair was a furnace. Tents flapped under tangled strings of fairy lights. You held your bouquet behind your back while people brushed past you, sticky with soda and sugar. Your butterflies were tucked into your hoodie pocket. The last fragile parts of you.

You wore your best hoodie, the one with frayed cuffs that still smelled faintly of your mom’s fabric softener. The origami bouquet felt too big in your arms, the stems pressed with your poems so tight they almost bled through the folds.

Fourteen flowers. Fourteen years. Three butterflies made of paper and half-hopes.

Megan drew a heart on your wrist with her eyeliner. 

“You’re shaking,” she said.

“Am I?”

But dawn cracked cruelly when you realized the QR code was missing. The door to your confession site. The one you’d coded half-under your blankets, half-hiding your tears.

You panicked. Megan pressed her pen into your palm so hard it hurt. Lara found a plastic chair behind the snack stall. The fair hummed around you, chattering, pop songs so loud it hurt your ears as if you don’t listen to that one song so religiously and oil smoke spreading like crazy— but you were shaking, drawing every tiny square by hand on the back of an old receipt.

“It’ll work,” you kept mumbling. “It has to.”

When you finished, your hands were black with ink. Lara called you insane. Megan fanned your sweaty neck with a paper plate. You just laughed, shaky and small.

—⁠☆

You found Daniela first, near the soda stand. She looked at you, at the trembling bouquet, then at the tiny butterfly you pressed into her palm.

“Please,” you whispered. “Give this to her.”

Daniela opened the wing carefully— a line from Mahika, Adie’s voice echoing through your handwriting:

“Giliw, nagpapahiwatig na sayo ang damdamin ko, napagtanto na gusto kita.”

(Mahika: Magic)

(Giliw, nagpapahiwatig na sayo ang damdamin ko, napagtanto na gusto kita: My beloved, my feelings for you are showing now that I’ve realized I like you)

She didn’t tease you. Daniela’s chest softened. She looked at you for a long moment, maybe wishing she could say something to ease the hope trembling in your eyes. Instead, she only squeezed your shoulder once.

Manon got the second butterfly by the photo booth. She tucked it into her pocket without even reading it first, then pulled it out and smiled when you walked away after giving it to her:

“Kung mapagbibigyan, di hahayaang masayang.”

— Kursunada, Adie.

(Kursunada: an object of desire/interest)

(Kung mapagbibigyan, di hahayaang masayang: If you give me a chance, I promise I won’t let you down)

“You’re brave,” Manon murmured, voice lost under the buzz of the speakers. She tucked the butterfly again into her pocket like a secret she didn’t want the wind to steal.

—☆

Time passed, the concert crowd gathered near the main quad. Fairy lights tangled with the soft dusk, and somewhere at the back, you hovered. Fingers drumming the paper bouquet, your heart a hive of fear and hope.

The fair was a maze of noise and color. Lights strung between booths, paper cranes hanging from tree branches, students shouting over pop songs and sizzling snacks. And somewhere in the middle of it all, you. With a bouquet pressed to your chest, and the last butterfly folded so carefully you could feel its tiny wings trembling with your heartbeat.

But all your planning left out one thing: when Over October would play.

When the crowd gathered near the stage, you hovered at the back, bouquet pressed to your chest like armor. Daniela and Manon found Sophia by the drink stand, her hair catching the dusk light like it was made to glow.

Daniela nudged her first. Sophia sighed but unfolded the first butterfly anyway, lips curling around the words you’d chosen like they were a secret she couldn’t keep nor let go. Manon stepped up next, pressing the second one into her free hand. Marquise peeked over her shoulder, teased her gently, and for a heartbeat Sophia’s fingers clenched around your paper wings instead of tossing them aside.

When the host called out the acts, your chest rattled. The first wasn’t them— safe. The second, safe still. But the third…

You felt your ribs squeeze around your lungs out of fear you wouldn’t find her on time.

You knew. Kaakit-akit was coming. Her song. Yours.

And you hadn’t even found her yet.

So you searched. Frantic and fearless in a way only heartbreak can make you.

You stopped students by the food stalls, calling her name like a prayer: “Sophia— have you seen Sophia? Sophia Laforteza — please, have you seen her?” You asked her classmates from musical theatre, wide-eyed freshmen who looked at you like they’d seen a ghost with roses in its arms.

You caught a teacher near the entrance gates. “Ma’am, please— Sophia Laforteza? I need to find her— it’s important.”

You asked a security guard at the side fence, voice cracking. He only shook his head, radio buzzing on his shoulder.

Megan and Lara trailed behind you, breathless, worried, but ready. Megan filming in secret when she could, Lara whispering, *“You’ll find her. Keep going. Go.”

The lights flickered. The crowd’s chatter dipped into an electric hush.

You froze— thinking you were too late.

But then, instead of the band, a single spotlight cut across the quad— not on the stage, but the crowd.

And there she was.

Sophia. Laughing at something Lexie whispered, a bouquet of friends around her, not knowing that in that moment she was your whole galaxy under that stray beam of borrowed light.

Your chest collapsed with relief and terror at once.

The opening chords of Kaakit-akit began. Warm, familiar, terrifying.

You stood frozen until the pre-chorus came, the words you’d written in a thousand poems ringing back at you in borrowed lyrics. Then you moved. You had to.

You shoved through students, apologies tumbling from your lips. Someone cursed when your bouquet brushed their shoulder. But you didn’t stop.

You were just a bee.

And she was the only flower you’d ever sting.

When the chorus hit and you heard the word kaakit-akit blooming over the speakers, you tapped her shoulder, breath catching on your tongue.

Kaakit-akit, nauulol sayo

(You’re so enchanting that you make me crazy for you)

Sophia turned around in confusion, surprise, a flicker of something softer— but the song swallowed it all.

“Sa ’twing lalapit, tanggal ang angas ko”

(And when you come close, suddenly I can’t act normal at all)

You handed her the butterfly first, the smallest one, wings trembling in her palm. The one with the hand-drawn QR code hidden in its fold. The one that held every unsent message, every late-night poem, every tiny sketch she’d never thanked you for. And then you gave her the bouquet. 

‘Kay iibigin, iaalay ang mundo”

(I will love you and offer you the world)

14 flowers with 2 kinds of each, handpicked by you. Staying up late at night to research about the flower and pick a symbolism that best resonates with her.

You put your phone out, a note app open with a short message written for her, clearly rushed but still meaningful. Afraid when you say these to her, she won’t hear it like every other time you were too silenced about it. 

“At sasabihing, ika’y kaakit-akit”

(And I will say that you’re so alluring/enchanting)

“Hi! I like you :)) If its not yet that obvious. I’m not expecting anything, really. I just want to confess before it swallows me whole.” typed on your note app.

The music rose.

The moment stretched.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came.

The silence pressed down harder than any ‘no’ she could have said.

So you placed the butterfly in her palm. Closed her fingers around it.

Behind you, Daniela and Manon, and her two other friends from the theatre club watched. Butterflies held tight in Sophia’s closed hands. Somewhere in the folds, your words waited— small poems, songs, a map back to you she might never follow.

Your poems stayed behind in her bag, her locker, her desk. And now, in her hands too. You wondered if she’d ever unfold them all. If she’d find the landscapes, the sunsets, the trees bent like lovers. If she’d ever think of the bee that buzzed too close and left its heart behind.

Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t.

You’d done your part. You’d stung her soft as you could.

And when bees sting, they get to rest.

She looked at you. Past you. At your friends lingering behind, holding their breath for you.

She didn’t say yes.

She didn’t say no.

She just held your flowers, your last paper wing.

The silence swallowed Kaakit-akit’s last chords.

You stepped back when the song ended. You smiled.

Cracked and soft as the wings you’d folded all week and waved goodbye, wondering if she'll open those letters at all.