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smileysuh · 3 days ago

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that's awkward

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.

tw/cw. Protected sex, lots of talk about birth control/IUD’s in specific, awkward warning, fingering, praise, dirty talk, Wonwoo’s a touch pervy, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, orgasming together, breast/body worship, etc…

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.7k

🍭 aus. Best friends to lovers, nurse!Wonwoo, roommates au, crack/comedy, realism, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I’m not going to lie, this one is awkward comedy crack realism. I thought it would be funny to touch base on birth control, and some of the weird things that happen with IUDs. while birth control is often mentioned in passing in fic, I’ve never seen an in depth thing about it, or a fic with a plot centered around an IUD gone rogue lol. I love awkward nurse bestie Wonwoo, and I hope you do too!

Prologue:

“You look tense,” Wonwoo, your best friend, notes as you sit down with him in the library. “What was that phone call about?”

“It was my roommate Sumi,” you sigh. “She’s decided to move in with her boyfriend, and now I don’t know how I’m going to afford the apartment.”

The nursing major pushes his glasses back up his nose, studying you in the quizical way he’s been studying everyone since you were children. “So what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Give up the lease? Move out of my dream apartment on campus and go live with my parents, deal with the two-hour commute-” Even thinking about it is making your heart race with anxiety, and you let out a huff, putting your head down on the table.

“There are other options,” Wonwoo points out.

“Like what?”

“Find another roommate.”

“Sumi was enough of a mess to live with, and she’s been my friend since I met her at the welcome-to-university day last year. Where am I going to find a nice, quiet roommate, who doesn’t bring her boyfriend over to bang every night or want to throw parties or leave the kitchen a mess-”

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he watches your meltdown.

“If it’s not weird, I could move in with you,” he offers once your rant ends.

You stare at him.

Wonwoo’s been your best friend since grade school, and although the two of you are super close, you’d never considered a coed living situation with him. You know he’s a clean freak with a hint of ocd, it’s part of the reason he’s doing so well with his nursing classes- but, could you really live with him?

You’ve always found Wonwoo to be attractive, well, the attraction had grown in high school when the thin sweetheart had grown out a bit, his shoulders broadening and his baby fat disappearing with frequent stints at the gym.

“Would you really do that?” you ask. “Move in with me?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “My lease is up on my one-bedroom. Your place is actually on campus, so I wouldn’t have to commute thirty minutes to and from school. We’re comfortable with each other, and we’ve been friends long enough to sort out any roommate growing pains. I think it could work out.”

He’s always so reasonable, so logical, and staring at this man, you realize he’s found the perfect solution to your problem, just as he always does.

“You know what, Wonwoo?” You let out a breath and find yourself smiling. “Let’s be roommates.”

One:

Before you’d moved in with Wonwoo, you two had been extremely close, but after a year and a half of living together, the only way you could be closer is if he was literally inside of you and fucking your brains out every day.

It’s because of this closeness, as well as his major, that you go to him when you begin to have stomach aches that persist for two weeks.

The nurse-to-be is sitting in the living room, reading through a textbook with a notepad to jot on when you approach.

“Hey, I’ve got a question for you,” you say, taking a seat next to him.

“What’s up?” he asks, immediately putting his studies to the side to focus on you.

“I’ve been having these stomach aches,” you sigh.

“Has your diet or water intake changed recently?”

“No.”

“So you’re eating properly and not resorting to a one hundred percent ramen-based diet like you did last final season?”

You laugh, pushing his knee. “No, I’m being good, I promise!”

He studies you carefully. “What kind of stomach pain?”

“Sometimes it’s sharp, and sometimes it’s like a dull ache.”

“Show me the location?”

Releasing a sigh, you bring your hand to your lower abdomen. “It’s kind of around here.”

Wonwoo looks down at the spot you’re indicating, then back up to you. “When was your last period?”

“Like… two weeks ago?”

“So you’re not due for one, which means it’s not period pains.”

“I know period pains,” you assure him, “and this is different.”

“Would you say it’s in a similar location to your usual period pains?”

You know his line of questioning immediately, and you let out a scoff. “I’m not pregnant, Wonwoo. We both know this is a celibate apartment since we’re married to our studies, and besides, I have an IUD.”

Wonwoo nods, and you can see the wheels in his mind turning. “How long have you had the IUD?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a couple of years? Why is that relevant?”

“Well, I don’t know much about birth control, but I do know that sometimes IUDs or other birth control implants can… shift.”

Shift.

The word sounds so ominous, and you can’t help the mortified expression that crosses your face. “My IUD hasn’t shifted,” you insist. “That can’t be what’s happening.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “If you say so.”

Your mouth feels dry, and the idea that the tiny foreign birth control object inside of you has shifted makes you feel nauseous, so you’re impatient to change the subject.

“I’m sure it’s just anxiety or something,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath.

“Keep an eye on it, and let me know if the stomach pain persists. If you need me to take you to the on-campus hospital, I’m sure they’d figure it out for you. Give an ultrasound if they think it’s IUD-related, or offer alternative possibilities.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” you insist. For someone who’s best friends with a nurse, you don’t like hospitals very much, and getting the IUD inserted had been a traumatic enough experience to deter you from anything gynecological until the timeline on your implant has ended. You’ve got a couple of years until you’ll need to get the bugger taken out, and nothing is going to inspire you to go check on it, especially not a recurring stomach ache.

Two:

Wonwoo’s walking to a seminar with his classmate Yeji when you pop into his mind. It’s been a couple of days since you told him about your stomach aches, and he wants a female perspective on it.

He’s heard horror stories about IUDs and other forms of birth control, but Wonwoo’s man enough to admit he doesn’t know enough about the subject.

“Hey, Yeji?” Wonwoo asks.

“What’s up?” she responds, not looking up from her phone, where she’s looking over notes to prep for the seminar.

“So my roommate mentioned she’s been having cramps for a while-”

“Is she eating and drinking water okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good.”

“How about alcohol?”

“Neither of us are big drinkers,” Wonwoo admits.

“Okay, what about her period?”

Wonwoo loves how Yeji is asking all the questions he’d asked, it’s a sign he was doing the right line of enquiry. Wonwoo respects his classmate, and to know they have the same thought process is encouraging.

“She’s not due for it yet, not for another week or two.”

“Is she on birth control?”

“An IUD.”

Yeji looks up from her phone, and there’s a knowing twinkle in her eye, making Wonwoo chuckle.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I think we’re thinking the same thing.”

“It’s probably an IUD-related issue,” Yeji confirms. “Was the pain in her lower abdomen?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kind of like an ache, but sometimes sharp feelings too?”

“Yeah.”

“She has to check for her strings,” Yeji deduces.

There’s an immediate rush of embarrassment and heat to Wonwoo’s ears, and his voice cracks when he repeats, “Check for her strings?”

“You know, reach up in there and see if she can feel them. That’s a good way to see if the IUD is in place without needing an ultrasound or a trip to the hospital.”

Wonwoo swallows thickly. He’s a nurse, and physical things like this shouldn’t affect him so much, but there’s something about the notion of you checking for your own strings-

Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.

“I’ll uh,” Wonwoo coughs, “I’ll pass on the message to her.”

“It’s good to check your strings frequently,” Yeji continues, completely oblivious to Wonwoo’s discomfort. “If she has any sexual partners-”

“She’s single,” Wonwoo interjects, unable to help himself.

“Well, IUDs can be knocked out of place even without something poking at them, so you never know,” Yeji shrugs.

God, Wonwoo had known there would be challenges that came with living with a member of the opposite sex, but he’d never imagined having to discuss female anatomy, birth control, and the checking of IUD strings.

Three:

You’re sweating.

One foot is up on the bathtub, the other firmly on the ground, and you’re bent at an odd angle trying to reach inside of yourself to find some stupid IUD strings.

Wonwoo had come home and shyly told you that there’s an at-home way to check for IUD shifting, and you’d been less than enthusiastic about it- but more enthused about the idea of checking yourself than going to a clinic and having someone else do it for you.

This whole thing is awkward, and try as you might, you simply can’t feel any strings inside of you.

With a sigh of annoyance, you pull your fingers away, removing your foot from the tub so you can wash your hands.

Your heart is racing, panic and anxiety setting in- if the strings aren’t there, that means the IUD is misplaced, which means a gyno visit, which might actually be the end of the world for you right now.

You’re not ready to accept that fate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Wonwoo?” you call, finding your best friend in the living room.

He looks as nervous as you feel, which is a foreign emotion on the generally stoic man’s face.

“Did you find them?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Well, what if we go to an urgent care clinic? Or set up an appointment with your doctor?” he suggests.

“My doctor is a man, and the clinics might have a male doctor, and they’d probably want to check on the spot without sending a referral to the place that put the IUD in, and- Well,” you can feel tears burning in your eyes, “I really don’t have the mental capacity to have a man I don’t know looking up inside me right now-”

“I could call Yeji-”

“I don’t even know Yeji,” you groan. “This whole thing is so fucking awkward.”

“So.. what are you going to do?”

“I hate to ask this…” correction, you can’t believe you’re about to ask this, “but… could you maybe… would you, uh… do you maybe want to help me check for the strings?”

Wonwoo simply stares at you.

“Please?”

He swallows thickly. “I’ll go get some surgical gloves.”

You’re doing this, and you’ve just got to suck it up. As awkward as the idea is of your childhood best friend fingering you to find some fucking IUD strings is, the notion of some random man at a hospital doing it is even worse.

While Wonwoo is getting gloves, you go to your room to change into a dress. That way, you’ll be covered, but there will still be easy access.

Once you’re dressed, you head to the bathroom, where you find Wonwoo waiting. There’s a bottle of lube on the sink, and it’s clear he’s slicked up his gloved fingers in preparation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a walk-in?” he asks, and you can tell from the pink of his ears that he’s as awkward about this as you are.

“Wonwoo, you’re just going to close your eyes, put your fingers into something, and see if strings poke you,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath. “It will be simple.” You’re trying to convince yourself, but it’s not working.

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to sigh. He kneels down on the floor, then actually closes his eyes.

“Can you guide my hand?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You swallow a lump in your throat, reaching to grab his wrist. Slowly, you bring his fingers between your thighs. “It’s uh, right here.”

The first contact of Wonwoo’s gloved digits on your core has you jolting, and your skin immediately heats with embarrassment.

“After this one, remind me to never get another IUD,” you groan.

“There are other methods,” he muses, his fingers gently slipping into you with aid from the lube.

“I don’t want pills or an implant, or a shot, or one of those diva cup ring things,” you insist.

“Condoms are pretty dependable.”

“Yeah, if a man actually wants to wear one. Most guys are such crybabies about a bit of rubber that they’d rather put their girlfriend through humiliation of IUD insertion, or the trauma of pills that fuck up your emotions and body-”

You’re so busy ranting that you almost don’t notice Wonwoo’s fingers pushing deeper, but then he begins searching around, and he accidentally makes contact with your G-spot, which immediately makes you choke on your words.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says softly. “Uh, tell me more about bad birth control?”

“Yeah, uh…” God, you can feel yourself sweating, and you can’t bring yourself to look down at Wonwoo, so you close your eyes, tilting your head back to focus on your female rage rather than your hot best friend inspecting your pussy for IUD strings. “The fact that men get sedation or whatever for vasectomies but women still have to get this shit inserted with no local anasthesia or anything, it’s barbaric and misogynistic, not to mention anti-woman.”

“That definitely sounds like a double standard,” Wonwoo agrees.

“If men had to endure the pain we do for an IUD male equivalent procedure, they’d for sure get full sedation and pain meds,” you declare.

“You’re probably right about that.”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you can feel the fucking strings.”

“No luck, yet. Sorry.”

You groan. “You uh… feel pretty deep in there.”

“I’ve got long fingers.”

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted you to do this.”

“If I’m being honest, I think we should call it. I can’t find any strings.”

“Just…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “One more minute.”

“If you say so.”

A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, your heart racing in your chest.

Please find the strings. Please for the love of God-

“Wait, I think something just poked me!” Wonwoo tells you, and your eyes flash open.

“Is it the strings!?”

He pushes his fingers just a touch deeper, and after a moment, Wonwoo nods. “I think it’s the strings!”

“Thank God!” you practically scream.

In response, Wonwoo tears his hand away from you, and you immediately cover yourself with your dress again.

Your best friend opens his eyes and looks up at you. “We found the strings, but I still think you should get a referral for a minimally invasive ultrasound just to make sure it’s in place where it should be.”

“Wonwoo, we’re going to celebrate the small wins,” you tell him. “And we are also never going to speak of this ever again to anyone, do you understand?”

He nods solemnly. “I have zero memory of anything that just took place.”

“Good boy.”

Four:

As someone who’s entering the medical field, Wonwoo knows he’s not supposed to feel weird about the human body.

After all, a body is just a body.

But… there’s something about the fact that he was just up and close with your body, and he feels ashamed that the whole situation is affecting him the way it is.

There shouldn’t be anything sexy about stomach aches and possible misplaced IUDs, and yet… Wonwoo feels flushed every time he thinks about it.

You’ve been best friends since you were both children, but it’s a far reach to say that Wonwoo has ever seen you as a sister. The two of you had been inseparable for your younger years, and when you’d both hit puberty, the dynamic had shifted somewhat.

Sure, you’ve both had significant others, and been supportive of each other in everything- but… Wonwoo can’t pretend he’s not attracted to you.

It’s something he’s always been able to push to the side, after all, he’d never jeopardize your connection for the chance of getting his rocks off. He’s not that kind of man, which is why this whole IUD situation has put him in such an uncomfortable position.

It’s been two days since he checked your strings, and things have felt different. The two of you don’t know how to be around each other now, and that’s evident by the way you both stutter and give each other a wide berth in the kitchen at dinner time.

Wonwoo can feel his skin getting warm as he steps back to give you space to move to the fridge, and he swallows the lump in his throat, uncomfortably adjusting his glasses.

“I feel like maybe we both need a drink,” you say with a deep sigh.

The two of you are not big on alcohol, but there’s a mixed spirit drink bottle in the top cupboard for extreme situations, and this definitely feels like the right time for it.

Wonwoo helps you pour the liquid into two large glasses, and with an awkward smile, you clink your cup to his own before taking a sip.

“Let’s watch something,” you suggest next, and the two of you go to the living room.

You’re both interested in Netflix documentaries, and you find one that looks interesting. It’s something to get your mind off of things, but as Wonwoo continues to drink, his thoughts start to wander.

As a non-drinker, Wonwoo’s tolerance is substantially lower than he’d like it to be, and he can feel his skin heating. His mind feels fuzzy now, and his gaze keeps slipping over to you.

The two of you can’t live this way.

You just can’t.

Things can’t be this awkward forever, and if there was ever a time to tell you he’s into you as more than a friend, it would be now.

One episode of the documentary finishes, and as the screen cuts to credits, Wonwoo lets out an extremely deep breath.

“I need to tell you something,” he states.

“God.” You immediately hide your face, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. “What is it?”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us because I had to help you find your IUD strings,” Wonwoo says first.

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it, can we?”

“I like you.”

“Huh?” You look over at him with confusion.

“This might make it more awkward if you don’t feel the same way,” Wonwoo admits, his mouth getting dry. “But… I like you a lot, and… helping you with that whole thing… well, it doesn’t make me see you any differently. In fact, uh… maybe kind of the opposite.”

Wonwoo can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

Did he just admit that being gloved and two fingers deep in your pussy made him even more into you?

Yes. Yes, he did.

“I think maybe it’s time for bed,” you tell him, and his heart sinks in his chest.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, we can talk about it in the morning.”

The two of you stand up after turning the TV off, and Wonwoo doesn’t even know if he should look at you.

Then, surprisingly, you step forward, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his cheek. “Get some sleep,” you tell him.

He stands there in shock as you head to your room, offering him an awkward smile as you close the door behind you.

Wonwoo continues to just exist blankly, unmoving in the living room for a solid five minutes before he’s able to shake himself out of things.

He doesn’t know what the future might bring, but the future is best brought sober.

Five:

You’re sitting in the kitchen when Wonwoo comes out of his room.

Neither of you have classes today, and you’re kind of happy about that, because Wonwoo looks disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him look before.

His glasses are askew, his hair is a curly mess, his eyes have bags under them like he’s hardly slept-

“You okay?” you ask immediately.

Wonwoo lets out a deep breath. “Sorry about last night. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I probably hurt our friendship-”

“It’s fine,” you assure him.

“No, it’s not. I stepped over a boundary-”

“Wonwoo,” you say his name firmly, grabbing his attention. “You didn’t mess things up. You told me you like me, and I wanted to say it back, but you were drunk, and I thought it would be best to tell you when you were sober, or at least… hungover or something.”

Wonwoo blinks at you. His lips part, but he’s not able to speak for a few moments. “You like me too?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Like… as more than a friend?”

“I mean, you and I have been inseparable since we were kids. I’ve always had a crush on you, Wonwoo, but I pushed it aside for our friendship.”

“So did I.”

“Who knew all it would take was an IUD and a very awkward situation of trying to find us for us to admit this sort of thing?” You let out a small laugh, and Wonwoo joins in with you, which eases your anxieties.

“So…” He swallows thickly. “What now?”

“We could just watch movies and hang out today, you know, like a lazy Sunday date.”

“But we watch movies and hang out all the time, shouldn’t I… I don’t know, take you out for brunch or something?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I was thinking, while watching our show, we could cuddle, which isn’t something we’ve ever done.”

“I think I would like that,” Wonwoo admits.

“How about you go find us a new show, and I’ll make you some ramen. It looks like you need some food.”

Wonwoo nods, moving to the living room while you get water boiling for the noodles.

You’re trying to hide it, but you feel jittery. At the same time, the awkward atmosphere has shifted. Things feel a touch back to normal, but amplified in a way. No longer are you just making food for your roommate; you’re making food for a man who likes you the way you like him.

Suddenly, things feel domestic in a way they’ve never felt before, and that sensation brings you joy as you prepare the ramen and join Wonwoo in the living room.

The two of you agree on a show, and in the first fifteen minutes, Wonwoo slowly eats and sips on water.

Once he’s finished, he sets the bowl to the side.

“So… do you want to move closer?” he asks.

Your heart is racing as you snuggle up to his side, and Wonwoo’s arm goes around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You release a deep sigh, already very comfortable, and it’s in this position that you spend most of the day.

The whole documentary miniseries you’re watching comes to a conclusion, and you shift. You sit back up to stretch, and Wonwoo watches you.

When you let out a sigh and allow your arms to rest by your sides again, Wonwoo finally asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart lurches into your throat, and you swallow it back down.

“Yeah.”

He leans forward, and you mirror the motion.

You stare at your best friend, admiring all the little things about his handsome face.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

The moment feels suspended in time. It feels fast, yet slow, all at once, and then, Wonwoo closes the distance.

His mouth meets yours, hesitantly at first, but when you lean forward, grabbing his shoulders, he relaxes a little.

Neither of you are dreaming this up; it’s real.

You’re kissing your best friend, and fuck, it feels so good.

You love how gentle Wonwoo is, how it’s not immediate intensity. He’s soft, and his motions are tentative, as if he’s trying to figure you out.

Meanwhile, a need is growing inside of you, so you’re the one to take things to the next step. You open your mouth, licking Wonwoo’s lip, and he mirrors you.

A soft moan escapes you, and you shift closer, wanting to be pressed to him, wanting to feel his heart as it races alongside your own.

Things are getting heated fast, and soon, you’re crawling on top of him, straddling his hips on your living room couch.

Wonwoo’s hands stay in a respectable place on your hips, but it’s simply not enough for you anymore.

You reach down, guiding his grip to your bum.

Wonwoo groans beneath you, breaking the kiss to look up at you. “Should we take a minute?”

“Why?”

Wonwoo blushes. “Well, uh…”

That’s when you feel something pressing against your core, and you realize your grinding has caused him to get hard. Your pussy flutters, and you swallow thickly. “Do you really want to stop?”

“Well, I mean… you’ve been having stomach pains. Your IUD might be in the wrong place-”

“You felt the strings, that means it’s there.”

“What if it’s not working?”

“I read online that as long as it’s in me still, it’s likely working.”

“Do you want to risk it?”

You swallow thickly. “I want you.”

“What if this messes things up?”

“It won’t,” you tell him.

“How can you be so sure?”

Wonwoo’s looking at you with such pure eyes, and your heart melts for him. “I just know.”

You can see the moment he gives in.

You’re both putting your friendship on the line, but if there’s one man in the world who you know would never hurt you, it’s Wonwoo.

Slowly, you press your lips to his again.

The momentum is like it was the first time, a gentle, gradual build, and you’re doing your best not to start grinding on him again.

Your body wants one thing, but your mind knows you have to take this slow.

Wonwoo’s a thoughtful man. He’s a thinker. And thoughts don’t easily slip from his head. You don’t want to scare him away, so you meet his pace, allowing him to be the one who instigates progression.

His hand begins to grip your bum again, and you release a moan, kissing him deeper.

Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging to earn your own sounds of pleasure.

God, Wonwoo’s so sexy. Your entire body is humming with energy as you make out like teenagers on your living room couch.

You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, and soon, Wonwoo seems to break too.

He pulls away from the kiss, letting out a groan. “Do you want to go to my room?”

“Okay.”

You’re breathing heavily as you stand up, and you let Wonwoo lead you to his room. Once you’re there, it’s as if the unknowing comes to the surface again. You and Wonwoo look at each other, two people in a room you’ve been in a hundred times, but this time, everything is different.

It’s like starting from ground zero again, both of you tentatively connecting, lips meeting. His hands are on your hips, and the two of you slowly move toward the bed.

You grab the bottom of his shirt, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to allow you to remove it.

God, his body is so perfect. It’s lean but muscled, and even with his heavy nursing workload, he always finds time to go to the gym.

You remove your hoodie next, revealing the lacy bralette beneath.

Wonwoo swallows thickly, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. His ears are turning pink, and you know he’s shy about checking you out, but unfortunately for him, he’s just going to have to get used to it.

You grab his hand, pulling him to the bed, where you sit down first, looking up at him.

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Of course.”

“This might be a little awkward for both of us, first times always are,” you note, “but, I think we were always meant to be together, and after this, things will be a lot easier.”

Wonwoo is quiet for a moment, but then he nods. “I agree with that.”

“Try to get out of your own head for a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

You stroke his hand, and then you guide it to your breast, prompting him to squeeze you gently.

A soft groan escapes your lips. “Feels good.”

Wonwoo swallows thickly, bringing both hands to your breasts so he can massage you through your bralette.

He continues this for a minute before you get too horny, and you reach behind your back to remove the last piece of fabric blocking him from direct contact with your chest.

As the material slips off, Wonwoo takes a sharp breath.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, guiding his hands back. “I like this.”

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and you shiver, core pulsing with interest.

“Here,” you offer, “come sit against the headboard.”

Wonwoo does as you tell him, no questions asked, and once he’s situated, you straddle him like you did on the couch.

Your lips meet, and the kiss is filled with passion. His hands are on your hips, but you grab them, guiding him to your breasts again.

It feels so good to be kissing your best friend while he massages your chest, and you begin to grind down against him, eliciting moans from both of you.

You’re overwhelmed in the best possible way, and you break the kiss, which prompts Wonwoo to kiss your throat, then down to your collar bones- soon, he has your nipple in his mouth, and your whole body lights up with the sensation.

You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping his face pressed against your boobs, a silent plea for him to continue.

Your hips are still swiveling, and you can feel Wonwoo getting harder and harder with each passing second.

Soon, you can’t take it anymore, and you stop. “Let’s get naked.”

“Yeah.”

You get off Wonwoo, standing so you can remove the last of your clothes. He does the same, and then he reaches for his bedside table, removing a condom package and a bottle of lube.

“Condom?” you ask.

“We’re not a hundred percent sure about your IUD yet, and I don’t want to risk anything,” Wonwoo muses.

You decide that if you try to have sex without protection, he’s just going to be in his head, so you promise yourself to get a clean bill of health from your doctor (with perhaps the help of an ultrasound machine), and then you can enjoy the raw feeling of your best friend.

Wonwoo joins you on the bed again, but the condom is still on the side table. It’s clear he wants a bit more foreplay, so you wrap your legs around his hips and draw him close, lips crashing against his own.

The two of you continue to make out, your whole body on fire. One of his hands is still massaging your breast, but then it begins to descend. He rubs your clit, and you whimper, shifting below him for better access.

“Been thinking about fingering you,” he admits.

“Got a taste and you couldn’t forget it, huh?” you tease. “Me neither.”

“Yeah?” He slips two digits into your soaked core.

“Your fingers are just so long, and they fit perfectly. You hit the perfect spot-” you whimper when he touches the exact location you were just talking about. “Fuck, someone’s a fast learner.”

“I noticed how you reacted last time. It wasn’t the time or place then, but I promised to utilize it later if I ever got the chance,” Wonwoo breathes, stroking your g-spot expertly.

Your eyes close, and you give in to the pleasure, whimpering and desperately clutching his shoulders.

Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and he worships you, making your mind go blank and your legs numb. God, he’s good with his fingers, repeatedly hitting your G-spot while his palm rubs your clit-

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, feeling your release bubbling already. Foreplay and longing have contributed to a fast unraveling, and Wonwoo just knows what you like. Sure, this is a first time for you both, but he knows enough about you to infer things, and your vocal nature edges him on as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re getting louder and louder, and soon, you’re belting out, “I’m gonna cum!”

Wonwoo finger fucks you even faster, and you explode like a firework. Sparks of jittery energy combust through you, taking over your entire body as Wonwoo pleasures you.

You gasp loudly, and Wonwoo helps you ride out the orgasm with unwavering dedication.

His kisses are a constant on your throat, and he works you through it until your core stops pulsing around his fingers.

Then, Wonwoo removes them.

You’re shocked to open your eyes and see your neat freak best friend lick his digits clean, and your core throbs at the sight.

His cock is completely erect, and it looks beautiful. It’s long, but still thick enough to be balanced, if you can describe a penis as balanced, that is.

Wonwoo reaches for the condom package, and you watch, breathless, as he slides the rubber on.

“You still want this?” he asks.

“More than anything,” you confirm, opening your arms to prompt him to come closer again.

“Do you want me to use lube?” he asks.

“I’m wet enough and we both know it.”

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

God, you love this man.

You’ve loved him for years, and you can tell in this moment that you’re very much at risk of being in love with him within the week.

You draw his lips to yours as he adjusts his cock to your core, rubbing the tip between your soaked pussy lips.

Wonwoo is slow about pushing into you, giving your body time to adjust.

You haven’t had sex in a while, so it’s definitely a jump from fingers to cock, and you groan into the kiss as he sheathes himself.

Once his hips are flush to your own, your mouths separate so you can both moan at the sensation. Wonwoo swallows thickly. “Should I move?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eagerly awaiting what’s to come. “Feels good already.”

Wonwoo takes a breath as he begins to thrust, it’s shallow and slow at first, but the pleasure is so great that you find yourself grabbing his shoulders.

Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes closing to enjoy everything Wonwoo is giving you.

As his pace accelerates, he draws your lips to his own again, and you kiss him desperately as he fucks you.

One particularly deep thrust has you squeaking, and Wonwoo pauses, breaking the kiss. “I can definitely feel your strings.”

“What?”

“The IUD, I felt them.”

“Like… on your cock?”

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah.”

“Is that normal?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t know much about it. But if my fingers could reach them, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised my dick can.”

When you’d gotten an IUD, you hadn’t known any of this stuff. “Did it hurt?”

“Not really, it was just a feeling.” Wonwoo begins to thrust again, but you can tell he’s keeping it shallower.

If he were to go deeper, you get the sense he’s afraid he might mess up your wonky IUD even more, and while part of you wants him to let go and just decimate you, you respect that he’s being careful.

His lips meet yours again, and the kiss distracts you from all things IUD.

Each thrust is like heaven, and your core is so soaked that every movement is easy.

You’re whimpering more and more, and Wonwoo’s returning your sounds with noises of his own.

Sex hadn’t felt this good all those months ago when you had it last, had it?

No, you think the pleasure is because you’re having sex with Wonwoo, and your whole body warms at the notion.

“You feel so good,” Wonwoo groans, his lips moving to your throat. You love the sensation of his hot breath on your skin, and you thread your fingers through his hair to keep him close.

“Sounds…” you swallow thickly, “sounds like you’re close.”

“Yeah, maybe I need to slow down,” Wonwoo admits.

“It’s okay, neither of us has done this in a long time,” you remind him.

“I don’t want to be a three pump chump.”

You never thought you’d hear that phrase coming from Wonwoo of all people, and it makes you giggle. “You’re not a three pump chump,” you assure him.

“You’re not going to be disappointed?” he asks.

“We can always do this again in twenty minutes or something,” you point out.

“I guess that’s true,” Wonwoo laughs. “I just want to make sure you’re… satisfied.”

“I’ve cum once already, which is more than I can say for the last guy I was dating, so… I think you’re off to a good start.”

Wonwoo lets out a sigh. He never liked your ex.

“Okay,” he says finally. Then he kisses you again, beginning to move.

He’s found the perfect amount of depth. It’s deep, but not so deep that he’s hitting your strings or making you uncomfortable.

You give in to the feeling again, forgetting your little interlude as you’re taken over by pleasure once again.

Wonwoo’s fingers thread with yours, and he begins to moan again, getting close to the edge while pleasure builds within you, too.

“I think I can cum soon,” you tell him between kisses.

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, but his free hand moves between your bodies, and he begins to rub your clit, causing jolts of pleasure to erupt through you again.

You moan desperately, muscles tightening with each pass of his fingers, combined with his cock working your insides.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, gripping the feeling and refusing to let go as it builds-

Wonwoo lets out another groan, and the sound is so sexy it makes your insides twist into knots-

One more rub of his fingers on your clit has you exploding. Your core clamps down on him like a vice, a strangled gasp escaping you as the fireworks return, sparkling through you.

Wonwoo shivers, fucking you even harder, and a moment later, he lets out his own sound of pleasure. His thrusts falter, and although you can’t feel him filling your insides since he’s filling a condom, you can tell from the pulsing of his cock that he’s cumming too.

Your fingers thread through his hair, and you draw him close, both of you panting in the throes of passion.

His movements stop, and you both just stay still for a few moments, trying to regain composure after two explosive orgasms.

Wonwoo swallows thickly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

Then, he pulls out of you. There’s no mess of cum, no need to clean anything up, so once he’s gone to the bathroom to discard his condom, he returns and collapses into bed with you.

You immediately cuddle up next to his side, releasing a sigh of relief as his arms wrap around you.

For the first time, you can tell Wonwoo’s not thinking about anything, that he’s fully in the moment with you. He looks peaceful, and it makes your heart sing.

Who knew all it would take was an extremely awkward interaction over IUD strings to bring the two of you together like this?

He’s your person, he always has been, and he always will be.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! IUDs can be a shit show but nurse Wonwoo is so hot.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. There’s no contraption to break or misplace inside of you, and being birth control free with the intention of pregnancy feels a little something like liberation from the shackles that once dictated your sexual relationship.

cw/ tw. unprotected sex, baby making, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, eating out, body/nipple worship, blow job, hand job, baby making, dirty talk, praise, etc… I petnames. (hers) honey.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 160

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You and Wonwoo have been together for four years now, married for one, and life is complete bliss.

Sure, things can be difficult; after all, he’s now a full nurse, and hospital hours can be hectic. But outside of general life ups and downs, your relationship is as solid as it ever has been.

About a month ago, you’d gotten your IUD taken out. It was horribly uncomfortable to get the device removed, but it was almost comical to see the tiny little ‘T’ contraption that had kick-started the most important romantic relationship of your life. You were glad to see the little bugger go, and it’s absence now signifies the start of a new chapter for you and Wonwoo.

In the year you have been married, the two of you have slaved over finances and life planning, and now that your birth control has been removed, your doctor has given you the go-ahead to start trying for a baby.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut #thediamondlifenetwork #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #wonwoo svt #svt wonwoo #svt wonwoo smut #wonwoo svt smut

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prisonhannibal · 1 year ago

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the loumand relationship was actually crazy I can’t believe it lasted for 77 years. like imagine dating a guy who’s clearly not over his ex to the point that he hallucinates him when the two of you are on dates and even in bed with you and he says no when asked if you’re companions and you don’t really have compatible lives because you are a coven leader and he doesn’t really gaf about all that or the theater AND he has a daughter/sister but you don’t wanna be a step parent and told her she should die. then you massively fuck him over and try to get him killed bc you don’t trust that the relationship will last, but he survives (because of his ex) so you apologize and he tells you he will never forgive you, and then you guys meet up with the previously mentioned ex (who is also your ex, allegedly) who calls you a gremlin and your boyfriend rubs it in his face that he’s gonna stay with you forever just to hurt his feelings. right in front of you. and you literally got his daughter/sister killed so there’s that elephant in the room forever. then you stay together for twenty more years while you lie to him the entire time about what happened in paris and he fucks and kills 100+ guys and you’re clearly mad about it but won’t tell him. you get into the worst argument ever where you’re both horrible to each other and intentionally bring up each others worst traumas to hurt each other and he reveals that he finds you boring and that spending twelve hours talking to some guy he just met about his ex was more interesting than being in a relationship with you for decades. so obviously you hold the guy hostage and psychologically torture him and then wipe both of their memories. then presumably the relationship continues in the same deranged fashion for fifty years, where you do stuff like build shelves he can’t even reach because you can fly and he can’t, but at least you got an ipad to play on in bed when the two of you are lying half a meter apart in bed. then he decides to bring back the same guy from 50 years ago to do another interview and you listen to him talking lovingly about your (allegedly) mutual ex and how good the sex was for hourssss. and somehow your solution to all of this is to make the marriage work by constantly lying, manipulating him, deleting memories from his brain and spinning a whole web of lies that you had to keep going for more than seventy years just so he wouldn’t leave you for the ex. WHY ARE THE TWO OF YOU TOGETHER! why do you want to make this relationship last!! can’t even go to couples therapy because this is a whole new type of fucked that they don’t even teach in therapy school

#txt #louis de pointe du lac #armand #loumand

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sugxto · 16 days ago

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transformer (part one) - volt/reader. part two.

⋆syn: Eddie has had enough of Volt's mouth. You decide to try your hand at finally getting him quiet.

⋆wc: 3.8k

⋆cw: m/afab, g/n pronouns, dom/sub dynamics, dick riding, maybe some very mild choking, light bonade

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, lips, entrance, cunt and clit. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

This wasn’t going to go anywhere easily. You rack your brain, trying to figure out if there was any way you could manage to at least stop him trying to charm his way out of the wires.

The logical solution, you realized, was going to be to occupy his mouth.

You sit up, take a deep breath. “Eddie says you never know when to shut up,” you say, and when he makes a sound to retort, you put a hand over his mouth. His eyes flash and spark, growing bright at your boldness, and lighting a fire inside you. You like this look of surprise, you decide, like the way the fire starts to burn. “And I’m really starting to agree with him.”

transformer

It’s late, later than usual, when you make your way to the Breaker Box, and you know it won’t be terribly long before the boys are doing their last call. It’s been slammed the last few days, busier than usual, so you want to try and lend a hand if only for a few minutes.

It’s as lively as ever, working your way through the tables to the bar, smiling to yourself as you see Eddie behind the bar, drinks flying left and right. You have to stop yourself from running directly to him, but you know he’ll be all yours soon.

He doesn’t see you at first, when you round the bar, and you cautiously touch his arm to get his attention. His head whips around just as he snaps, “I’m coming -”

His face instantly relaxes when he realizes, and he kisses your cheek without a word. “Sorry spark.”

“S’okay,” you say, your small smile still on your face. “Busy night?”

He scoffs. “Isn’t it always?”

You nod, going to grab a rag, listening to Miranda’s solo as you try to clean up what you can around Eddie. But you’re surprised when, instead of Volt, it’s Barry you hear on the stage announcing the next act. He’s got the knack for it sure, all his flourishes, but -

“Eddie,” you say, looking around the club, sweeping your eyes over every inch you can find, “where’s Volt?”

Eddie doesn’t look at you, doesn’t answer immediately, just continues to fill a shaker. “He’s out tonight,” he finally says, throwing a rag over his shoulder.

You stare at him, waiting for more, but it doesn’t come. “Out?”

“Yep.” He throws the shaker around, still not meeting your gaze.

When the sound finally stops, you try again. “Out, where, Eddie? Is he sick?”

“He’s not sick.”

“Is he like, with someone?”

He fills two tumblers, passes them over the bar to Memoria and Cam, along with a plate of scrap garnish for Cam. When he turns to you, finally, you notice that the steel of his eyes is dark, hardened, and his voice is quiet, but there’s something else there you can’t place. “He’s out, live wire.”

Annoyance, you realize. He’s annoyed. At you?

You furrow your brows, cross your arms, and just stare at him, until he sighs, and he glances around the bar before stepping closer to you. “Sorry. Sorry. Look,” he looks around again, and grabs your shoulder to move you away from the patrons, “he’s upstairs, alright? But he’s not coming down tonight.”

“But why?” You look at him, incredulous, annoyance creeping into your own voice. “Eddie, is he sick? Can you get sick?”

“No, no, he’s…” he groans, runs a hand over his jaw, and he lowers his voice again, “he’s… tied up with something.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen, and you drop your voice. “Tied up with something?”

“Yes,” he says, crossing his own arms.

Again, you wait for him to provide just a little more context, and you roll your eyes when he doesn’t. “Fucks sake Eddie, why?”

He shrugs. “He pissed me off.”

“He - Eddie!” You were going to strangle him, this elusive, brooding man, whom you loved dearly. “First of all, you know you can just, tell me these things, instead of being so fucking cryptic.”

“You like when I’m cryptic.”

“No I don’t. Second. How did he piss you off?”

Again, he shrugs, but stutters when he sees that look in your eye. “He - he just does sometimes! You try living with someone you share a soul and emotions with, who knows every single way to push your buttons but somehow never knows when to shut up.” He points a finger up to the ceiling. “He likes to push me, so I pushed back.”

Hold on. They shared emotions?

This wasn’t the time to follow that thread, you told yourself, and you shift your weight on your feet. You didn’t like them being annoyed with each other, you decided, didn’t like how it pulled at your heart, despite a logical part of your brain knowing it was nothing, less than a drop in the bucket of what Eddie and Volt (and by extension, you) shared. This wasn’t how you did things, with cryptic and vague excuses.

“I’m going up,” you say, and you move to turn, but Eddie’s hand finds your shoulder.

“Spark, he’s fine, I swear. Some days he just wakes up and decides he’s going to be the biggest brat he can be.” He sighs. “I love him more than life, but he’s a fucking piece of work.”

You purse your lips, your shoulders slump. “I don’t like the idea of you two not getting along.”

“I… get that. But we’re fine. Swear. He’ll be alright when he finally gets what he’s after. I just had to delay it for a while.”

“And he’s after…?”

Eddie cocks a brow, gives you a knowing look with a hint of a smirk on his lips. His cheeks bloom with pink, and he pulls you closer, makes sure his voice is low enough that absolutely no one will hear it over the chatter of the bar. “He wants, to push me, to the point of where I’ll fuck him senseless. And I. Am not. Giving that to him.” He raises both brows. “Yet.”

A shiver runs down your arm at the mental image, Volt delirious from pleasure, a satisfied grin on his fucked out face. You know exactly the noises he’d make, how he’d plead, goad, beg with that sinful voice. It’s an… enticing scene, you think to yourself. Eddie must have the restraint of a saint.

You lick your lips, hoping your face doesn’t reveal these new thoughts of yours, and say with as nonchalant a voice you can manage. “Okay. Well. I still think I should check on him.”

Eddie nods once. “Fine. But live wire,” he points a finger at your face, meets your eyes with dark grey ones, “do. not. untie him. Cuz there’s plenty more wiring up there if someone else doesn’t listen to me. Understand?”

Perfectly.

The sight that greets you when you open the bedroom door is like something out of a dream - mouthwatering, gorgeous, electric. Volt’s naked skin is practically glowing, white wires wrapped around his hands and through the headboard, descending down and around his wrists. They blend into his white mess of hair, splayed across the pillows, and when he turns his head to you, white eyes spark to life.

(You think, before you remind your brain of the circumstances, he looks almost angelic.)

“Live wire!” He exclaims, the widest grin appearing on his face. He tugs a bit at the wires, tries to turn himself closer to you, but stays locked in place. “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.” He looks you up and down and licks his lips, the gleam of mischief growing in his eyes. “Any chance our darling Eddie sent you up to set me free?”

You see what Eddie means about him not shutting up. Volt’s voice could charm the pants off anyone in the house, he knows it too, and he is always trying to use it to his advantage. And Eddie is the only person perhaps with full immunity.

You clear your throat, try to only focus on his face, not how his wide, wide chest is shining, how he bent leg creates a line leading straight to his -

“He - no, he did not,” you say. Eyes eyes focus on the eyes. “He actually didn’t even want me to know you were up here at first.”

He tsks his tongue, and his lightning brows scrunch together. His eyes, though, don’t dim at all. “Aww, he wants me alone and aching then. Pity. Tell me,” he tries to shuffle himself up again, and fails, “did he tell you what I did to deserve such a treatment?”

You step closer to the bed, cross your arms. “He said you were, and I quote, being the biggest brat you could be, and you were only pushing him so he’d fuck you senseless.”

His laugh is like velvet, warming your body and frying your brain. He’s like a cat, sometimes, a tiger, that will play in your lap before biting your hand. “Well,” he purrs, licking his lips, “does that sound like something I’d do?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” He chuckles again, adjusts his legs - don’t look don’t look. “I suppose it does.”

“He’s pretty pissed at you.”

“Exactly. I like when he gets all rough and uncaring every so often,” he hums, maybe lost in thought for a moment. “You should try it sometime, spark. It’s quite a treat.”

Your mouth is suddenly dry, and you will your brain to stop making such filthy mental pictures of these men, and you grip your arm to snap yourself out of it. “I will… keep that in mind.”

The timbre of his voice lowers as his eyes find your lips. “Maybe I could give you a taste of something similar, hm? If you untied me?”

That does sound -

No! No no no!

This man is a silvertongue, you remind yourself, digging your nails into the skin of your arms, and Eddie’s threat blinks in front of your eyes, neon, like the sign of the Breaker Box. If you don’t listen, you are next.

You steel yourself, take one more step to the bed, hope your eyes don’t betray the lust growing inside you. “I can see why Eddie was so annoyed with you.”

He barks out a laugh, then hums as he puts his head back on the pillows. “He loves me. You love me, too, darling, don’t lie.” He turns back to you, a different spark in his eye this time. “Eddie says you can’t untie me then, yes?” You nod, and he smirks. “That doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun.”

Eddie may have full immunity. You, however, certainly did not.

“Fuck it,” you say, shedding your clothes and climbing atop Volt’s waist, trying to ignoring the shit-eating grin that graces his fucking face. Your hands run over his chest, his nipples, and he makes a small hiss at the touch.

“Amps sake, you are a welcome reprieve, little wire,” he purrs, bucking his hips up slightly, and tugging his arms at the wires. “I hardly want to wait to be inside you, feel you around m-”

“Volt,” you groan, pressing your hands to his shoulders, just enough pressure to keep him down, “do you ever turn it off?”

Volt only grins brighter, shakes his head the smallest bit. “It goes against my very nature, darling.”

“Okay, well,” you try very hard to think clearly, “you realize that’s probably why Eddie tied you up?”

“Very much so.”

This wasn’t going to go anywhere easily. You rack your brain, trying to figure out if there was any way you could manage to at least stop him trying to charm his way out of the wires.

The logical solution, you realized, was going to be to occupy his mouth.

He chuckles, the bastard, when you remove your hand to find the headboard, steadying yourself as you climb over his chest, neck, jaw, keep your legs around his arms. You feel his breath against your folds, and you lower yourself down, down to his waiting mouth.

You gasp when his tongue envelopes you, hot and full of sparks that shoot through your belly, your legs, all the way to your fingers. Your grip tightens on the headboard, needing stability, and you cast your eyes down to watch him.

Volt’s white eyes are locked on yours, hooded with lust, hunger, greed, as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and licking and making your legs already start to shake. He is so fucking good at this, you think, and -

Oh, actually. There’s an idea.

You lick your lips and try to relax your face, not wanting to show Volt just how quickly he’s gotten to you. “You’re so good at this, Volt,” you say, emphasizing the word like how Eddie does with him. “So fucking good.”

Volt hums against you, and you feel the graze of teeth, and fight back a moan. “You like to talk and talk and - ffuck - but this,” you huff out a breath at the smallest bite, “this is what your mouth is best at.”

It’s like Volt’s skin powers up with your praise, and you can practically feel him vibrating under you, working your folds like a man starved. You mean it, too - Volt in this position, his words, his tongue at your mercy, was certainly a dynamic that you could continue to support.

You feel his tongue prod at your entrance, and your fingers squeeze around the headboard. “Yes, Volt, yes, just like that - good boy, good - fuck!” you cry as he enters you, and it’s like fireworks teasing your skin. His eyes flutter closed, focusing solely on your pleasure, and you rock your hips just slightly, searching for more friction.

You inhale, shakily, and say in your honeyed voice, “J-just like that, baby, fuck if you make me cum, I’ll ride you, yeah?” You feel him moan in response, muffled under your weight. “You want me around your cock, don’t you? Yeah? Then you ha-have to be good, and make me cum.”

No sooner do you say it than you feel your climax building, under your skin and in your belly like a growing flame, and your grind against him again. His lips and tongue are everywhere inside your folds, your hole, all at once - it threatens to fry your mind, overheat your circuits, before you even realize it.

Your arms start to shake, and you watch his face as he works you, and you’re only able to say, “Yes, yes, Volt, so good, so fucking good, Volt, yes, yes!” as your orgasm overtakes you. You try to press your knees together, but his body keeps them separate, and he doesn’t stop his ministrations even as you start to shake. You hear him hum, moan, before finally forcing yourself up, and adjusting yourself to sit back on his chest.

Volt’s eyes are proud, and his smirk confident, his lips wet and shining from your slick. He makes a show of licking them clean, before saying, “Well, well, little wire. I rather like this side of you.”

You shove a hand over his mouth, still trying to catch your breath, and the resulting look in his eye is one you can only describe as devotion. “Volt,” you say, holding his gaze with what you hope displays composure, “I’m serious. This is when you should shut up. Okay?”

He pauses, only for a moment, before nodding. In other circumstances, the glint in his eyes would bring you worry, anticipation, over what he might do to you.

But, you remind yourself, in other other circumstances, you weren’t the one in control.

“Good.” You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Now I’m gonna fucking ride you until I come again.”

He’s finally silent when you remove your hand, watching you adjust your position over his body. When you find his cock, he makes a small groan in the back of his throat, but nothing more. His white eyes watch with rapt attention as you wrap your hand around him, hard, aching, and leaking pre from his tip. It’s enough that you’re able to use your thumb and coat the head, but it’s not enough, you know, so you give him a long, slow lick.

Volt hisses through his teeth, and the headboard rattles as he pulls at his arms, but still, he’s quiet. You work your tongue along the shaft, the blue veins, the head, coating him with your spit so he’ll slide perfectly inside you. His breath is heavy through his nose, and at one point, he throws his head back, his teeth grit together.

When you rise, and line your entrance up to him, you can’t help but curse and dig your nails into his skin as you lower yourself onto him. He makes you feel so full, so alive, like you’ve been plugged into a socket and are finally able to charge.

Tentatively, you lift your hips, then lower them, finding your balance, but still Volt is quiet. Good, you think, he’s finally listening.

You find your rhythm, fucking yourself up and down on his cock like you were made for it, and after a minute, you lean forward with your hands on his chest, keeping you steady. “You,” you moan, your voice raw with want, “have such,” you gasp when you feel him twitch inside you, “a perfect fucking cock.” You curse again when you bring your hips down, finding a delicious new angle. “But you, you know that don’t you?”

The flame of fight that was in Volt’s eyes has dwindled, replaced with unbridled need that sparks off of his skin. His jaw is slack, his knuckles white with the force of the fists he’s making, and his eyes haven’t left the sight of your his cock, disappearing inside of you over and over and over.

One of your hands, almost of its own accord, finds its way to his neck, and you give a small press of your fingers, feeling the beat of his pulse thrum under your skin. He preens at the touch, lifting his chin, giving you the access you want without even being asked.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, and his eyes practically sparkle, “letting me fuck you like this.” Your hips increase their speed, finding the exact angle you’ve been looking for. “Fuck, Volt, you’re making me feel so fucking good and y- fuuck,” you moan, clenching around him, “you’re not even touching me.”

You sit up, releasing his neck, and you hear him whimper at the loss, but you lean back and steady yourself with a hand on his thigh, and bring your other hand to your clit. You’re still sensitive from Volt’s tongue, and the touch makes you clench again, prompting another whimper from his lips. You have to ignore it, you tell yourself, as you find the movements you love, the fullness inside your cunt multiplying the pleasure tenfold. You blink your eyes open, find white one’s across the bed, and knowing he’s watching brings you almost immediately to the edge.

You moan Volt’s name as your fuck yourself on his cock and work your fingers over your clit, trying to focus through the haze of pleasure, the trying to make sure, when you inevitably climax, that Volt does. not. cum. You’re close, so close already it’s almost unfair, and you can’t stop it when, hardly without warning, it overtakes you, makes your whole body spasm and writhe, your fingers digging into his thigh for dear life. There’s no words, only cries of pleasure, and the feeling of his hard cock inside you is the only thing grounding you to your body.

When finally, you find the strength to open your eyes, the first thing you see is Volt’s face, his cheeks tinged blue and the muscles of his arms pulling as hard as they can against the wires. He is ruined, desperate, and it’s all because of you.

You feel drunk, high off your orgasm and the power you feel Volt feeding you. Even now, in your blissed out state, you know you still have practically total control over if he even comes or not.

Volt had said he liked this side of you. Maybe you could get used to this position.

“Live wire,” you hear, but it’s not Volt’s voice, it can’t be, he’s being quiet, and you whip your head around to the doorway.

Eddie leans against it, his arms crossed, his titanium eyes looking absolutely fucking thrilled. He says, with a tone of disbelief, “you have done something that I have only been able to dream about. You have gotten Volt to shut his fucking mouth.”

You feel your face flush, still hot from the orgasm, as he takes slow, careful steps towards the bed, grey eyes never leaving yours.

“Usually I have to gag him, force his face into the bed, but even then,” he huffs air out of pursed lips, shakes his head, “he’s the furthest thing from quiet.” He’s at the edge of the bed now, only a reach away from you, and your breath hitches when he brings one of his rough hands to your chin. “But you, our little wire. Got him perfectly quiet. How can I ever thank you?” Eddie’s eyes are just glowing with pride, with adoration, and you raise your own hand to touch the side of his wrist.

He pulls you in to meet his lips, his kiss so full of love it practically burns you, and you feel your body melt all over again. You think, somewhere far away, you hear Volt whimper, and remember his aching cock is still inside of you, but that’s not important right now.

When Eddie pulls away, you start to speak, but you’re unable to, as his fingers fly from your chin to your cheeks, pressing down on the sides of your jaw, hard. His eyes darken, and his voice is low, making goosebumps on your skin. “But maybe, I needed to be clearer downstairs. That, in addition to not untying him,” he squeezes again, and you gasp, “you also should not fuck him.”

Yeah, okay, he kinda got you there.

He releases your jaw, goes back to cupping your chin like it was nothing, and you swallow your words until you know he’s finished speaking. “But seeing as you have done me, you, the whole house a service that I thought impossible, we’ll just ignore that, yeah?”

You nod, daring to speak. “I think that sounds fair, Eddie.”

“Good.” He turns his gaze to Volt, and you turn to look at him as well. Eddie’s arrival has reignited that spark of fight, his eyes back to cocky, defiant. A challenge. But still, he’s quiet. Eddie hums his approval. “I would just love to see how long he can stay this way.” When he turns back to you, a smirk curves at his lips. “You wanna suck his cock while I fuck him senseless?”

And oh, wouldn’t you love nothing more.

#date everything #date everything smut #eddie and volt #volt date everything #date everything x reader #eddie and volt x reader #eddie date everything #eddie x volt #eddie x volt x reader #volt x reader

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glowettee · 5 months ago

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✧˖° studying without suffering: how to actually enjoy learning (yes, it’s possible)

✧˖° let’s talk.

hey angels, it's mindy!

most people treat studying like a punishment. something to be endured, not enjoyed. it’s that thing you force yourself to do, like taking bitter medicine or running a mile in gym class. but what if that’s the reason you struggle with it?

the secret? you were never meant to hate learning.

somewhere along the way, school made it boring. maybe you had teachers who sucked the fun out of it. maybe you associate studying with stress, deadlines, and exhaustion. but learning is supposed to be exciting. when you actually enjoy it, everything changes. you focus longer, retain more, and (ironically) spend less time studying because your brain actually absorbs the information.

so, let’s fix it. let’s make studying something you want to do instead of something you suffer through.

✧˖° ➼ step 1: detach learning from school

(school & learning are not the same thing. stop letting school ruin your curiosity.)

the first mindset shift? realize that school does not own learning.

➼ school is about structure, deadlines, and tests. it’s designed to measure performance. ➼ learning is about curiosity, deep thinking, and exploration. it’s designed to expand your mind. and help you grow as a person.

if you’ve only ever studied because you had to, your brain associates it with pressure. break that pattern. find something outside of school that you actually like learning about. philosophy, psychology, art history, neuroscience, fashion design, whatever makes you curious.

even if it’s unrelated to your classes, it rewires your brain to see learning as an intrinsic activity, not just an obligation. once you enjoy learning in general, you can transfer that energy back into your studies.

✧˖° ➼ step 2: romanticize the process (but actually make it feel good)

("romanticizing studying" doesn’t mean just buying cute stationery. let’s go deeper.)

sensory association is everything. your brain links experiences to the way they feel physically. so if studying feels uncomfortable, you’ll avoid it. the solution? make it a luxurious experience for your senses.

✧ visuals → clean, minimalist desk, soft lighting, aesthetic study materials ✧ sound → rain sounds, classical piano, lo-fi beats (music that enhances focus) ✧ touch → cozy blankets, warm tea, smooth pens gliding over paper ✧ scent → vanilla candles, fresh coffee, the pages of an old book

this isn’t just about aesthetics. it’s neuroscience. when studying feels pleasurable, your brain stops resisting it.

✧˖° ➼ step 3: use high-dopamine study techniques

(forcing yourself to study the “normal” way is why you hate it.)

some study methods are literally designed to be boring. ditch them.

instead, try:

➼ blurting method: instead of passively reading, close your book and write down everything you remember. then check what you missed. (way more engaging than just re-reading notes.) ➼ dual-coding: mix visuals with text. draw tiny sketches next to your notes. turn concepts into mind maps. watch a video explaining a topic right after reading about it. ➼ pomodoro stacking: instead of the typical 25-minute study sprints, customize it. (ex: 50 min deep focus + 10 min break with an actual reward.) ➼ interleaving technique: mix subjects instead of block studying. it forces your brain to stay engaged.

stop making studying harder than it needs to be. find what works for you, and your brain will stop fighting it.

✧˖° ➼ step 4: make studying social (but in a smart way)

(because you’re not supposed to do this alone.)

studying alone for hours? miserable. but studying with others who are just as serious as you? instant motivation boost.

but instead of chaotic group study sessions where no one gets anything done, try:

✧ parallel studying: hop on facetime or join a study livestream. silent, focused, but together. ✧ teaching method: explain concepts to a friend. if you can teach it, you truly understand it. ✧ study accountability: check in with someone daily. send each other your study goals, no excuses.

even just knowing someone else is studying at the same time can trick your brain into feeling more engaged.

✧˖° ➼ step 5: shift your identity

("i hate studying" isn’t a personality trait. it’s a mindset problem.)

if you keep saying “i hate studying,” your brain will never enjoy it. change the narrative.

➼ instead of “i suck at studying,” try → “i’m learning how to study in a way that works for me.” ➼ instead of “i can’t focus,” try → “i’m training my brain to focus longer every day.” ➼ instead of “i don’t feel like it,” try → “i’m someone who gets things done, whether i feel like it or not.”

become the type of person who enjoys learning. once that becomes your identity, everything else follows.

✧˖° ➼ step 6: create emotional attachment to your goals

motivation dies when your goals feel distant and impersonal. if you’re studying just because you “have to,” it’s easy to procrastinate. but if you link it to something deeply personal, it becomes non-negotiable.

try this: visualize your future self. imagine the version of you who already achieved everything you want. who is she? what does she do? how does she study?

then, make it emotional. ✧ if you dream of getting into your dream school, print pictures of it. make a vision board. ✧ if you want financial freedom, imagine the luxury of never stressing over money. ✧ if you want to be respected in your field, remind yourself that your knowledge is your power.

when you make studying personal, it stops being a chore. it becomes a commitment.

✧˖° ➼ step 7: stop making everything harder than it needs to be

(struggling doesn’t mean you’re working harder. it just means you’re struggling.)

too many people study inefficiently because they think suffering = productivity. but studying smarter is always better than studying longer.

some ways to make it easier on yourself: ➼ use study apps → quizlet, pomdoro apps for focus, notion for organization ➼ summarize like you’re texting a friend → rewrite notes in your own words, no unnecessary fluff ➼ study in “levels” → don’t jump straight into deep studying. warm up with light review, then increase intensity ➼ take advantage of spaced repetition → stop cramming, your brain retains more when you review over time

efficiency = less stress, better results. don’t work harder than necessary.

✧˖° ➼ step 8: replace toxic productivity with high-performance habits

studying 10 hours in one night ≠ academic excellence. true high-achievers prioritize sustainability.

➼ quit glorifying exhaustion. taking breaks improves focus. it’s not laziness. ➼ learn when to walk away. if you’re zoning out, step away. 10 minutes of real focus > 2 hours of fake studying. ➼ protect your sleep. all-nighters don’t make you hardcore, they make you ineffective. your brain processes info while you sleep.

the goal isn’t to study the longest. it’s to study in a way that keeps your mind sharp and focused.

✧˖° ➼ step 9: master the “dopamine pull” method

instead of forcing motivation, use dopamine to your advantage.

➼ habit stacking → pair studying with something enjoyable (ex: study while drinking your favorite matcha) ➼ mini rewards → after finishing a chapter, reward yourself with something small but satisfying ➼ gamification → track progress like a video game. every completed task = a “level up”

your brain loves dopamine. give it reasons to associate studying with good feelings.

✧˖° ➼ step 10: let go of perfectionism (but keep high standards)

perfectionism leads to procrastination and burnout. instead of striving for flawless, aim for consistent excellence.

✧ done is better than perfect. stop rewriting notes 5 times. ✧ progress is the goal. each study session should move you forward, even if it’s small. ✧ your worth is not your grades. strive for success, but don’t let school define you.

when you release perfectionism, you actually start achieving more. keep your standards high, but don’t let them paralyze you.

✧˖° mindy’s personal tips

(things that helped me romanticize studying & actually make it enjoyable:)

➼ set a 5-minute timer. just start. most of the time, your brain stops resisting once you begin. ➼ don’t let study guilt ruin your breaks. rest is productive. ➼ have a “study fit.” i swear, dressing up just a little makes a difference. ➼ invest in one high-quality pen. something that glides effortlessly. small detail, huge difference. ➼ study in cafés, libraries, parks. switch locations to keep it interesting. ➼ make it ✧ cozy ✧. fuzzy socks, oversized sweaters, soft blankets. your comfort matters.

✧˖° homework: rewire your study experience

➼ for one of your study sessions this week, try at least two of the techniques above. ➼ write a short journal entry: how do you want to feel while studying? how can you make that happen? ➼ change just one thing about your study setup that makes it more enjoyable.

then come back & tell me. did studying feel better? (you can always message me or send me an ask in my inbox)

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borderlinereminders · 1 year ago

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If you’re someone who needs reassurance from loved ones that they love you, that’s really valid. But the way you ask for it matters. Hinting at it with comments like “nobody loves me” can actually be hurtful to your loved ones. It’s also a good idea to try and reassure yourself first!

The truth is that for a lot of people, giving reassurance constantly is exhausting. It can lead to issues in a relationship over time, and negative feelings on both sides because they may end up avoiding the other person. This is especially true if someone doesn't ask for reassurance directly but hints at it with things like "No one cares about me."

My advice is if you are finding yourself struggling is to first try and self soothe either with skills or things that have helped in the past. Here is my post on self-soothing ideas! And if that doesn’t work, then ask for it in a healthy way.

Some other examples.

Keep screenshots, letters, cards etc that affirm you are cared about by your loved ones. You can even ask someone to give you a recording of them saying it that you can listen to. Bonus: Keep these things in a self-care box that you can use in times of crisis and pull out that has other things in like affirmation cards, favourite treats, self care items, etc.

Examine the evidence. By this I mean try and keep a list of things they've done to show they care about you. For example, I have a list of things my partner has done for me besides saying "I love you" of both big things and little things that I can read when my brain decides to be rude to me and make me doubt he cares.

If the other person has done something specifically to make you feel they don't care, it's important to step back and look at the situation and check the facts. There's a difference between someone lying to you or doing something intentional and someone not replying to you because they got busy. Here’s my post on checking the facts!

Here’s a post on Challenging Irrational Thoughts!

ACCEPTS is a really good skill for distractions! Here's a post on it.

TIPP is a good skill if you are needing to calm down in immediate crisis. Here's a post on it.

If you're having urges to accuse your loved one of not caring, consider Urge Surfing (here's a post on it) and then using a skill or plan that helps you.

If you aren't able to self-soothe that's so valid! It really is. I recommend trying it because sometimes you will be able to. But then sometimes you won't be able to and that's okay. In this case, if you need to get it from someone, ask directly for it instead of doing it in a guilting/passive aggressive/hinting way. You might say "Hey. I know you care about me, but my brain is being rude. Can you please give me some reassurance?" instead of "Sorry I'm such a bad friend/person/burden/etc".

It might also be worth having a conversation when calm with the other person to establish some boundaries and ideas for communication.

For example, if your friend regularly feels drained by you asking for reassurance, they could set boundaries on how often they're okay for you to ask for it.

You both might decide that they will try and message you randomly to offer reassurance because it can mean a lot when that happens.

This might be where they send you messages/recordings/etc that you can read in times of need.

If the friend is doing something specifically, even unintentionally, that makes you question things then it's really valid to have a discussion about it! I recommend using some I-Statements or other communicative skills to talk about it. Even if they aren't doing something wrong, it's still valid to talk about your feelings and see if you can come up with a solution. For example, maybe it's really hard on you that they disappear randomly for a couple days when their energy levels plummet. And this causes you to spiral and think they're ghosting you or etc. In this situation, maybe you and your friend come up with a solution where you establish a single emoji (specific for this purpose) that the friend can send with low energy that says "Hey. It's not you but I'm feeling drained and need to not reply for a bit."

#faq #reassurance #my post #informative

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quietdeparturesarchive · 6 months ago

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10 tips for a 10x better life

0 complaining

Complaining focuses your mind on problems instead of finding solutions. By shifting your energy to action and gratitude, you become more positive, productive, and resilient.

1 (cold) shower/day

Cold showers boost circulation, improve recovery, and increase mental toughness. Even warm showers help refresh your body and mind, setting the tone for a productive day.

2 liters of water/day

Proper hydration improves energy levels, brain function, and digestion. Dehydration can lead to fatigue, headaches, and poor concentration—so keep your water intake in check. Tipp: Use a large cup or bottle with 500ml or 1l. It'll help with building the habit if you don't have to get up after every glass

3 hours max screen-time

Excessive screen time can drain your mental clarity, disrupt sleep, and make you less present in real life. Setting limits helps you focus on meaningful activities and personal growth. If setting limits doesn't work: Delete the App that's distracting you the most completely off your phone. For me it was character.ai -> damn this app had me in a chokehold for some while...

4 day resistance training/workout

Regular strength training boosts metabolism, enhances physical and mental health, and increases longevity. Even a few sessions a week can improve confidence and energy. Doesn't mean you have to get a gym-membership -> just go on youtube and find a home-workout that works for you <3

5 mins daily meditation

Meditation reduces stress, enhances focus, and strengthens emotional resilience. Just five minutes a day can help you feel more present, clear-headed, and in control of your thoughts.

6 home-cooked dinners/week

Cooking at home allows you to control ingredients, save money, and eat healthier. It also builds discipline and strengthens your connection to the food you consume.

7 strangers spoken to per week

Engaging with new people improves social skills, confidence, and networking opportunities. You never know what connection, insight, or opportunity a simple conversation might bring.

8 hrs sleep/night

Quality sleep is essential for brain function, recovery, and emotional well-being. Lack of sleep leads to irritability, poor focus, and decreased productivity—prioritize a good rest at night!

9 thousand steps

Walking keeps your body active, improves cardiovascular health, and boosts creativity. It’s an easy, low-impact way to stay fit and clear your mind daily. Put on some headphones, open your favorite playlist and spend some quality time outside.

10 pages reading/day

Reading expands your knowledge, improves focus, and fuels personal growth. Just 10 pages a day can introduce you to new ideas, perspectives, and skills that elevate your life.

xoxo, sally

pic1 | pic2 | pic3

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cloudyluun · 5 months ago

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Easy Money | sugar daddy!harry

Summary: What started as a simple transaction—a way to make some quick cash—turns into something far more complicated when Harry refuses to keep things strictly business. He spoils you, adores you, falls for you. But when he finally confesses his feelings, you remind him this was never supposed to be real. The only problem? Somewhere along the way, it became exactly that.

Wordt Count: 8k

A/N: This was a very special request from one of my absolute favourite readers (you know who you are 😉). I had way too much fun writing this, so if you find yourself blushing, looking away from your screen, or needing a cold shower—just know, that was entirely the goal. Enjoy, you little troublemakers.

Warnings:

Smut (and a lot of it)

Sugar daddy arrangement turning very real

Power struggles in bed (both of them want control and it gets heated)

Dom!Harry / Bratty!Reader dynamics

Lots of teasing, dirty talk, and tension so thick you could choke on it

Angst & emotional turmoil (Harry catches feelings first and it hurts)

Over-the-top romance (he spoils her, worships her, and claims her)

Explicit language

Mentions of financial struggles

Soft, clingy aftercare that will make you feel things

Read responsibly. Or don’t. Just don’t blame me when Harry Styles takes over your brain.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Your phone buzzes with another notification from your bank. You already know what it says before you even look, but the sinking feeling in your stomach urges you to check anyway.

LOW BALANCE ALERT

You sigh, thumb hovering over the notification before swiping it away. As if ignoring it will make the problem disappear.

It doesn’t.

Bills are due. Rent is due. Your student loans are a monster looming over your shoulder, their presence suffocating no matter how much you try to ignore them. Every paycheck disappears the second it hits your account, and no matter how many shifts you pick up or how much you cut back, it’s never enough. The math simply doesn’t math.

You’ve tried everything.

Taking extra hours at work? Done. You’re already stretched thin, running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

Side hustles? Tried. You’ve scoured every "easy ways to make money" list on the internet. You’ve filled out mind-numbing surveys for pennies, signed up for focus groups that never picked you, even considered selling pictures of your feet, only to chicken out the second you realized you had no idea where to even start.

Asking your parents for help? Not an option. The thought alone makes your stomach twist with shame. You’re an adult. You should be able to handle this.

But you’re drowning.

And tonight, after another long shift, after tipping your last few dollars to the bartender in a desperate attempt to pretend you have your life together, you lie in bed, scrolling through your phone, searching for something. A solution. A miracle. A quick fix that doesn’t exist.

Your searches grow more desperate. How to make money fast. How to pay rent when you’re broke. How to get a sugar daddy—

You pause.

The words stare back at you from the search bar, your heart skipping a beat as you realize you actually typed it. You weren’t even thinking. Just letting your thoughts spill out onto the screen, every insane idea passing through your exhausted brain.

But now the idea is there.

And worse—it isn’t immediately repulsive.

It’s not like you don’t know what a sugar baby is. You’ve heard the stories, seen the jokes. Older, rich men paying younger women just to be in their presence. Some arrangements are physical, sure, but plenty aren’t.

And it’s not like you’d actually do it.

…Right?

Your finger hovers over the search results, heartbeat picking up. You tell yourself you’re just curious. Just looking.

Twenty minutes later, you’re staring at the App Store. A bright pink logo sits on your screen, the words SUGAR DADDY APP – FIND YOUR ARRANGEMENT TODAY! flashing below it.

You chew on your lip, pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is insane.

This is absolutely insane.

But what if—

What if it’s just casual meetups? Just talking. Just dinner. Some of these girls are getting their rent paid just for going on dates. What if that could be you? What if this is the answer?

What’s the harm in looking?

Before you can second-guess yourself, your thumb presses download.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The app opens, welcoming you with a sleek, luxurious design; gold accents, elegant fonts, a promise of “mutually beneficial arrangements.” The signup process is shockingly easy. You pick a username, upload a picture (nothing scandalous, just a cute selfie), and fill out your bio.

“Young, fun, and a great conversationalist. Looking for someone who appreciates good company. Nothing serious.”

That should do.

Messages start coming in immediately.

And it’s exactly what you expected.

Older men with awkward, borderline sleazy messages. Some are direct, offering money in exchange for explicit favors. Others try to be charming but still give off a transactional vibe. None of them make you feel… good.

You sigh, already regretting this. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe you should just—

MATCH!

A notification pops up at the top of your screen. You glance at it, ready to roll your eyes, until you see the name.

Harry.

You blink. That’s… different.

You click on his profile, expecting the same thing you’ve seen all night. But your breath catches.

He’s young. Well—not young, but younger than the rest. Late thirties, maybe early fourties. Sharp jawline, green eyes, a dimple that softens his otherwise serious expression. Dressed in a crisp, expensive-looking suit, but his tattoos peek out from beneath the sleeves, a contradiction that instantly intrigues you.

He doesn’t look like he belongs here.

But then again… neither do you.

Your pulse quickens as you stare at his profile, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard.

What do you even say to someone like him?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitation creeping in. A simple hi feels too basic. A joke might come off as trying too hard. But before you can overthink yourself into oblivion, a new notification pops up.

Harry sent you a message.

Your stomach flips. You exhale, steadying yourself before clicking to open it.

"Didn’t expect to find someone like you on here."

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. There’s no awkward proposition, no sleazy opener, no immediate offer of money in exchange for something degrading. It’s casual, almost intrigued. He follows up before you can reply.

"Not complaining, though. You look like you have good taste in wine."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It’s charming. Simple. Not overdone. And weirdly enough it works.

Your eyes flicker back to his profile. It really is almost too good to be true. His pictures look professional, but not in the this was stolen from someone else’s Instagram way. They’re polished but natural. He’s sitting in a sleek black car in one, leaning against a marble bar in another. His bio is short, to the point.

“Successful entrepreneur. Generous. Looking for good company, good conversation, and good wine.”

There’s no cringey flexing. No desperate attempt to lure someone in. Just confidence. And it makes you nervous.

Still, you answer.

"I do. But I don’t let just anyone buy me a glass."

A beat. Then:

"Let me take you to dinner and prove I’m worth it."

Your stomach knots. You tell yourself you should be skeptical, that this is exactly how people end up in shady situations, but… there’s something different about him. He doesn’t reek of desperation. He’s not trying to corner you into anything. If anything, he almost seems amused.

Still, you’re cautious.

"That depends on the restaurant."

His response is instant.

"Le Jardin."

Your breath catches. That’s not just a restaurant. That’s the restaurant. The kind of place that has a six-month waitlist and a menu with no prices because if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Before you can even process it, another message pops up.

"I’ll pay you $3,000 just to show up."

You sit up so fast your vision tilts.

Three. Thousand. Dollars.

For dinner? For a couple of hours of your time?

Your heart pounds. Your rent is barely half of that. That kind of money would give you breathing room, let you live for a moment instead of just surviving.

Your fingers tighten around your phone. Your brain is screaming at you to say yes. But a small part of you hesitates.

You’re not stupid. You know nothing comes for free.

"And what do you expect in return?" you finally ask.

His reply is simple.

"Dinner. Conversation. That’s all."

You swallow. You want to believe him. And against your better judgment… you do.

Your fingers shake slightly as you type out your answer.

"Alright. I’m in."

You set the phone down, staring at the screen as the reality of what you just agreed to sinks in.

You tell yourself it’s just transactional.

No expectations.

No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like something else?

You shove that thought aside as you get ready.

You’ve never been to a place like Le Jardin, never even been within walking distance of it, but you know what kind of people dine there. The rich, the powerful, the ones who don’t check price tags or worry about overdraft fees. You’re not one of them, and it makes your stomach twist as you stand in front of your closet, trying to figure out what to wear.

You settle on a sleek black dress—nothing too extravagant, but elegant enough to blend in. You keep your makeup simple, your jewelry minimal, but when you step in front of the mirror, something about your reflection feels different. Almost like you belong in this world. Like you could make someone believe it, even if only for one night.

The car Harry sends for you pulls up right on time. The driver is professional, dressed in a crisp suit, and doesn’t say much beyond a polite, “Miss?” as he opens the door. The ride is smooth, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, and the entire time, your fingers twitch in your lap.

You tell yourself this is just a dinner. Just a business transaction. Just easy money.

But then you step into the restaurant, and your breath catches.

Le Jardin is breathtaking. Soft golden lighting, high ceilings, waiters gliding between tables like they’re floating. Everything about it screams exclusivity, like you’ve just stepped into a world not meant for people like you.

And then you see him.

Harry.

He stands as soon as he spots you, and for a second, the air shifts.

You were prepared for him to be attractive—you’ve seen his pictures, you knew what to expect—but this? This is something else entirely.

He’s tall, broad, the tailored lines of his suit clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth dry. Dark curls, sharp jaw, green eyes that flicker with something unreadable as he watches you cross the room.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky I-have-you-right-where-I-want-you grin, but something softer. Something that makes his dimple crease and his eyes warm.

It’s almost disarming.

He pulls out your chair before you can even reach for it. “You look stunning,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum that slides down your spine.

You blink at him, thrown off. You expected arrogance, maybe a smooth line or two, but instead, he sounds almost… genuine.

You let him push in your chair, smoothing your hands over your dress as you settle in. “I try.”

He chuckles, a quiet thing, and as he takes his seat across from you, you realize he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

Not in the way the other men on the app did, like they were already calculating what they’d get out of you. No, this is different. It’s like he’s trying to figure you out, like he’s curious.

The waiter appears, offering an expensive bottle of wine without asking if you’d like to see the menu first. You don’t even know how to pronounce the name, but Harry just nods, thanking the server before turning back to you.

“So,” he says, resting his elbows on the table, fingers laced together. “Tell me something about you.”

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

“Anything.” He shrugs. “Something that’s not in your profile.”

You hesitate. You could give him something basic, something easy. But for some reason, you don’t want to.

“I hate tomatoes,” you say, watching for his reaction.

He blinks. Then laughs. A real, full laugh, his head tipping back slightly.

“Alright,” he says, still smiling. “Not what I expected, but I respect it.”

The conversation flows effortlessly after that. He asks questions—genuine ones—not just about you, but your thoughts, your opinions, things that have nothing to do with the arrangement. And he listens. Really listens. Holding eye contact like he’s hanging onto every word.

The food arrives—meals you can’t even begin to describe, flavors so rich you feel out of place eating them. But Harry makes it easy, never letting the moment feel intimidating.

At one point, he cuts a bite of his dish and lifts it toward you.

“Try this.”

You don’t even think twice. You just let him. Let him feed you, his fingers brushing the corner of your lips as you take the bite.

It doesn’t faze you.

But him?

He’s gone.

It’s subtle—the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second longer than necessary—but you catch it. And for some reason, it makes you smile.

Dessert comes, and he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, absentminded motion, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Can I see you again?” he asks.

The look in his eyes is something you can’t quite place.

You don’t hesitate.

You nod, lips curling slightly.

You’re getting paid, after all.

That’s what you tell yourself when the gifts start rolling in.

At first, they’re subtle. A bottle of perfume left on your doorstep, the kind you’d never splurge on for yourself. The packaging alone screams luxury, sleek and weighty in your hands. You hesitate before opening the attached note, curiosity bubbling in your chest.

“Reminded me of you. - H”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. You spritz a little onto your wrist, inhaling. It’s warm, sensual—notes of vanilla and something darker, richer. Expensive.

And then it doesn’t stop.

A few days later, a box arrives. Big this time. Too big for just perfume. You tear through the pristine wrapping to find a designer handbag nestled inside, the leather buttery soft beneath your fingertips.

Your first thought is: What the fuck?

Your second thought is: How much did this cost?

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes.

Harry: Saw this and thought of you. Hope you like it.

You blink down at the message, at the bag, then back again.

Is this normal? you wonder. Is this what this arrangement is supposed to look like?

You send back a single text.

You: You’re insane.

His response is immediate.

Harry: I like spoiling you.

You don’t know what to do with that, so you just… let it happen.

At first, it’s funny. It feels like playing a role, stepping into a world you don’t belong in. You make jokes to yourself every time another absurdly expensive thing lands in your lap.

Then come the texts.

They start out simple, routine check-ins that could easily be brushed off.

“Morning, love. Hope today isn’t too stressful.”

“Made it home safe?”

“Sleep well?”

But then they start happening like clockwork.

Every morning, without fail—

“Good morning, darling.”

Every night—

“Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You laugh when you read that one, shaking your head. It’s charming. Ridiculous.

And then there are the touches.

He kisses your forehead when he greets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he hands you a drink, his fingers brush yours, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. When you walk into a room together, his hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady, like he’s guiding you, claiming you.

The thing is… you don’t encourage it.

But you also don’t stop it.

Because—if you’re being honest?—it’s kind of cute.

And, really, what’s the harm?

You meet up with him again. And again. It becomes a pattern, slipping into your life with alarming ease. Lavish dinners, expensive outings, stolen moments where he looks at you like you’re something rare, something fragile.

Then, one night, it happens.

You’re seated across from him at a dimly lit restaurant, the hum of soft jazz filling the air. Your wine glass is half-full, your plate mostly cleared, and he’s been watching you all night—watching in that way he does, like he’s memorizing you.

And then, almost absentmindedly, he stirs his drink and murmurs, “Didn’t like being away from you today.”

You barely register his words at first, too focused on the way he swirls the amber liquid in his glass.

But then he looks up.

And there’s something there.

Something warm, something vulnerable.

“Missed you,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You snort, reaching out without thinking, patting his cheek lightly. “That’s adorable.”

He huffs out a laugh, but he leans into your touch like a man starved, like it means something to him.

And that’s when it hits you.

Like a freight train, like a sucker punch to the ribs.

You’re in it for the money.

He’s in it for love.

You know it now. You’ve known it for a while, haven’t you? If you really take a second to think about it, you’d realize that every expensive gift, every lingering touch, every look of pure, devoted affection was leading up to this.

You should’ve seen it coming.

Maybe you did, but you ignored it. You chose to believe that this was just fun for him the same way it was fun for you. That he was playing along with the fantasy, indulging in the illusion of something deeper—just because he could.

Because it was easy. Because it was nice.

Because it meant neither of you had to be alone.

But Harry?

Harry was never playing.

And tonight proves it.

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. You knew it would be.

With Harry, everything is excessive. He likes to spoil you, to spend absurd amounts of money just to watch your reaction. It’s fun for him, you think.

But this is different.

This isn’t just extravagant. This is romantic.

The entire penthouse-level dining room is bathed in golden candlelight, the glow flickering off the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the entire city. The table is set for two, an elaborate spread of silverware and delicate wine glasses that you already know you’ll be too nervous to touch. The scent of fresh roses lingers in the air, overwhelming but intentional.

It’s the kind of setup someone arranges when they’re about to propose.

The thought makes something uneasy curl in your stomach.

Harry has been off all evening. Not in an obvious way—no, he’s still charming, still soft-spoken, still perfectly polite.

But he’s quiet.

More than usual.

His touches have been different tonight, too. Deliberate. Lingering. When he pulled out your chair for you, his hands skimmed over your shoulders, his fingers trailing against your skin like he was memorizing the feeling. When he handed you your wine glass, he let his fingertips brush over yours, his touch slow, like he needed it. When you made a joke about the ridiculous amount of forks in front of you, he didn’t just laugh—he looked at you like you’d just hung the moon.

And the way he’s looking at you now?

Like he’s about to say something you won’t be able to take back.

You should stop this.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because you’ve spent so long pretending that this—whatever this is—can exist in some untouchable space. That as long as you don’t acknowledge the shift, as long as you don’t name it, it will stay the same.

But you were wrong.

And Harry?

Harry is about to prove it.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of music in the background, the flicker of candlelight making shadows dance across his face.

And then—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your entire body locks up.

The words don’t register at first, like your brain is physically rejecting them.

Because, no.

No, that’s not what this is.

That’s not what this was ever supposed to be.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, something hot crawling up your spine, your throat suddenly too tight, your hands suddenly too still.

You blink.

He’s still looking at you.

Still waiting.

Like this is the moment everything changes. Like this is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Like this is the moment he gets you.

But he doesn’t.

He won’t.

You inhale sharply, your pulse roaring in your ears, the weight of his confession settling onto your chest like a ton of bricks.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you, holding you there like an anchor. Like he can sense that you’re about to run.

You swallow hard.

“Harry…”

The smile on his lips falters. Barely.

But you notice it.

You notice everything.

The way his fingers twitch. The way his eyes search yours, desperate. The way his jaw clenches, like he already knows.

You have to do this.

You have to say it.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve him open.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve yourself open.

You take a breath.

“This isn’t real.”

It’s quiet. A whisper. A tiny, fragile thing.

But it shatters him all the same.

You see it.

The way his entire body stills. The way the warmth drains from his face, his hands slipping away from yours so slowly, so painfully, like he’s forcing himself to let go.

Like he doesn’t want to.

But he has to.

His throat bobs.

His eyes flicker, something shifting in them—something soft breaking, something hopeful dying.

“Not real?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like it physically hurts him to ask.

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

Because what do you even say?

What could you possibly say to fix this?

To fix him?

To fix the way he’s looking at you like you just ripped the ground out from beneath him?

You weren’t supposed to mean this much to him.

But you do.

And that’s the problem.

The problem isn’t that he loves you.

The problem isn’t that he confessed.

The problem isn’t even that you saw it coming and did nothing to stop it.

The problem is that when he looks at you like this—like this—you don’t want to stop it.

His hands are still cradling your face, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. Like if he just holds you tightly enough, he can will you into feeling the same way he does.

And maybe he can.

Because something about the way he’s looking at you now makes something deep in your chest ache. Makes something warm coil low in your stomach, makes your fingers tremble against the tablecloth.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t still be sitting in this candlelit penthouse with him.

You should say something sharp and final, put an end to whatever this is before it gets worse. Before he gets hurt. Before you get hurt.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because his eyes are flickering over your face like he’s memorizing you. Because his lips are parted, his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Because when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, wrecked.

“It is for me.”

It knocks the air right out of you.

It’s not pleading. It’s not even a question.

It’s just fact.

And you feel it—God, you feel it.

He has never been playing.

Not once.

Not for a second.

This was always real for him.

And now?

Now, it’s real for you, too.

You should pull away.

You should.

You should tell him you’re sorry, that you never meant to let it get this far, that you never meant to make him fall for you.

But instead—

You tilt your chin up, let your gaze lock with his, let the tension between you thicken and twist until there’s only one way this ends.

“Then make me believe it.”

It’s barely a whisper. But he hears it.

You know he hears it.

Because his entire body reacts—his grip on your face tightening, his lips parting, his chest rising with a sharp inhale.

And then, before you can think, before you can breathe, before you can stop yourself—

His mouth crashes onto yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

It’s months of lingering touches, of stolen glances, of suppressed feelings exploding all at once.

His hands slide from your face to your jaw, tilting your head up, angling you the way he wants, the way he needs. His lips move against yours with a hunger you’ve never felt from him before, all-consuming, his body leaning forward until you have no choice but to grab onto his shirt, fisting the fabric in your hands to keep yourself steady.

You gasp against his mouth, and he groans, deep and guttural, swallowing the sound like it belongs to him. Like you belong to him.

And maybe you do.

His hands are everywhere now—sliding down your neck, tracing your collarbone, curling around your waist as he yanks you toward him. The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, pulling you up with him, pressing your body flush against his.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging, and he growls, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You don’t care.

You don’t care about any of it anymore.

Not the arrangement.

Not the money.

Not the way you told yourself this wasn’t real.

Because right now, with his lips hot and insistent against yours, his body pressed against you like he needs you to breathe—

It is.

It is real.

And you want more.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, your fingers tugging at his shirt, nails scraping down his back.

He groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “Say it again.”

You shiver.

His voice is different now. Lower. Rougher.

More possessive.

You lick your lips, tilting your head, letting your nose brush against his. “Harry.”

It’s all he needs.

He moves fast. One second, you’re standing by the table, and the next, he’s walking you backward, his grip firm but gentle, like he’s guiding you, like he’s making sure you want this.

And you do.

God, you do.

The backs of your legs hit something soft—one of the long velvet couches lining the floor-to-ceiling windows��and then he’s pushing you down, following you without hesitation, his hands bracketing your hips, his body pressing you into the cushions.

His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, kissing, nipping, claiming.

“You have no fucking idea,” he rasps against your skin, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You arch beneath him, your breath stuttering.

“How long I’ve waited for you,” he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers dragging over bare skin.

Your nails dig into his back.

This is different.

This isn’t just sex.

This isn’t just fulfilling an arrangement.

This is him showing you what he means.

This is you finally admitting what you want.

“Then show me,” you breathe.

He does.

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

He surges forward, claiming your lips again, this time slower, deeper—like he’s savoring you, like he’s tasting something he knows he’ll never get enough of. His hands tighten on your body, strong fingers splaying against your ribs, dragging up, up, up, until his thumbs are teasing along the sides of your breasts, just enough to make you arch into him.

A low groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he kisses you harder, as his tongue sweeps against yours in a kiss so deep it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

And then he’s moving, lifting you effortlessly from the couch like you weigh nothing, like you belong in his arms. His grip is strong—possessive—one hand on your thigh, the other curled around your back as he carries you across the room.

His lips never leave yours.

His kisses are slow now, teasing, dragging, pulling soft whimpers from your throat that he swallows like they belong to him.

He walks you straight to the bed, laying you down like you’re something precious, something breakable.

But you’re not breakable.

And when he starts to pull away, you don’t let him.

You grip his shirt, fisting the fabric, yanking him back down until he’s hovering over you, his body caging yours in. His breath is heavy, uneven, his eyes blown wide and desperate.

“You want to take your time?” you murmur, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt, sliding them through the fabric one by one, teasing.

His jaw clenches.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, voice low, rough. “For months.”

Your lips curl.

“So why are you still dressed?”

Something snaps.

Harry growls, yanking his shirt off in one swift motion before his hands are back on you, slipping under your dress, pushing the fabric up, exposing skin he’s been dying to touch.

“You think you’re in charge?” he mutters, mouth against your throat, kissing, nipping, dragging his tongue over the spot that makes you shiver.

A smirk plays at your lips.

“I know I am.”

His fingers tighten on your hips. “Not tonight.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s got you flat on your back, hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head as he stares down at you, chest heaving.

And fuck, he’s beautiful like this.

Eyes dark, lips swollen, hair falling into his face, body hard and tense against yours.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, his fingers tracing over the pulse point in your wrist.

“Good,” you whisper back.

His lips crash against yours again, hungrier this time, rougher.

He’s not just kissing you—he’s devouring you.

And you let him.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips up, grinding against the hardness pressing between your legs, and he hisses, his grip tightening.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “D’you have any idea what you do to me?”

You smile, slow and teasing, tilting your head, lips brushing against his jaw.

“Show me.”

He does.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, exploring.

He strips you slow, torturous, dragging the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his lips brushing over your collarbone, his hands palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp.

“Harry,” you whimper, arching into his touch, nails dragging down his back.

He groans, sucking a mark onto your skin, his tongue flicking over it, soothing, before he starts moving lower.

His mouth trails over your ribs, your stomach, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slow, too slow.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the inside of your thigh.

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching. “You.”

His teeth graze your skin. “Be specific.”

You bite your lip, staring down at him, the way he’s kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry, waiting.

You reach down, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly. “I want your mouth.”

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Good girl.”

And then his mouth is on you.

You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, fingers tightening in his hair as he licks, sucks, devours you like he’s starved.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s too much and not enough all at once.

His tongue moves slow, deliberate, teasing, and when you let out a breathy moan, he groans against you, gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he eats you like he’s trying to ruin you.

Like he’s claiming you.

Your thighs tremble around his head, pleasure building too fast, too strong, and he knows, because he presses his tongue against your clit, flicking, sucking, driving you insane.

“Harry—fuck—”

“Come for me,” he rasps against your skin, voice rough and commanding, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you do.

You unravel beneath him, your body arching, pleasure washing over you in waves as you cry out his name, your fingers tight in his hair.

He works you through it, his mouth never leaving you, softening the strokes of his tongue until you’re panting, trembling beneath him.

Then he’s moving, crawling back up your body, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pushes his hips against yours.

He’s hard, straining against his pants, and you reach down, palming him through the fabric, making him groan.

“Your turn,” you murmur, eyes dark, wicked.

His breath hitches.

You flip him over, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists to the bed, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath stuttering.

“You like that?” you tease, rolling your hips against him.

His jaw clenches. “You have no idea.”

You smirk. “Then let me show you.”

And you do.

You roll your hips against him, slow and deliberate, feeling the thick press of him still trapped beneath layers of fabric. His breath shudders, his fingers twitch where you’ve got them pinned, but you don’t let up. You grind down again, watching his jaw clench, the way his body tenses beneath you, all muscle and restraint.

“You like being underneath me?” you tease, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, feeling the way his abs tense at your touch.

His eyes darken. “Don’t push me, love.”

You lean down, just enough for your lips to ghost over his, barely brushing, teasing, taunting. “Or what?”

His breath hitches. Then he growls.

A low, dangerous sound that sends heat pooling between your thighs.

He bucks his hips, trying to shift the power, but you press down harder, hands splaying over his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Fucking hell,” he grits out, head tipping back against the pillows. “You’re a tease.”

You smirk, rolling your hips again, slower this time. “And you love it.”

His hands flex against the sheets, his muscles straining beneath you like he’s dying to grab you, flip you, take back control. But he doesn’t. He lets you have it—for now.

“That’s it,” you murmur, leaning down, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, nipping lightly at his pulse point. “Be good for me.”

He groans, his fingers twitching, desperate to touch.

But you don’t let him.

You grab his wrists again, pressing them firmly into the mattress, locking him in place as you start moving properly, rocking against him, dragging the thick outline of his cock right against your soaked panties.

His breath shudders.

“Jesus fuck,” he rasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second, chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

You roll your hips harder, the friction sending pleasure shooting through you, and when he lets out a strangled moan, you smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, running your tongue along the shell of his ear. “Does it feel good?”

His jaw clenches so hard you think it might break.

“Y’think you’re in charge, hmm?” His voice is thick, rough, dangerous.

Your lips curl as you grind down again, harder this time. “I know I am.”

Something snaps.

In a blink, Harry moves.

One second, you’re in control—the next, you’re not.

With a low, feral growl, he rips his wrists free, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back so fast your breath catches. Before you can even react, he’s on you, pressing you into the mattress, his body heavy, his hands rough.

“You think you can tease me like that?” he murmurs, eyes dark and dangerous as he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

You inhale sharply, shivering at the sudden shift, at the way he’s towering over you, at the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Maybe I wanted you to break,” you whisper, testing, teasing, pushing.

His grip tightens.

“Fucking hell, you’re a brat.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

His lips crash against yours.

It’s rough, desperate, all tongue and teeth, like he’s punishing you, like he’s claiming you. You moan into his mouth, arching up, pressing your body to his, feeling the hard lines of him against your softness.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he grinds against you, letting you feel how much he wants this.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, rolling his hips harder, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “You feel that, baby? Feel what you do to me?”

You whimper, nodding, your head spinning, body thrumming with heat.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, sucking hard at your pulse point, leaving marks. Claiming you.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands clutching at his back, nails digging in. “I feel it.”

“Yeah?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, dangerous. “You ready to stop playing, then?”

Your breath hitches.

You smirk. “Make me.”

His eyes flash.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, threatening. “You’re gonna regret that.”

His hand suddenly fists in your hair, tilting your head up just enough for his lips to hover over yours, breaths mingling, tension thick and electric.

“As much as I love watching you think you’re in charge,” he murmurs, his voice thick, deep, commanding, “I need to fuck you. Now.”

A shiver racks through you, but before you can respond, he moves.

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, pressing you down into the mattress, his hands everywhere—gripping your hips, running up your sides, ghosting over your ribs like he’s savoring every inch of you.

“My turn,” he breathes, dragging your wrists above your head, holding you still as his mouth finds your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your heated skin.

You try to shift beneath him, to gain some control back, but his grip tightens, fingers wrapping around your wrists, pinning you down completely.

“Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing down your back, teeth grazing over already-sensitive spots.

You whimper, squirming, desperate for more, but he takes his time, teasing, torturing, his touch featherlight as he drags his fingers down the curve of your spine, over the swell of your ass.

“You’re too fucking pretty like this,” he mutters, mostly to himself, squeezing your hips, dragging you back against him so you can feel exactly how hard he is. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your breath stutters, body burning, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“Harry,” you whimper, rolling your hips back, silently begging. “Please.”

He groans, low and dark, his restraint snapping.

“Yeah?” he taunts, lips ghosting over your ear as he presses his chest to your back. “You ready for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, arching against him, needing, aching—

But he still makes you wait.

Dragging his hand between your thighs, he strokes you with maddening slowness, gathering your wetness on his fingers, groaning at how ready you are.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “Dripping for me already?”

You whimper, nodding. “Harry, please—”

Finally, finally, he aligns himself with you, pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, waiting—

“Look at me.”

His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes—dark, hungry, wild.

He watches you, waiting, holding you there in the moment, making sure you feel it before he gives you what you want.

And then—

He thrusts in.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you open, deep and overwhelming.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he buries himself inside you, his grip bruising on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he grits out, his voice rough, ragged, vibrating against your skin. His head falls forward, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, breath hot and uneven. “You’re so—shit, you’re so tight.”

You arch beneath him, back bowing, body tightening around him in response, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he splits you apart, the way he holds you still, like he’s savoring the feeling, savoring you.

Your hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white as you try to ground yourself, try to keep from losing yourself completely.

He must sense it, the way your body trembles, because his grip softens, fingers splaying over your stomach as he kisses your shoulder, slow and tender.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, voice strained but gentle. He noses along your skin, pressing his lips to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

His free hand finds yours, threading his fingers through yours against the mattress, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him before he moves.

And then—

Then he ruins you.

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, pushing deep, making your breath hitch, making your fingers tighten around his.

Then another. And another. Each movement calculated, precise, dragging against every nerve ending inside you, pulling you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips.

His rhythm starts slow, deep—like he’s savoring the feeling of being buried inside you. Like he wants to take his time, to make you feel him, make you remember this.

But it doesn’t last.

The control snaps, his patience evaporating like steam off your overheated skin.

He growls, the sound primal, desperate, as his hands shift—one gripping your hip, the other pressing against the small of your back, keeping you in place as he pounds into you.

The bed shakes beneath you, every thrust sending ripples through your body, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours, lips brushing but never quite kissing, too lost in the moment, too consumed by the way your body wraps around him.

You can barely breathe, barely think, all logic drowned out by the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, wrecking you.

You meet every thrust, grinding back against him, chasing your high, needing, aching—

He notices, because of course he does.

“Yeah?” he pants, voice rough, strained. “You want it, baby? Want me to fuck you like this?”

You nod frantically, gasping, moaning his name, nails digging into his forearm, marking him, branding him.

He growls at the sting, his hand tightening on your hip, holding you still as he drives into you, faster, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dimly lit room.

And then—

Then he shifts, pulling out just enough before slamming back in at a new angle, hitting deeper, stroking against that one spot that makes you see stars.

You cry out, arching, body tightening around him, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave.

His hand moves from your hip to your thigh, gripping, hitching it up, opening you wider, letting him sink in even deeper, making you feel every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he pants, lips brushing against your temple, damp with sweat. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles.

It’s too much. The pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of it all.

Your body locks up, toes curling, back arching as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in violent, shattering waves.

You tremble beneath him, gasping his name, clenching around him so tight that he lets out a broken moan, his movements stuttering, losing rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck—”

And then he’s gone, head tilting back, mouth falling open as he lets go, spilling into you with a guttural groan, his entire body tensing before he collapses on top of you.

The only sound in the room is your combined panting, heavy and uneven, the sheets tangled beneath you, bodies still pressed together, skin damp with sweat.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, pressing one last, lingering kiss there before he whispers, voice hoarse and spent—

“Mine.”

The word settles between you like a slow-burning flame, flickering, catching, spreading.

His breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling against yours, his weight a comforting anchor rather than something pressing you down. His arms stay locked around you, like he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t plan to.

And for the first time, you don’t want him to.

You don’t move. You can’t move.

His fingers start tracing slow, lazy patterns along your spine, light and absentminded, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

His touch isn’t just post-bliss reflex. It’s deliberate.

It’s different.

And you feel it.

You feel it in the way his body stays molded against yours, in the way his lips linger at your temple instead of pulling away, in the way he wants to stay close—like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

This was supposed to be an arrangement. A job. A transaction.

But the way he’s looking at you now?

It’s anything but.

You shift slightly beneath him, just enough to see his face, to meet those green eyes that are softer than they should be, searching yours, waiting.

And he knows.

Of course, he knows.

Harry’s always been able to read you better than you’d like.

His fingers drift up to your cheek, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw, his touch gentle—so unfairly gentle for someone who just ruined you minutes ago.

You should get up.

You should remind him of the rules, of the terms, of the fact that this was never supposed to mean anything.

But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is—

You don’t want to leave.

You don’t want to pull away.

And that realization knocks the breath out of you faster than anything else ever could.

Harry’s eyes flicker down to your lips, back up to your eyes, something vulnerable creeping into his expression before he speaks.

"Tell me you feel it too."

His voice is low, careful, but there’s an edge of uncertainty underneath. Like he’s terrified of your answer.

Like he needs it.

You open your mouth, hesitate—because this is the moment. The moment where everything changes. The moment where you either run, or you jump.

And you jump.

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t have to.

Instead, you reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down.

And you kiss him.

Not because you’re supposed to. Not because it’s part of the act.

But because you want to.

Because you don’t want this to be about the money anymore.

Because it isn’t.

Not anymore.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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#harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut

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wannabespacesmuggler · 11 months ago

Text

L.H. | Scotty Doesn't Know

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Scott Summers made two things clear for Logan when he first arrived at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters: stay away from his girlfriend and don’t even look at his little sister. The former was easy. The latter, though? That one’s a little harder for Logan.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Summers!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence

Word Count: 2.2K

Author’s Note: So, your boy has seen Deadpool and Wolverine too many times and is currently experiencing Hugh Jackman brain rot. Had to write something after listening to "Scotty Doesn't Know" by Lustra and then it just kinda just took on a life of it's own. Let me know if you guys want more Logan fics because I'm so obsessed with this man rn.

“Just doing maintenance, or are you going for a ride?”

Logan looks up from where he was working on his bike. He damn near almost bites through the cigar in his mouth when he spots you leaning against the garage door. He shouldn’t be surprised; despite his best efforts, Logan always seems to be accompanied by your presence -- both at the mansion and in the field. It’s not that he wants to ignore your existence. Scott Summers made two things clear for Logan when he first arrived at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters: stay away from his girlfriend and don’t even look at his little sister. Logan wanted to scoff at Scott’s warning: opposed to public belief, he’s not actually an animal.

The former was easy -- Jean made it abundantly clear that she’s in love with Scott. The latter, though? That one’s a little harder for Logan -- especially when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re just as fascinated with him as he is with you.

“Just working.”

You nod at his answer as he returns his attention to his bike, putting out his cigar in the process. His bluntness is unsurprising, but no matter how often Logan tries to blow you off, you still feel the harsh sting of disappointment. Logan Howlett is an enigma to you. A problem you just can’t seem to find the solution to. You’ve always gotten along with Logan and work well enough together that Charles often pairs the two of you up on missions. He protects you with his life in the field. He’s the first to offer you a helping hand when he notices you struggling. He consistently provides support after every mission that goes awry. It would be easy to consider him a friend; however, Logan has always kept you at a distance. He brushes you off whenever you ask if he wants to do something simple like share a drink or watch a movie.

At first, you thought it was because he was afraid of you -- of your mutation. Just like your older brothers, you have the ability to manipulate energy. And just like your older brothers, you have difficulty controlling your powers without the help of external factors -- Alex had the suit, Scott has his glasses, and you have two siphons that you wear on either wrist. Without them, energy builds up in your body until it cannot be contained and then escapes through the only place it knows how -- your hands. The siphons help regulate the amount of energy coursing through your body, and most importantly, they give you the power to choose when and how to disperse it.

During one of your missions, one of your siphons was destroyed. You and Logan were fighting for your lives against an anti-mutant militia after being separated from the rest of the X-men. The two of you were outnumbered and on your own since communication with the team had been cut off. Logan was willing to fight to the death against these soldiers, and you were prepared to back him up until the end. During the fight, Logan got pinned down by multiple assailants, and you watched helplessly as they attempted to decapitate your partner. You felt the familiar sensation of energy building throughout your body as you struggled against your own group of attackers. All hope seemed lost until one of the soldiers nailed you in the back of the head -- hard. The hit caused you to fall forward, and you braced yourself, using your hands to catch your falling body. As your hands connected with the ground, an energy field shot out of your hands. You prepared yourself for another blow, but it never comes. The chaos around you suddenly seemed to turn into an eerie silence. Finally, you look up and let out a shaky breath as you take in the carnage caused by your energy field. Everything around you was completely eviscerated -- everything except Logan.

Logan let out a low, pained groan, and you watched in horror as his body heals himself from the wounds you inflicted. You looked down at your hands in shock. It’s been ages since your powers were this volatile. Since you felt this out of control. At this moment, you noticed the state of your left siphon -- wholly shattered. No wonder you weren’t able to control your powers.

The sound of your name eventually pulled your attention away from your hands. Looking up, you saw Logan cautiously approaching you. His concerned eyes scan your body for any injuries and once he seemed certain that you’re okay, he met your gaze.

“We need to get out of here.”

It wasn’t until the you were back on the jet with the rest of the team, that Logan approached you about what happened in the field. You were sitting away from the others at the back of the jet, studying your broken siphon. Suddenly, a pair of large hands cover yours, obscuring your siphon entirely. You look up and see Logan knelt in front of you.

“You good?”

He didn’t move his hands from yours as he spoke and you relished in the contact. A dry laugh escaped your lips as you considered his question.

“I couldn’t control myself out there, Logan. Without my siphons, I’m just as dangerous as the enemy out there.”

Logan’s face softened at your words. He understands why you’re so panic-stricken right now -- knowing all too well how it feels to lose control.

“Hey. Look at me, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

You scoffed at his words. Of course he’s fine. He’s damn near indestructible, but you saw the aftermath of your outburst. Saw the devastation caused by your hands. Those same hands that Logan is now tightening his grip around -- grounding you back in reality.

“Seriously. You might think you were a liability out there, but you saved my life.”

You met his eyes again and are taken aback by the sincerity you found in them.

“I could have killed you.”

And there it is -- what’s actually eating you up inside. He’s aware of the fact that your powers could have killed any of your teammates -- including himself. But they didn’t. He’s here with you, unafraid, because even though you think your powers are something that should be feared, he just finds them remarkable.

“I know. Trust me, I know. But you didn’t.”

You nodded at his words, feeling a little more at ease. Your heart dropped as he removed his hands from yours, but instead of walking away, Logan took a seat next to you. He didn’t say another word, but he didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to settle you down.

After that day, you thought maybe something changed between you and Logan. Although there was a newfound understanding and sureness with one another -- he still kept you at arm’s length. In all honesty, the whole situation confuses the shit out of you.

“Did I do something that upset you?”

Logan’s brow furrows at your question, and his eyes finally find yours again. He doesn’t drop the tool in his hand, but he’s shifted his body to face yours now.

“What?”

“Did I do something that upset you?”

Logan shakes his head as you repeat your question, looking at you incredulously. He doesn’t understand where this outburst is coming from.

“What are you talking about?”

Your brow furrows at the genuineness of his confusion. How could this man not know what you’re talking about?

“Do you like working with me?”

Logan blinks at your words. Now he’s completely lost. He sets down the tool in his hand and stands up, crossing both of his arms over his chest.

“What’s this all about, sweetheart?”

You let out a frustrated sigh and run your hands through your hair. If only this man knew how infuriated he makes you. So, he won’t drink a beer with you at the end of the day, but he’ll throw around the name ‘sweetheart’ like it’s nothing? The man is simultaneously your favorite and least favorite person.

“I’m just trying to figure out what I did that pissed you off.”

Logan scoffs at the idea as if you’re the one being ridiculous here. And, to Logan, you are being ridiculous. The only thing that’s ever pissed him about you is completely out of your control -- if only you weren’t Scott’s little sister.

“I’m not pissed at you.”

You genuinely want to pull your own hair out right now.

“Are we friends?”

Friends. The word hurts Logan more than it should. Actually, it shouldn’t hurt at all. That’s what you both are, right? Just friends and partners in the field. Except you’ve never been just a friend or just a partner to Logan. Not really. But he can’t do anything about that.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, but his posture is still defensive.

“Then why won’t you just drink a beer with me?”

Oh. Oh.

Logan supposes that his behavior is odd. Friends are expected to spend time together and well, the only time he spends with you is during training sessions or missions. Your whole relationship is grounded in the two of you working together, but somehow, it’s turned into something more intimate. The tender moments between missions and the tension during intense training sessions -- although Logan had attempted to make clear boundaries with you, the lines blurred at some point, and now Logan is left with the consequences.

“It’s complicated.”

He’s not wrong. He knows himself. His feelings for you were already complicated enough. If he were to close the distance he made between the two of you? Well, he may not actually be an animal, but he’s not sure if he could control himself.

“Oh, is it?”

You’re frustrated. And you’re no longer leaning against the garage door. No, you’re standing just a few feet away from him now -- hands on your hips defiantly. Logan rolls his shoulders back, trying to stop himself from lashing out against you. You try to ignore how his muscles flex against the thin white tank top he’s wearing due to the movement.

“Yeah, it is. I promised Scott…”

“This is seriously about my brother?”

“Well, yeah.”

You let out a dry laugh. This whole situation is absurd, but you should have known. Without Alex around, Scott feels the need to be the overprotective older brother. He’s warned you about Logan countless times since he first arrived at the mansion, but you never really listened to him. It always seemed ridiculous to you -- especially since the dangerous man he constantly warned you about was the same man he trusted to protect you during every mission. Of course, Scott also cautioned Logan to stay away from you.

“He may be my brother, but he doesn’t get to make my decisions for me, Logan.”

You take a step towards Logan and he watches you with an intensity that would make you uncomfortable if it were any other man. But this isn’t any other man.

“And he doesn’t get to choose who I spend my time with.”

And in this moment, Logan knows that he’s fucked. You’re fiesty, and headstrong, and determined -- all attributes that he admires in you. If you’ve decided that he’s the person you want to spend your time with, then who is he to argue?

“So what do you say -- wanna go for a ride?”

A wild grin spread across his face at your question. Little do you know that he’s thought about this exact moment more than he’ll ever care to admit. Throwing all caution to the wind, he grabs his leather jacket and climbs on his bike. You watch him with bated breath as you wait for his response. Instead of giving you an answer, Logan kicks the starter, causing the motorcycle to roar to life. A part of you is afraid that you misconstrued your relationship and that this is all going to end with Logan riding off on his own. But then Logan looks back at you, eyebrow raised playfully.

“You coming, sweetheart?”

Without a second thought, you climb on the back of his bike. Logan revs the engine once before glancing back at you again.

“You might want to hang on.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands slide under his leather jacket and wrap around his waist. Logan tries to fight off the shiver that begs to travel down his spine as he feels the warmth of your hands against his abdomen through the thin cotton fabric. He wonders if you know what you do to him -- how hard it is for him to pull away when he’s in your presence. It’s like you're a magnet made just for him.

“When your brother finds out…”

The laugh that escapes your lips is like music to his ears. And as you press your body closer to his, he decides that even if he’s going to hell for this, at least he gets to experience the heaven of this moment right here.

“What Scotty doesn’t know, won’t kill him.”

Logan shakes his head before peeling out of the garage. God, the Summers family is going to be the death of him.

#logan howlett #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men #x men fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x deadpool

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darkmatilda · 6 months ago

Text

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

JJ couldn't help but snort.

“Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition.

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice. “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?”

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spence reid

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lowkeyren · 1 year ago

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reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

gepard aven sunday vers here!

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again.

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang.

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours.

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now."

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...” yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes…

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?”

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!”

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder.

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends.

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it.

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

✧.*

masterlist gepard aven sunday vers here!

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fear-is-truth · 7 months ago

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# BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S ❝SUGAR BABY❞ AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM — HCs

warnings — slowburn. brief mentions of sex synopsis — being a broke college student that caught the attention of none other than bruce wayne a/n — this is the fluffy slowburn sfw version… the 18+ one is still in the works

it started when you were a broke college student in your early twenties, juggling classes, part-time jobs, and an unrelenting mountain of bills. bruce wayne, freshly thirty, was already a household name—gotham’s elusive billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

you first crossed paths at a charity gala, where you were working as a server, weaving through the crowd with a tray of champagne flutes. you’d only seen bruce wayne in tabloids before, so when you caught him leaning against a marble pillar, watching you, you simply froze.

“you seem a little… distracted,” his eyes flicked to the tray you balanced expertly. “nervous, or just tired of all this nonsense?” you gave him a polite, slightly weary smile. “neither. just trying to get through the night without spilling on anyone important. still got a paper to finish.”

his lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t press further. at the end of the night, though, you found an obscene tip tucked beneath his empty glass—crisp hundred bills folded neatly, more money than you’d made all week.

weeks later, he appeared again—this time at a hole-in-the-wall café near campus where you worked part-time. it wasn’t his scene; he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tailored black coat, looking utterly out of place among the students.

he didn’t say much that first visit, just ordered black coffee and left another ridiculous tip. but he came back. again and again. sometimes he’d stay long enough for a brief conversation, other times he’d sit quietly in a corner, newspaper in hand. it wasn’t just the tips that stuck to you—it was the way he listened. bruce never made you feel small or dismissed your struggles, like so many others did.

when he first offered to help you financially, he did it with tact that left you room to preserve your pride. “you’re working too hard,” he said one evening. “let me take some of the weight off—just until things settle. consider it an investment in your future.” there was a sincerity in his voice that made it sound like a practical solution rather than a handout.

accepting his help wasn’t easy. you’d been so accustomed to clawing your way through life that the idea of someone else shouldering your burden felt unnatural. after days of hesitation, you finally agreed—but only on the condition that you’d pay him back one day. bruce had only nodded, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk, like he knew you never would.

he never made you feel indebted, though. if anything, he treated it like helping you was a privilege.

when your ancient car finally gave up, bruce didn’t even wait for you to ask for help. within the week, a sleek, brand-new model was delivered to your apartment, the keys tucked into an envelope with a simple note: you need something reliable. you tried to thank him, but he just waved it off. “just focus on getting where you need to go.”

your decrepit laptop, with its constant crashing and refusal to load anything on time, was next. one day, you came home to find a pristine, state-of-the-art model sitting on your desk, already set up and ready to use. you didn’t even have to ask.

bruce never demanded anything in return. the closest he came to asking for favours were the occasional lunches or dinners where he’d pick your brain about your studies, your ambitions, your dreams. he always seemed genuinely interested, never letting the conversation veer into anything too personal unless you led it there.

you realized over time that it wasn’t just the money, the gifts, or even the way he treated you like an equal—it was the steady presence he provided. bruce wasn’t there to fix your life or control it; he just wanted to make it a little easier. and somehow, that made all the difference.

when you stayed up late working on papers, bruce would sometimes settle on the couch nearby, a novel in his hands. he never intruded, but his quiet presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone. on particularly rough nights, he’d bring you a cup of tea without saying a word, setting it gently beside you before returning to his book.

on your birthday, he surprised you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers—something you’d mentioned in passing months ago—and a beautifully wrapped box containing a classic hermès birkin. the card attached to it read simply, “something to carry all those books in.”

his gifts were always thoughtful, never ostentatious in a way that would make you feel uneasy. designer coats, shoes, and bags—each impeccably tailored to your taste, yet discreet. the labels were always tucked away, hidden in folds and linings. they were things you could wear without being worried you’d get mugged. nothing about them screamed, “i have a sugar daddy.”

bruce never tried to “buy” your affection. you didn’t owe him anything—not in the transactional way most would expect. he just wanted to see you comfortable, to help you in ways that went beyond financial support. and, over time, you realized you cared for him too—not for what he could give you, but for who he was.

he had an uncanny ability to remember the smallest details about you. the way you took your coffee. the name of the professor whose lectures you dreaded. how the sound of rain on a window always calmed you. those little moments of attentiveness.

at first, bruce kept you at arm’s length emotionally, cautious about pulling you deeper into his complicated world. but as the months went by, as your late-night talks stretched into early mornings, it became clear that bruce didn’t see this as a favour or an obligation. he cared for you in a way that went far beyond surface-level kindness.

when you went through a bad breakup, he didn’t try to fix it or console you with empty platitudes. instead, he just wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest.

it wasn’t long before the line between benefactor and friend blurred entirely. he was no longer just footing your bills or buying you thoughtful gifts—bruce got greedy. he didn’t just want to take care of you financially; he wanted all of you.

one night, you were venting about your professors, frustration pouring out in a messy jumble of words. bruce listened intently, brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, giving you his undivided attention.

“you’re too nice to me,” you blurted, the words slipping out like a spew of vomit. before doubt could creep in, you leaned forward and kissed him. it was a kiss that changed everything—as you half expected him to gently push you away, his hand came up to cradle your face, deepening it.

the kiss led to one thing, then another, and before you knew it, you were tangled together in his sheets, lost in his kisses, his touch, his quiet attention to your every reaction. bruce wasn’t just passionate; he was thorough in a way that unraveled you completely—it was hands down the best sex you’d ever had.

when you woke up the next morning, still tangled in his arms, a wave of uncertainty hit you. maybe it was nerves or overthinking, but you couldn’t stop wondering if you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have. sensing your unease, bruce kissed your shoulder, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “i hope you know this changes nothing… we’re fine.”

and just like that, you became his official “sugar baby.” not that the dynamic between you two changed drastically—it simply gave bruce an excuse to really spoil you.

the secrecy was part of the thrill, but also a necessity. bruce wasn’t ready to let the world know, and truthfully, you weren’t either. the thought of being reduced to a tabloid headline or a shallow label like “sugar baby” or “sugar daddy” felt like a betrayal of the genuine connection you’d built.

he started sending you to your favourite spa on weekends, claiming you deserved a break from all the stress. when you protested that it was too much, he just shrugged. “self-care is important,” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

your closet, which had been a collection of fast fashion and thrifted pieces, was slowly replaced with the row, max mara, burberry, and dior.

your jewelry collection grew as well. delicate van cleef & arpels bracelets, tiffany & co. pendants, and diamond-stud earrings from cartier found their way into your life. he gifted you a dainty rolex, understated yet stunning, with a cheeky note: “don’t be late to class.”

despite all of this, bruce was careful to ensure it never looked like you were “living large.” you stayed in your same modest apartment, though it was clear his influence was woven into the details: a state-of-the-art security system, upgrades to your furniture and appliances that made life a little easier.

dinners became a regular occurrence, whether it was a reservation at gotham’s most exclusive restaurant or an extravagant meal in his penthouse.

when you graduated, bruce was there, blending into the crowd in a simple black coat, inconspicuous among the sea of families and friends. you didn’t spot him at first—he wasn’t the type to draw attention when he didn’t want to—but when your eyes finally landed on his, he gave you the smallest of nods. after the ceremony, he approached you quietly, slipping a small velvet box into your hand. you opened it to reveal a key.

“what’s this for?” you asked, already overwhelmed, fingers trembling slightly. “your new apartment,” he replied simply. then, after a pause, “unless… you’d rather move in with me.”

from then on, everything changed. bruce wasn’t just your benefactor; he was your best friend, your confidant, and eventually, your lover.

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cursedcola · 7 months ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle (Here) | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal:

Bargaining (Inherited AND Developed): No partner of Azul's is a shmuck. Not because of his standards (a little bit), but because you will learn to negotiate through trial and error. Being his pearl does not exclude you from daily verbal tango. He can and will still come after Ramshackle if given the opportunity. What? Just come stay in Octavinelle. He won't even charge for it, and you can bring Grim. He is always three steps ahead. Buying him a present is like the world's most daunting task, because he somehow already knows what's inside the box. Every. Time. Even if you shop a year in advance. Don't even start with arguments. He has a rebuttal for EVERYTHING. There is never a winner, only a settlement because he is so stubborn (and you equally so. Pride is contagious). As adults you're constantly exposed to business deals and sometimes have to deal with handling negotiations. Not to mention people with grudges against Azul attempting to shmooze their way through you. Only to find that you are just as manipulative.

"Pearl, Jade says that our deal with the Bas triplets for the next semester has been renewed? I hadn't scheduled their extension meeting until the first Saturday of next month. Would you have anything to say on this?" <- Long story short, the triplets tracked you down to beg for help in getting out of their work contract with Azul. He was always fair, and they entered willingly. No corruption on his part...but they were hell bent on not working in the kitchens with Floyd anymore. Solution? You managed to shmooze an extra week on their terms, in exchange for not being put on Floyd's shift anymore. Azul is so proud - but don't do that again. You're the one telling Floyd he doesn't get to play 'spot the difference' with the triplets anymore. Not him.

Smell Sensitivity (Developed): Nothing shanks the nostrils like sea brine. No pun intended. Lingering around Octavinelle equates to constantly smelling fish. Most students there come from the coral sea and don't mind it. Others only stop in for a quick bite to eat, and don't stay a moment more. The Mostro Lounge just has a potent smell that can't be found anywhere else. Like McDonald's french fries...but fish. Grim loves it, you now get nauseated when a scented candle is lit.

"Must you pinch your nose? Think of my- Octavinelle's reputation for a moment" <- Azul is brewing a scent masking potion as we speak. You're really hitting his pride here, even if you can't help it.

Glasses Wipes (Developed): Octopunk heats up when you so much as touch him in public. Then his glasses get foggy. If you wear makeup, its smears on his skin (to which he acts unbothered, but we all know it's a ruse). He obviously carries a hankey but having some wipes on hand is a nice gesture. Unnecessary, but sweet-ish.

Refined Pallet (Inherited): The cup ramen and foraged greens just do not cut it anymore. Not when Azul's made a VIP menu over at the lounge just for you. Sure, the place has a variety of options but he'll always get Floyd to cook up whatever you're in the mood for. At a discount (since Grim can eat him out of pocket). Have you ever had 100% dark, sea-salt chocolate imported from the coral sea? Ever tasted it in a rich devil's cake, baked fresh with only the best ingredients? Betty Crocker, who???

"I must say, your diet could still use some work - do not look at me that way. The twins found your hidden stash of instant noodles during our 'occupation' at Ramshackle. Under the stairs, pearl? Really? When was the last time your sodium was checked?"

Aversion to Sea Food (Developed): You will never understand how the Coral Sea students are okay with the Mostro Lounge. Neither what was running through Azul's head when he decided to open a SEA FOOD restaurant. Honestly? Red flag. One you ignored, but still a red flag. The existence of merpeople and therianthropes is still new and novel to you. To each their own, but you can't eat any sea creatures knowing that it could be - no, it can't be? Floyd's always joking that Azul is tasty but...it's just a joke, right?

"As much as Floyd loves to special make your chicken strips with wedges...why do you never order from the public menu? I assure you, Mostro Lounge is supplied with only the highest quality - h-huh? What crazy thoughts are you having?! Honestly!" <- This explains so much. He always thought you stared at the food with envy, because Grim would eat your pocket out and leave you to sip on lemon water. He had to force the special 'vip' meals down your throat at the start. is this why you're so uncomfortable having lunch with Floyd and his weekly Takoyaki binge?

Appraisal (Developed): Ever see those shows where a professional goes around to antique markets, and can point out forgeries, fake gems, etc. by eye? That is Azul. He's a collector of gadgets and gizmos aplenty - anyway. Strolls through antique marts, coin collecting showcases, and other marketing events will undoubtably train the eye over time. No scammer will ever shmooze ya out of house and home. Sorry Sam.

Habits He Steals:

Jacket (Developed): Mermen run cold. The uniform blazer Azul dons is more-so just for show than anything. Clothes are overall a novel concept, since most in the coral sea dress minimalistic (or not at all). The lounge runs quite chilly as well. Not enough to deter customers, but the perfect temperature to get uncomfortable after a few hours. Now Azul has many jealous bones in his body, and would rather drop dead than see one of the leech twins loan out their blazer so you can nap in the back room (they're doing it on purpose). Azul often offers his coat out to you the moment you walk inside - so often, that all the part-time workers know if you're on lot if he's walking without it.

"I need my jacket back, please. Why? N-no particular reason. Do I need an excuse to wear my own clothes?" <- Ruggie - Mostro Lounge's most reliable and simultaneously difficult part timer, mind you - was the first to pick up the correlation. If the VIP lounge was shut, and Azul was out doing quality rounds? It meant you were in the back, and he was in a better mood. The perfect time to sneak a platter unnoticed. Azul must take precautions.

Snitches Get Stitches (Developed): ONE perk of living with ghosts. Honey you get ALL the tea on campus. You just need to butter them up with a game of pranks and it’s ripe for the taking. Now, who do you think is going to make full use of this? Azul. They won’t give it to him directly because it’s more fun to make him frustrated. Which means he has to go through you. *Which means* he gets very crafty in buttering you up for details.

Midnight Hour (Developed): This mainly applies to his adult years. Wherever he goes - business or otherwise - you come with more often than not. As a youth his dealings were important - yes. Yet he was still getting his swimming legs in business and his primary demographic was students. Contrary to his pride, Azul wasn't someone important. Someone actually worth targeting like the Briar Prince. The real world is much more risky. You can help with negotiations and running facilities. You might 'think' he is tossing you into the end zone with all his ambitions...but no. Any dealings with high-stake confrontations are handled only after midnight.

"Two-o-clock in the am hours. That is the latest I can offer - well, it seems we've reached an impasse. This deal clearly is not worth my effort, if such 'accommodations' are beyond your capabilities. Allow one of my partners to escort you off the premises." <- Let's make one thing clear. No contract is ever worth putting you at risk. One twin (usually Jade) will remain at his side, the other (Floyd...because he's honestly not the best for negotiations. More guard dog material, and has fun hanging out with you) back with at the house/hotel. Azul doesn't trust 'anyone', and the Leech family is obviously in business with him. He takes no chances, screw probability, and can't kill the inner control-nerd in him. He's never out past three-am and would rather you feel a bit left out then dead somewhere in the Stillwater.

Land Legs (Developed): Considering he will be on land more for the foreseeable future, Azul puts more effort to building his land legs. Not that he wasn't trying before, but there wasn't any guarantee that he'd be working the land beyond NRC. So with the reassurance that 'something' (someone) will require his attention on shore, he decides to invest the effort. Azul will not get on one of those flying deathtraps past academy years though. He's getting a license and pulling up in a new Bugatti.

Pictures (Inherited): Much to Azul's chagrin, you love photos. Maybe it's because you have little to recall from your own world. Maybe it's because you're in the photography club. Maybe it's because you love his misery - but you are always taking photos. At first he insisted that you never get him in the frame. He hates them. Still does, do not misunderstand...and the idea of someone having so many with him included eats him up. Yet his insistent denials do lessen, and he tolerates them. You cannot post them anywhere. Yet...he will only 'mildly' grimace when looking at them around your house. Only because who the heck is coming over that he hasn't approved of?

"This picture? Ah...that is my dear pearl. They are breathtaking, are they not? I truly am the most fortunate man alive. Ah. My apologies, let's return to discussing the contract terms. May I see your completed punch-card?" <- And because you're in them too. As a youth, he kept your photo on his desk in the lounge. Sometimes a client would ask about you, and he'd lapse for a moment before folding the frame down and out of their view. He'd tuck it away whenever you came around, but would talk to it when alone. About his day, his work, whatever first year came crying because Floyd used them as a dart board - and dare I say that he'd keep a family photo in your later years together. Azul hates pictures of himself, but not as much as he loves ones of you. Look at him. Big softie.

—

"Of course. I have remarkable potential as an instructor, do I not? Is it not a great fortune to have me as one's partner? Take this as a lesson that your boss can influence even the most lost souls." == Azul shows no reservation. The moment he caught two part-timers gossiping about your 'conversion' to the 'dark side'. Why, he was positively beaming. His grin wide with a touch of something sinister. Gossip is fine, but they should know better than to do so in his den. Anything noteworthy would undoubtably reach his ears with time, but oh was it a joy to watch them squirm. Honestly. They're fortunate that he's in such a good mood - what was intended to be slandering has just made his day. They're still getting put on shift with Floyd though. He's merciful, yet no martyr.

Habits you steal:

Foraging (Inherited): You are always looking around for plants to propagandize. It's like stealing but not - because Crowley doesn't have any 'rules' about it so...heh. Free food. Jade's a living encyclopedia when it comes to botany and agriculture. He's the whole reason you've got a mini apothecary going in the kitchen and that instant-noodle stash got amped up in flavor. What? you ever add some fresh mushrooms and green onions to that instant chicken yakisoba? Mwah. The mountain lover's club needs to look out, 'cause the Ramshackle Prefect is about to bleed campus dry for every last specimen.

Yapping (Developed): Spinning off the above 'route'. Many people think Floyd's the talkative twin. Nah. This motherf*cker does NOT shut up. He treats you like his second conscience, asking questions he doesn't expect to be answered and giving commentary like your own personal narrator. Who needs thoughts when he literally says everything before you can think it? Floyd salutes you - 'cause finally. Finally, it isn't him subjected to Jade's inner spiels. Sorry Shrimpy, you are a sacrifice he's willing to make. If you ever break up or fight with Jade - Floyd's going to hunt you down - he can never go back. Never.

On a side note, you're an excellent listener now.

Tea (Inherited): Do you hate tea? No you don't. Not Jade's tea. There isn't much to comment on here, other than you will develop a taste for his Atlantic Twice-Seeped Water-Lily brew. You'll be craving it every night if ever sent back to our world (as if that'll happen). Mixed with honey from the Afterglow Savannah and served in a baby-blue ceramic cup that has a shimmer handle. That's your mug, by the way. He has other brews...some improvised and caution is indeed extended. They're tasty for the most part though.

“Ah, just smell that aroma. I developed this blend made just for you, my dear. I’m not one to seek out sweet floral notes for my tea, yet this flavor is an acquired taste that pulls you in for more. I finish the cup without realizing each time�� -> Jade can be sweet himself, when he wants to be.

Wearing gloves (Developed): Jade makes you touch weird shit. All the time. Unprompted. He also makes you eat weird shit, but more often than not you can escape by shoveling his experiments onto someone he can get a more interesting reaction out of. Classically condition him not to feed you the weird shit by being unresponsive - off topic. Point is that with his obscene collection of terrariums? Plus being pulled along for foraging quests? You will be touching unknown and possibly poisonous plants, bugs, dirt, maybe some aquatic creatures like toads and fish. For all that is good, keep a pack of rubber gloves in your schoolbag. Keep a pair of insulated leather gloves in your breast pocket at all times too. Hand Sanitizer as well. Who knows when you’ll be elbow deep in murky water riddled with mysterious rainbow moss. What makes it rainbow? You don’t know and Jade won’t say. He does quip that it changes colors with emotions. Screw Twisted Wonderland and it’s freakish botany.

“Oh my, would you look at that vibrant shade of purple. Why are you so frightened? These are meant to be happy ‘bonding’ times for us as a couple, isn’t that what you said? Fufu - oh. Hurry up and put it in this jar. You’ll ruin the sample at this pace,” <- In truth, Jade saw red blooming at the edges of the moss and called quits before your nerves turned to anger. Fear? Amusing. Especially since you have more harmful ‘house plants’ growing on the mantle back at your dorm. Curtesy of Jade himself, of course. Azul doesn’t let him store his more precarious collection in Octavinelle and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. Yet he won’t push the jokes too far, since so few ever come out foraging with him. No no. He needs you to continue as a willing participant. Don’t get angry at him just yet, there are still so many places to explore and the day is young!

Doppelgänger Paranoia (Developed): The Leech twins tried to pull that shit where they swapped places for a day. Therefore you are now freakishly paranoid of Floyd trying to take Jade’s place to pull a prank. It is no help that Floyd is insanely good at mimicking his brother and vice versa. Sure, you could make a keyword or ask Jade to wear something special as a give away. Mark him. Maybe make an excuse of it being a thing human couples do and stick a pin on his lapel. Yet there isn’t a guarantee that he won’t just let Floyd in on it to see what happens. He’s a jerk like that, but your jerk nonetheless.

“Your caution is entertaining, and I do find all this extra attention flattering. Yet there are more taxing worries to mull over, wouldn’t you agree? Surely I’ve earned enough trust to circumvent any doubts in that mind of yours?” -> Do you know that the twin-swap was just a one time trick? Probably not. Doing it again would be boring with no novel results, but Jade does love watching you squirm with suspicion. He’ll offer an assurance eventually, and it will be your call to believe him or not. Until then? He has no problem being under your watchful eye. It’s quite cute, after all.

Habits he steals:

Grammar Control (Developed): Purely to piss you off. Coming from another world - your dialect isn't exactly the same as everyone in Twisted Wonderland. There are region specific languages, and then there is the common tongue. For simplicities sake, let's just say that everyone in TWST can speak common tongue and transferring over gave you this ability. Except (like Epel) you carry a heavy accent - and Jade loves to play grammar police. Your irritation never ceases to amuse him. That's right. He's the train kid from the 'Polar Express'. Just less nasal.

“Let’s try to capture that illusive letter ‘R’, shall we? You don’t want to give onlookers any more ammunition as a respectable prefect.”-> Says the only person using this as ammunition, except for Ace when he gets really snappy and Riddle’s mild cringe when your accent butchers a toast at the Unbirthday party. At this point you’re hearing ‘red leather, yellow leather’ and ‘mark went on a lark after dark’ in your sleep.

Routes (Developed): Another one with the need to have a bit of control. Just a bit. Get ready to roll out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn, because he will be there at five-am sharp to haul you back to Octavinelle (or on a hike. Saturday's only). Isn't it a human custom to stick close to your partner? He's just making sure you're cared for. Which is why you exist attached to his hip most days

Symbiosis 1 (Developed): Only a mild-note for Jade. His brother, noted below, takes this concept more to heart. Jade uses it as an enhancing factor to an already “well-rounded” relationship. The law of the sea dictates that those stronger will enter a ‘pact’ with weaker creatures - protection in exchange for care. You are not in need of protection with that frosh posse and stubborn head of yours. Jade mostly uses this ‘symbiotic relationship’ as a way to get you to do things for him, and to talk down your impulsive behaviors from time to time. Aka you won’t create excessive trouble if it means he feels ‘bound’ to go with (as if he wouldn’t be overjoyed to get in some chaos)

Observation (Developed?): Jade...knows everything about you. It's infuriating (to you, not him), but you are still a potential client regardless of his personal interest. Hobbies, tastes, your worst and best subject, weaknesses -all categorized. Azul and his business come first. Yet you're the only student on campus that has a 'doctored' file. Why?

“I never realized you are adverse to crowds. Yet you handle navigating Night Raven with no difficulties? Is this a mere preference, or would you prefer to find somewhere quiet while I accompany the others? What do you need?” -> (During Playful Land Event) He can't get the finer details without asking questions. There is no source for information about your world or your person other than your word of mouth. His unique magic would be easy - but it's just one question. One, and you might be too resilient for a response. Where's the fun? What makes this a habit is that Jade's keen eye becomes sharper.

Ramshackle (Developed): Bro just moved in. I’m serious. He got permission by pulling a favor. Azul doesn’t let him keep the more precarious plants in Octavinelle, so Jade has overtaken the kitchen with potted flora and fungi. Floyd is enthusiastic that he doesn't have to share a room - what? Twins don't always stick together. Those two probably fight more than they get along. Plus with Jade at Ramshackle it's an excuse to go see what's up with Shrimpy and maybe play with torture the little freshies you hang around with. It’s chapter three but you aren't booted out and have to deal with both Leeches every day. Seven preserve you.

—

“I let my excitement get the better of me for a moment…please, continue as if I am not here. My apologies.” == How rare for Jade’s mask to slip in front of his underclassmen. He was able to brush it off - giving a fib about his clubs upcoming excursion (not entirely untrue. He is excited to go for a hike with you this weekend). Yet the normally dull gossip of his dorm-mates was too much to bare. Not because your changes are becoming more pronounced, but because these little fish are foolish enough to think it’s making him soft. Enough to gossip so blatantly in his earshot? Gods, they make his job much too easy.

Habits you steal:

Leering (Inherited): Floyd...oh dear. He has this habit of staring holes into the back of your head. Anyone's head, really. His presence is intimidating, and it's hard not to pick up what’s going on in his head. There's a catch to this though. You only leer at other people when he isn't around. Too busy with the man in question to bother 'people-watching' (unless you're actually pissed). Riddle is constantly on edge now because he has TWO people giving him the heebee-jeebies. Prefect, it was bad enough you were taking influence from ADeuce. Now the Leech brothers? Well, he'd still take you over Floyd any day. At least you won't try to act on that unsettling aura...yet.

“Somethin’ on my face?…why’re you staring at me like that? Unless you want my attention? Hehe, ya shoulda just said so!” <- Floyd can do it to you, but you can’t to him. Not unless you want to be suplexed and squished tightly for hours on end.

Impulse actions (Inherited): Chaotic energy anyone? Floyd needs a partner who is one of two things - can kick his ass on occasion so he'll play nice, or who will match his freak. Since matching the strength of a Moray Eel isn't something most humans can do? Well, maybe a bitch slap here or there but be aware he is letting it happen. Just know. Better be playful too, not no actual challenge. Point being- you need to match his freak. No buzz-kills.

“Ne Ne~ Yanno, I’ve never seen those super fancy fireworks you land people like to set off. Wanna go get some and rig the - eh? You already got them?….Hahaha Shrimpy’s getting gutsy. I’m so happy” -> His eyes are practically glowing with anticipation. You’re now Azul's third headache 1000%, someone get that man an Asprin.

Snacks (Developed): Floyd can EAT. The only one with a stronger appetite is Jade, but he has a better control over his hunger. While their bodies changed to look human, their appetites did not decrease. Going with ‘symbiosis,’ Floyd gets a bit needy and talks like you’re his internal clock. Jade’s the yapper but Floyd just expects you to know what he needs. So you will always be carrying a selection of snacks (Grim gets in on this) in your bag/purse. Also fidget toys. Not for eating, but to give him when you’re stuck anywhere particularly boring. Props if you can somehow get a two-in-one with the twisted wonderland equivalent of those Air Heads Pull-Aparts.

Lullaby and Goodnight (Developed) : Instant calming effect. Merfolk are very particular with music and are sensitive to vocals. Floyd in particular is super picky. You could be the worst singer on the planet (Floyd will give you half-assed lip for it if you are, in all fairness) but the easiest way to calm him down is with music. It’s cringey and unrealistic to us land-folk but there’s plenty of singing in Atlantica. So humming a soft lullaby for him while sitting together won’t earn any looks in Octavinelle. Unless you sound awful, to which he will punt anyone that speaks out. Not that they would, since a calm Floyd is a godsend no matter the means achieved.

“Did I say you could listen in, hah? Sounds to me like someone’s in the mood for ‘my’ kinda song….don’t move, Shrimpy. This’ll be quick.” <- Good or bad - doesn’t matter. Getting to hear you is Floyd’s privilege. He’s a bit possessive of it, to be frank. So if someone butts in when he’s in the middle of calming down, Floyd’s going to be pissed to the max.

The Little Mermaid (Inherited): Drags you down to the sea at every opportunity. Don’t fight him, just guzzle the vomit-inducing potion and get a move on. Floyd doesn’t care how much a mer-transfiguration potion costs, Azul can take care of it. Floyd hates being restrained to dry land, and hey. He’s up here, so it’s only fair you go down into the sea trenches too. Don’t worry, he won’t take you anywhere too dangerous. He’ll even teach you how to get your sea legs - fish legs? Look. He teaches you how to swim in your mer-form, which he is severely disappointed does not resemble a shrimp.

Habits he steals:

Phone Privileges (Developed) : Floyd’s cellphone is normally in DND mode at all times. The only exceptions are Azul and his Momma - Jade was one too up until they came to dry land. There’s only so many mushroom photos and long voicemails about random crap that Floyd can take. Oh - and you’re an exception now. He saves all your voicemails - some for callbacks to win arguments and others to play when he’s about to sleep. You just better be careful when you call him and what for, also always pick up if he calls you. Otherwise there’s going to be one angry eel lurking by your bedroom window. With ‘first-contact’ privileges, all the unflattering candid pics he has of you are just a click away from being shared if he feels like it (teases but wouldn’t do it. Well, unless you really are ignoring him. Be warned)

Using F*cking Doors(Inherited) : Yes. Yes, you read that right. Floyd loves to parkour across campus. The amount of times he’s snuck into Ramshackle through that tiny circle window in the attic is frustrating. You’re seriously considering bolting the thing shut if it keeps him off the roof and on the ground. Y’know, for someone who can’t fly a broom? He sure has no problem climbing brick walls with his bare hands like some kinda cockroach. A Leech cockroach. Jamil’s worst nightmare good god. After the sixth-or-so heart attack, Floyd’s not allowed anywhere near Ramshackle if it’s not through the front door. The ghosts have strict instructions to punt him…to which he took as a challenge (because of course he did). Until a window was smashed, and you sent hellfire down upon him.

“I said it was an’ accident! What more do you want from me, huh? It’s your fault anyway for sicking those ghost fish on me - Urk…fiiine. I’m sorry or whatever” <- Always will back down the moment you come across as genuinely pissed. Usually with a grunt and hiss under his breath, kicking his foot before stalking off to cool down for a bit. Always fixes whatever he broke or tries to make amends once his mood is less sour.

Symbiosis II (Developed): Paired with the above 'match his freak' and second rendition of Jade's. Except Floyd is 100% serious. Floyd's going to do right by you, but you've got to do right by him. People are going to wonder why the small-pint prefect is sitting here covering one of bro's shifts (they feared for your life when you basically told him to 'fuck off', knowing he was angry after getting scolded by Azul) but that's how it is. Floyd's symbiosis is different than Jade's. He's more impulsive, yet also more predictable with what he needs. The definition of "no one can tell me to do shit except my spouse" 'cause symbiosis is a mutual respect and trade. No one can pick on you except for him. No one can help you the way he does. He is not going anywhere. Ever. Bonded for life - that kind of ‘sappy shit’.

"I already said I don't wanna... ughhh, babysitting those frosh fishies is so booooring. Can't we just ask Azul to lock 'em in a tank or somethin'?.... ALRIGHT, Little Shrimpy. I get it already so stop yammering in my ear...." <- Floyd's the softer brother, if you can believe that. Acts of service are what get him and he thrives on being needed. So you'll be doing it a lot to earn that compliance from him. Be the iron fist that gets him to back down, and simultaneously the one slipping him a few party poppers to set off at one of Heartslabyul's tea-parties as a reward.

The ✨Fashion✨ (Developed) : Surface-world fashion is one of Floyd’s special interests. Oddly enough? You’re a perfectly-sized dress up doll. It’s cute how large his shoes are in comparison to your feet. Hah! You look like a clown clobbering around in those things. He 100% gives you a pair of light up sneakers that sparkle when you walk - makes it easier to find you in crowds. Not that he needs to. Mostly it’s just for fun. He’ll even get a matching pair so you don’t feel zeroed out.

VIP Menu (Developed) : Floyd has a ‘secret’ menu over at the Mostro Lounge. He’s the head cook, don’t ya know? Makes real tasty dishes. C’mon, praise him. He’ll add a few dishes just for you since you’re so picky - that’s a bad trait to have for a broke Shrimp by the way. Good thing he’s around to make sure you’re eating.

“Oi! I told ya that was for you. If the lil’ seal’s hungry he can get somethin’ off the menu on his own…unless he’s lookin’ for a squeeze?” <- One major gripe Floyd has with Grim is how he’s always mooching off your plate. It’s fine if Azul’s picky with his food, cause that’s Azul. You’re different ‘cause in Floyd’s mind responsible for you. Again. He takes the symbiosis thing more seriously than Jade, and will poke your cheek relentlessly and comment if it’s lost it’s squish. He always serves you something to eat, even if you don’t order. Doesn’t let anyone else prepare it either.

Protective (Developed) : At the risk of sounding like a broken record, Floyd is very attentive. He’s clingy as hell and always looking for an excuse to have a good tussle - you’re his favorite person to screw with. Yet only himself, Azul, and Jade get the green card to look at you with anything other than respect. Cause he knows they don’t mean it - and even your little freshman buddies don’t get a pass. Maybe the seal since Floyd could squish Grim like a grape and he knows it. Leona’s almost gotten many challenges for the whole ‘herbivore’ thing.

—

“ ‘s nice, right? What’s better than one of me? Two, hah! Jade might have my face but now Shrimpy’s got my personality” == Finds the situation funny for like, an hour? Maybe two? Doesn’t matter because ‘Shrimpy is Shrimpy’ - plain as that, really. He gets more joy out of teasing people when they find out you’re with him. As if Floyd gives two sh*ts what other people think? Nah.

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