#first ever full time job. Scared!

[cartoon-skeleton]

I got job. 👁️👁️

[herawell]

.

[pandora15]

life is cruel.

it's tragic, horrific, and unfair. it gives us the worst of things, causes us to feel and experience things that are so unspeakably painful that sometimes I can't even. I can't even.

and it seems even more cruel in those moments of pain and grief and loss when you see something beautiful, like fall colors, or the color of the sky at sunset, or how the holidays typically are meant to bring joy to people but all you can think about now is that every year when this time of year comes, you'll just think about how tragic it is.

and cruel.

and horrific.

and unfair.

and beautiful.

[wormwonder]

playing with circles O●°○•°o.

[navydoves]

Dragon!Sylus and his habits while in heat

❥ You always knew being a dragon’s mate was going to be a bit… difficult.

affectionate habits ver.

࣪𖤐

❥ absolutely claws you. you think your scratches on his back are bad? yeah, no, try dragon claws. yes, they HURT, but they hurt SO GOOD. sylus knows how fragile humans are so he won’t ever scratch you enough to really hurt you, but he will leave marks. mating season is when you get the most scabs and bruises.

pounding into you never felt so good. he needs somewhere to release the extra excitement in him and so sylus will gets a little claw-happy. no part of your body is left untouched, he’ll mark every part to make a beautiful masterpiece of pink and red on your skin.

❥ he tries to impress you. much like a modern bird, sylus is always about impressing his mate before mating with them. sometimes for days even before he has you bent over, he’ll begin the first step of courting you, which could be done by a multitude of things.

sylus with walk around naked, flexing his muscles and shiny shimmering scales in hopes of impressing you and seeing how virile he is. not to mention he’ll obviously show off his DDDs—double dragon dicks! they’ll swing low or perk up high, thick and creamy for your enjoyment. he’s saying “hey, hey! look at me! i’m the perfect mate for you.” sometimes sylus will growl at you or make certain warning noises not to scare you, but to show you he can protect you by doing that. it’s an entire draconic ritual that will have you simultaneously confused, impressed, and most importantly, aroused.

❥ he’s so goddamn loud. sylus is not usually one for loud noises, he prefers more tame atmospheres in his home… until he’s in his heat. day and night you’ll hear him stomping and thudding into things to assert dominance. it’s to simultaneously scare people and let them know that he’s there and not to be messed with.

not only that, but he roars. his growls are pretty loud and booming too, but sylus rarely lets out a full snarl unless he’s pretty upset or pretty horny. he’ll do it to anyone, even you. except, he uses his loud noises to instill fear into others but instill submission into you. don’t like it? he’ll try to tone it down, but it’s a reflex at this point. try to close your ears while he’s coming, it’s a powerful sound of pleasure and accomplishment.

❥ he has toy eggs. sylus knows he can’t give you babies and it makes him super upset. all his heat makes him think about is giving you babies, so to cope he got toy eggs. he essentially makes you play house with him with the eggs. you have to play mama dragon and he’s daddy dragon, and daddy dragon’s job is to protect and provide for his family while mama dragon’s job is to nurture the kids.

and he genuinely does do that. he will stalk the nest he’s built for you and his toy eggs; he will bring you and the eggs food to eat in the nest; he will bathe you and the eggs with his tongue; he will legitimately get emotional if something happens to you or the eggs. he’s a little hormonally crazy but you indulge him every single time.

❥ DOUBLE TROUBLE! that’s right, you’re cock-trained to take sylus twice at a time. on a normal occasion, you’ll only take one dragon dick at a time so you’re not overwhelmed. sylus will alternate so as to not neglect either one of his cocks, but that all changes during his heat!

DDDs all shoved up your poor pussy, you’re gonna break! sylus has slowly size trained you over every occasion of sex until you could somewhat comfortably take him two at a time. it takes so much restraint but he goes slow at first and by the time you’ve calmed down and let out the tears, he’s ready to really fuck. always paying attention to you, always licking away your tears, always embracing you, sylus will still give you the ride of your life. it’s like two rollercoasters at once, so jarring but addicting. how can you even still be tight after that? it’s a mystery. 𖤐

tl: @mangobellini , @rin-dont-wear-clothes , @kentosbak3ry , @napa-the-yappa , @amaveon , @ivysorrele , @webshooterrr9, @calebandenergydrinkaddict , @ch4c0nnenh4 , @lilkactuz

[feelingdozy]

WE EQUATE TO LOVERS - Johnny Storm

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Shy!Reader

Summary: hired as Reed's assistant to help him in the lab, you're not a people person. And you're definitely not a Johnny person. Yet, when he starts coming by constantly, you can't help but ask yourself if he's just being nice, or if what you're starting to feel is real.

Warnings: f4 spoilers, post movie, emotional mild hurt/fluff, extrovert x introvert, friends to lovers, shy tendencies, overthinking, anxiety, self doubt/depreciation, johnny being down bad, heavy makeout sesh, eventual confessions, eventual romance

req: Can I req an extrovert x introvert trope (the reader being the introvert and Johnny being the extrovert)... read full

w/c: 3,2k ･ a03 ･ prompt list ･

"Yes she's my assistant, but she's not up for unnecessary chat, do you have that clear?" He wagged a finger aggressively for Johnny as he sighed dramatically with a hint of defeat though even he knew he wouldn't back down if he got the chance to bother his in-law.

"Hey man, I don't flirt with every single woman I come across. Just the interesting ones-"

"Well you don't flirt with this one at all, because she won't want to talk to you in the first place" he sighs, turning on his heel to approach his lab again, papers in hand that also have your application of a brand new assistant.

Ever since the whole incident with Galactus had happened, Sue had encouraged (begged) Reed to find some way to take a break and get more time with Franklin than with saving the world.

So he landed on the smart idea of an assistant. He found one almost immediately when his eyes landed on your resume full of courses you'd taken, classes completed and the sciences being a full time job of exploration for you.

He knew with one scan that this wasn't just a career. It was everything to you, just like they were to him. You were a special one- and he wasn't gonna give that up because Johnny couldn't keep his words, and hands, to himself.

When you first walked into the Baxter building, it was safe to say your jaw had dropped in amazement at the size. It was almost overwhelming to see it in person.

Getting lucky enough to finally get a good solid job off your resume you worked years to polish with a renowned scientist teaching you and getting to see his projects?

You'd think you might finally be seeing the light.

This was your holy grail- beep beep

A- a robot..? You were taking in the view you didn't realize the little robot that had come up to you, waving with his tiny hand and gesturing for you to follow. You were in for a ride.

When you got to the door, Reed had shook your hand as you managed to contain your excitement to a smile and not shaky hands (it was almost impossible), and he had given you a tour of the whole place, up and down. The living quarters where your room would be next to Mr Storms, the kitchen you could get food at any time, the multiple bathrooms scattered around which him and Sue had built early on.

Just as you were almost done the tour, grazing through some of his projects and skimming through the detailed formulas, you heard footsteps approaching and the air get extremely humid very quickly.

"Reed! You finally brought her-"

When you turned around, he couldn't help but shut himself up when he saw you.

It was like a.. twinkle in his eye. Like he knew, the first time seeing you that you were it for him. He was already falling.

Like that singular strand of hair over your face. The way you wouldn't admit it, but your cheeks lit when you saw just how stunning he was in person. How your eyes longed and sucked him in immediately.

You stood, eyes wide in shock, nervous, definitely nervous to be near the Johnny Storm.

Boisterous, loud, womanizer and non-stop talker that he was. It scared you, but you couldn't deny the charming looks and the confidence oozing out of him like second skin- well, until he met eyes with you.

Oh.. maybe he didn't like you? Maybe women who weren't his type just got in the way.

Little did you know, his heart was skipping beats like no tomorrow. His flames grew hotter, and somehow he was flushed to the tips of his ears like a schoolboy witnessing his first crush again.

He smelt burning. Was his hair burning?

"Johnny.. meet my new assistant" Reed attempted to break the ice, ending up with you sporting a very awkward smile, and Johnny giving one back.

You had already messed this up haven't you, god-

"You're- pretty, very, I mean, haha! Pretty! Woman- you are. Jesus" he left the room in a rush, brushing the hair out of his face in a flurry to stop the sweat beading down his neck.

Stuttering? When had this man stuttered in his life over a woman? Let alone Reed's new assistant! First he was going to get pummeled by him, then Sue, maybe Franklin next. And then you.. with that look and that shy demeanour that made your shoulders shrink.

He wanted to see it again.

The next few days were spent solely in Reed's lab. You refused to exit unless you desperately needed something that science couldn't provide you.

Breakfast was short and easy. Lunch was a sandwich made hastily with crooked meat thrown on and cheese that wasn't the right one, but you hadn't time to change it anyways.

Dinner.. well. Dinner was spent with the rest of them, and somehow, a constant locking of eyes with the blonde that sat across the table.

Sue would ask the questions, but Reed would always answer because you chose to stay quiet and everyone knew that Reed didn't just interrupt for anyone.

You spoke up when she asked how your day was, Ben poking a threat at you that you better like his food with a small laugh. But Johnny never took initiative to spark a conversation.

Not until he found you stored up in the lab.

"So this is what you've been up to, sugar?" His voice was loud and very recognizable, echoed off of each glass vile stored in there with the utmost precision and perfection.

You stopped in your tracks and turned to find him there, smile wide and a hand holding his chin while he leaned on a desk nearby.

You only nodded, turning back to distract yourself.

"I just uh- wanted to say sorry for the sudden compliments.. probably overwhelming to you and I realize that now, just.. wanted to start off a little simpler."

You poured one test tube into the other before he came up on the other side, eyes focused on the concoction you were making up.

"this for one of your experiments? Or for the lab grump?" You huffed out a tiny laugh at that, making his eyes sparkle at the sound, giddy that he'd been able to cheer you up a bit.

"It's for Reed- he's been working on stabilizing the teleportation so it doesn't take up as much energy as it has before" He nodded along, acting like he was listening and not just staring at your lips.

You added, "But the test tubes? Those are mine." he observed the way your fingers poured one into the next, took a pencil and wrote things down.

"What does the Johnny Storm have bursting into the lab at this time?" You almost shied away from asking, but you were genuinely curious as to the time this man had in his schedule to be talking to you.

"I- uh.. hah, honestly- just wanted to see you again." He tried to shrug it off casually, but he had to keep his hands away from the countertops in case something else of his decided to light itself again. He didn't want explosions other than the hair on top of his head.

You attempted to hide a smile at his confession, since when has this happened to you? You almost didn't want to believe him, gaze settling anywhere but his dead on.

"Now, if I let you hold this, do not heat it up, alright?" He stood straight and nodded eagerly

"Got it!" With a playful salute.

Every since that day in the lab, he had almost clung to you like a puppy. You wanted a snack from the kitchen?

You were already there, putting together one of your weird uneven sandwiches, until he scooped in behind you and took it, "Here, let me show you how it's done" with a wink.

It only took him about a minute, crafting and bantering with you while he did so, fist-pumping Herbie for handing him the right cheese.

It was a pretty good sandwich.

Movie nights with the team usually happened on weekends, Franklin tucked and soundly asleep. Usually, Johnny would've made do and sat by Ben. But tonight, he was curled up weirdly close to your side.

"D'you want some popcorn, sugar?" He'd whisper, just raspy enough by your ear for you to catch it and reach in, hand grazing his own. For the first time you had ever been near him that close physically, he was warm.

Almost welcoming, and soft for a man who lit on fire. It set something inside you alight too. A knowing. Creeping in, deep in the pit of your stomach you were losing the battle to time and patience of liking him.

"Chocolate?" He asked as he reached a hand out, offering you a piece of his own.

This- this was your favorite chocolate?

And he knew that. You'd mentioned it a few days ago off handedly to Reed when nagging him about how he'd sneak a piece when no one but you was looking and announced your favorite. He'd never admit it, but he listened more than you thought.

You took up his offer again, and your touch lightly meshed with his fingertips when he passed it over. You froze in your seat at the images popping up in your head.

You wanted to put your head on his shoulder- but you'd resist it.

You'd act casual, stay calm, try to keep your vitals down and act normal.

And still, the two of you got closer. Off time spent travelling to bakeries on breaks while you got a whiff of fresh air and sunlight, drinking in his boyish laugh and gentlemanly tendencies when he'd open a door and say, "m'lady" with a bow.

Until a harsh realization began to sink.

It had been going good until an interview you had passed by on the living room television, Johnny standing tall, stance playful and grin wide to appease the shrieking girls that lined the back of the camera, streets full and compact as his hands rested on both hips.

"So, Johnny, what can you tell us as of lately on your love life? As single as ever?" The journalist held the mic close, and you could see the twitch in his eye before he went back to his charming smirk as they shrieked again, shaking his head as he looked down like he was reigning defeat.

"Now, now. You know I don't answer these questions on the air. These poor girls- what are you trying to do?" He laughed, bold and gave her his classic wink and ooze of charm before flaming up and flying away

The angle they showed gave you a quick span at all the girls that had lined up, magazines, mini storms and posters that had him plastered like their favorite little collectible.

Their hair was done up.. makeup flawless and bases shiny. Their dresses were rich of color that spoke of knowing how to come off nicely, heels, jewelry, the whole collection.

And who were you?

A little scientist Reed had scouted to do your science project along with his.

Not some model type girl. Not the flawlessly pretty, easily confident and flowy ones that crowded and observed his every move? How would you even admit you were falling for him in a sea of all the others?

You wouldn't.

No, you couldn't. He liked space, and he liked women, but..

Not the type who would spend all day in the lab, dark circles and hair barely brushed, eager to get back to the workspace. Not the ones that analyzed deliberately, for enjoyment and for success that had you on the tips of your toes.

The fashion ones maybe. He'd like a girl who baked him cookies and tucked him into bed-

So you ignored him.

Avoided, moreso.

And it got harder each time. More noticable.

The dinner table became harder to sit at when he tried to make conversation and you just spaced out, faraway smiles and hollower laughs. Reed almost let himself give way to asking about it- but Sue's hand on his thigh made him do a take back and realize what he was going to say was wrong in the moment.

She mouthed small affirmations to ease his nerves a bit.

In the bathroom where once he might've snuck in to spare a glance at your tied up messy hair, over the shoulder shirt while you brushed your teeth and splattered words out over the toothpaste with a slap of his chest at his stupid dad jokes and weird humor.

Now, it was already dark and scented by the time he'd gotten there. He could still sense your presence in there. Shampoo faintly lingering, clean, somewhat soft and warm familiarity that stuck to your clothing after a wash.

He missed it all- but most, the little talks you squeezed in with him while in the lab. Things may have exploded once or twice, a third from a heated hand reaction to a very sensitive mix.

Now, he started to get anxious when he entered. Almost nauseous, a sense of not wanting to mess it up with you when he finally found you. But before he could enter, Sue interrupted his thoughts in the hallway.

"Johnny?" Sue called out, softly as she rubbed a hand down his back.

She asked it like she'd always known, "What's on your mind?"

"I-" he hesitated with a huff, knowing she'd see through it if he lied anyways.

"Her. She- she started avoiding me and I.. I dunno what I did. I thought we were going good?"

*So it just happened one day? Like a switch?"

"Yeah! And I.. I didn't want to let that personality get in the way- cameras and journalists. We had our talks, personal and I liked them. I actually.. looked forward to them and now- now something's missing." Sweeping his hair back with his hand, he rubbed his eyes with a tiredness that spoke of confusion and prolonged agony.

Sue nodded along, as she knew just how all the fans could get and how he came off, although deep down he was very sensitive- genuine and soft, through and through Johnny was a family man.

But that wasn't obvious to everyone. She knew that. Knew the opinions, the views, the big posters and what they showed.

And Sue had started to know you. She saw the ponder. She saw the border of overthinking cross it's line. You were like a tiny reflection of her husband in the way his mind always got the best of him before someone could show him the way back.

"Not to bring it up, but, I heard the news going a couple days ago- I forgot to turn it off because I went to check on Franklin, but when I came out, she was there listening. Almost starstruck while staring at it."

The realization started to kick in when he glared behind him to see you staring back, hastily turning away from his line of sight and tensing like you'd stumbled across something you shouldn't have.

"Oh. Oh."

"Crowds of ladies don't mix with a little scientist and a brain that's built with doubt. She might just be.. scared." Baby monitor in her hand, Franklin started to whine.

"Scared?" It came out desperate, like he just needed to grasp whatever he was missing. That one puzzle piece to put it all back together like it was.

"Of what is truly there between you two. Not the fans. Not the articles. You, and her."

That night, Johnny had come up with the best stealth mission of finding where you'd hidden yourself this time around.

He knew it wasn't your bedroom, too early. He could've knocked.

Not the kitchen nor living room, too obvious, spoke too loud and petty. Left nothing to the imagination.

You'd never think of the bathroom, too stuffy and easily caught.

Until he thought of the balcony.

"I like the stars" he announced, making your knuckles grip the rails a little tighter when you realized he had finally caught you.

"They make me feel like I've got someone sometimes. I can talk to them." As he got closer, his voice got quieter. More.. peaceful, though you stayed silent.

"And.. I want to be that someone."

You looked at him.

"I know...I know that's not your thing. It might be too far. But I don't want you to shy away from me. Not the things we shared. Behind the looks and tiny smiles, you spoke out to me."

He continued, passionate and earnest

"No matter what those interviews say- what you think of those girls and their collections-"

"Wouldn't you be better off with someone like them?" You interrupted, trying not to come off as mean, but biting your lip to hold back tears wasn't helping the tone and the way it happened to slip out.

He stayed quiet for a second too long, wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar.

"fluffy hair, dressed in their cute sundresses and bowties. They're nice. Heels and all. The better choice. Easier." You said it like it was fact- like you were already certain he'd chosen them.

"I don't want easier. I don't want flawless and perfect- I want those morning's with your laugh that makes Reed choke on his food because he never expects it. The one that makes Ben smile though he doesn't admit it, and how you'll insult his cooking just to see him pout funny,"

"they're not the better choice- no, you're the only choice. Do you think they clean my vinyls when I don't notice? Make me special hand protectors and Franklin fireproof baby shirts? Not those girls. You do"

You almost couldn't believe it, though his eyes were glassy and his hands desperate to grab onto you again. To find you in your mind that swam one hundred miles per hour.

"It's always been you." He whispered, strained and raw.

Still a little unsure, you gripped the fabric of his collar, pulling him in closer to you.

"Then.. then show me, Johnny. How much I mean to you" And with that, your lips collided.

It wasn't hungry, or quick. It was slow. It was like the both of you had broken down the barriers and everything failed to come out before was spilling in hidden feelings and covered confessions in the way gentleness carved itself into the mold of your lips.

His fingers held your jaw, crawling up behind your neck to deepen the kiss and find his tongue exploring your mouth with unexpected fervor. He cradled you closer, not wanting to part, last forever with you intertwining with him in shared saliva and swollen lips at the gesture.

You gasped into it, knuckles tightening onto the hem of his shirt for dear life, dissolving into the way he slotted against you so perfectly and took you into his arms like he'd needed it to survive- and maybe, just maybe he did.

Before pulling away completely, he pressed a peck to your lips again, then below your jaw, up to your ear. You giggled at the sensation, and he laughed back, delighted to finally have the moment with you.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes finally connected and noses bumping. "I'm never letting you go, you know that?"

"even if Reed says so?" He smiled widely at that. And with a firm nod of his head,

"Even then."

thank you for reading :) requests are open! || Marvel Masterlist

[stellamarielu]

worthy

andrew “pope” cody x female reader

summary: you tell andrew you want to start a new life with him— away from the chaos of his family, and he agrees with another future promise on his mind

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, a sprinkle of angst & a dash of fluff but almost entirely smut, pope with a nasty breeding kink, lots of pregnancy talk, reader has hair but no explicit description of it’s appearance, gut wrenching intimacy, fingering, cum play, we’re doing cowgirl AND mating press buckle up baby!

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: hi hello, i am HEAVY on my pope cody shit rn, and i know we’re all longing to give that man a baby, so i thought i'd take one for the team and write this little fic. let’s just imagine this is some kind of alternate universe where pope gets a happy ending, and a family of his own.

Wet curls gather at your fingertips, as Andrew’s head burrows deeper into your chest. Your hand passes through his hair, absentmindedly following the pattern of his curls, as he concentrates on the sequence of your steady breath underneath his cheek. 

“Long night?” A soft whisper leaves your lips as you continue threading your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. 

He doesn’t respond, just subtly nudges further into your touch. 

You let a blanket of silence fall over the room. 

He’d been gone most of the day, out on a job. When he finally got home he walked straight past your frame laying in bed, heading directly for the bathroom, barely acknowledging you before turning on the shower and filling the room with steam. 

You gave him space, letting the water wash the remnants of his remorse down the drain. 

Solitude played a pivotal role in Pope’s ability to process his actions after a particularly long day. You’d learned to give him time alone when he came home from a job, knowing he’d seek out your comfort when he was ready— when he felt worthy of your silent forgiveness. 

He’ll always remember the first time his feet carried him up the stairs of your front porch in search of your nurturing exoneration. Him and his brothers had just pulled off an incredibly intricate heist, one that he should’ve been proud of— relieved by the success of their endeavors. Instead, he strayed from his family’s celebration, finding himself on the doorstep of the girl he’d been seeing for the past few weeks. A girl he had no business keeping in his life. In fact, every moment he spent with you up until that point had been laced with worry and hesitation, scared that he’d taint you with his unruly lifestyle. But you were unlike anyone he’d ever known, never running out of compassion and holding yourself steady with a soft disposition, it drew him to you. The magnetic field of your aura calling to him, as his heavy hand knocked on your door, still shaky from the adrenaline and regret coursing through his veins.  

You didn’t ask any questions, just helped him get cleaned up and pulled him into bed next to you. His body fit perfectly beside yours under the thick fluffy linen of your duvet. All he could think about the entire night was that white comforter, and how it was far too pure to envelop someone like him.

Neither of you said a word, he just laid with his head on your chest while you ran your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. Limbs intertwined in the same way they would be every single night after that. 

Now your house was just as much his. His clothes in your drawers, his toothbrush next to yours by the bathroom sink, his shoes by the front door; it was his home too now- you were his home. 

Pope never knew anything other than the life handed to him by smurf. His perception of the world was dark, hopeless, primitive. He’d been raised that way. Never thinking he could be anything other than a bomb on a detonator just waiting to self-destruct. He was destined for a life full of pain and deception— destined to be Pope Cody. 

But then he became your Andrew. 

Despite everything you learned about him— you stuck around. Never using the nickname assigned to him as a kid, instead exclusively calling him by the name given to him at birth, the name graced upon him when he was still undiluted, clean of the mess waiting ahead of him. 

He’d never loved someone the way he loved you. He never even thought it was possible. But when he came home to you at the end of a long night, with his head on your chest, listening to the smooth beating of your heart as you graced him with your gentle touch, he found redemption. There was vindication in your forgiveness— an unspoken, yet absolute commitment to him.  

“Maybe it’s finally time for us to get out of here.” Your voice was still quiet and your hands continued their movement at Andrew’s scalp as he laid on your chest.

“We could go up north, get a house somewhere…” You begin devising a plan as he relaxes further into your touch, his face hidden from your view, making it impossible to see his reaction to your words. 

“maybe the mountains…” Your voice is mild, matching the soft rhythm of your strokes through his hair.

“Nothing extravagant, just two or three bedrooms. We could start over, on our own.”

The words trail out of your mouth, thoughts spewing as you look down at the man laying on your lap. You knew he thought about it— leaving. The two of you had talked about it before, yet here you were.

“We could be free from all of this. You deserve a normal life Andrew.”

He doesn’t.

That’s all he can think as you continue petting his hair, your touch keeping him in a trance, acting as a mirage of warmth and protection washing over him. Showing him a vision of a man deserving of love. 

“I don’t know about the mountains.” His tone was gruff, words fighting against his throat as they slipped into the air. 

“You don’t do well with the cold.” You couldn’t see his face but you knew there was a slight smirk on his lips by the sound of his voice. 

“When should we go?”

His question was simply spoken— genuine.

For the first time that night, your fingers paused, intertwined in the deep auburn of his curls as you sat in silence.

The lull in your movements was rectified by his own fingers toying with the hem of your panties. It wasn't inherently sexual, but rather tender, as his fingertips traced the skin at your waist, dipping under the material just enough to coax a shallow breath from your chest. 

“Andrew…” You whispered his name, spoken like a quiet warning underneath the gasp at feeling his touch trailing lower inside your underwear. 

“Tomorrow? Next week?” The questions mumble from his lips as he keeps his face smushed into the material of your shirt.

With a hand inside your underwear, his middle finger comes to a resting position on your clit. You instinctively curl your fingers into his scalp at the feeling of him rubbing small, delicate circles in between your thighs.  

“I’m ovulating.” Another warning from your lips as you sigh from the relief of his touch on your body. 

You tracked your cycle religiously. It had become your primary form of birth control, definitely not the most foolproof, but it hadn’t failed you yet. 

He didn’t stop at your warning, just kept pressing soft circles into your clit.

“We should stop.” You tug on his hair a little as the words leave your mouth, trying to confirm the seriousness of the situation.

“Yeah?”

He rustles in his spot until his face is peering up at you, wearing an expression of pride. 

“So, just you and me in that two bedroom house then?” 

His big soft eyes bore into yours with your hands still holding onto his hair, frozen at the implication on his lips. 

The feeling stirring in his chest was foreign. 

A sudden longing for something he’d never had.

A family. A baby. Your baby. His baby. Not given to him, not found, but born. A piece of him brought into the world in the most pure form, built from a place of unconditional love. A promise of what could be. It was so daunting- the idea of it, but he couldn’t shake the anticipation coursing through his veins as he stared intently, watching your eyes widen upon hearing his words. 

“Are you serious?” Your lips curl into a smile at the implication— him wanting to get you pregnant. He’d never once mentioned having kids. Never once came in you with the intent of knocking you up, so the topic catches you off guard.

He takes your wonder-struck grin of infatuation as disbelief— possible amusement that he’d ever think you’d want to have a baby with him.

His eyes lose their hopeful glimmer, gaze suddenly growing rigid and darting away from you at the potential doubt lacing your words. Of course you didn’t want to have a baby with him. He was a mess— his life was a mess. 

“Andrew…” You draw out his name in a soft, sweet breath as you attempt to get him to look at you, but he’s already lost, wandering the maze of remorse and self-doubt paved in his mind. 

His hand slips from your panties, and his body pulls into a seated position against the headboard. He refuses to look at you. The disgust on his face is evident, and you know he’s angry— not at you, not at the situation, but at himself.

Throwing the comforter off your body, you sit up, crawling onto his lap, straddling his hips and sitting back on his thighs. 

“Andrew?” The one word question lingers in the air as you cock your head to the side, your hands wandering up his bare chest, until they’re at his jaw pulling his gaze up to meet yours.

His stare is cautious as he peers up, leaning in to your thumbs rubbing back and forth at his cheeks. 

“Do you want to have a baby?” You stare deeply into his eyes, your tone low and serious.

You search his expression, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind. His eyes hold a picture of bewildered hope before he’s crashing his lips onto yours. Kissing you like he’s starving. His hands shoot to your hips, gripping hard as his lips interlock with yours. 

He’s nodding pathetically with his mouth against yours. Not capable of forming words through the adrenaline fueling his actions, he just kisses you harder, shaking his head to communicate the answer to your question. Yes, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wanted to give you a baby.

He reaches for the hem of your shirt, pushing the material up until one of his hands splays out over your stomach, caressing the skin of your lower abdomen. His pupils are shot as he pulls back from the kiss to look between your eyes, and his hand resting on your skin. 

“Is that what you want?” His stare is focused on his hand caressing your belly.

You nod.

“Say it.” 

His demand is stern as his stare moves to your face- intense and rough.

“I want you to fuck me full Andrew…” 

A soft groan leaves his lips. 

“Want you to put a baby in me.”

His hands immediately find the waistband of your panties, fighting the urge to rip the thin material straight from your body. 

He yanks at them until you’re hovering over his lap, aiding him in getting them down your legs. He pulls his own underwear off, and you're back on his lap. The only piece of clothing left between you is the shirt on your back, which he immediately peels off your torso.

Both of you are completely bare, and he pulls you back to him with his hands threaded through your hair, kissing you with the same hunger as before. Fueled by the thought of finishing in you, filling you with every last drop, and fucking you until it seeps back out around his cock through every thrust. 

His hand comes down between your bodies, two thick fingers at your entrance, circling, but not daring to push in. He lets out a weak grunt, as he plays in the pool of slick threatening to drip down your legs. Amazed by how wet you are, his mind buzzes at the idea of you already being such a mess from the mere mention of him getting you pregnant. He has half a mind to push his dick into you right then and there— to thrust into you to the hilt and pull your hips down onto him over and over again until he’s cumming once, twice, maybe even three times, until you're full and leaking, practically crying from how good it feels, but he wont, not yet. 

Andrew always makes you cum first. Always ensuring that you're shaking on his fingers, or seeping onto his tongue before he gets his dick wet between your folds. Not because it’s the chivalrous thing to do, but because he’s obsessed with it; watching how your body reacts to him, knowing exactly what angle of his fingers makes you twitch. The exact speed to circle your clit with his tongue to have you clenching your legs around his head. It’s the routine of it, the satisfaction in hearing you cry out his name, and knowing he can do it again and again. Treating your pleasure like a game he’ll always win. 

But tonight, you grip his wrist, stopping him before you can feel the ease of his fingers sinking into you. 

“Not tonight.” You move his hand from between your legs, bringing it up to your mouth and placing a gentle kiss to his palm.

“Just wanna feel you.” You mumble into the palm of his hand before guiding it to rest on your cheek. He’s holding your face carefully as you shift your weight until you feel his length nudging at your entrance. 

Sinking down, your cheek pushes further into his palm, and he holds you steady, his chest heaving as he fills you inch by inch. 

You wait for a second before you move, focusing on how deep he feels as you sit there with him pushed completely into you. 

He always fucked you with reverance. Fucked you like he meant it— long deep strokes in purposeful positions where he could see your face, watching your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure. But, in this moment, he was frozen. His hands holding your face, eyes locked on yours, mind echoing with your voice asking him to give you a baby. He lets you take your time, grinding down onto him with little whimpers escaping your throat as you rock your hips. 

Your hands find his chest, bracing against his body as you move over him, keeping a steady pace. In a complete daze, you angle your hips a little differently to bury his dick even further into you, and he watches your face as it contorts in pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own as they move in a perfectly calculated rhythm. Your eyes are on him, but glazed over with a distant fog while you mindlessly chase your release, riding him with a desperation he’d never seen before. 

He knows you're close. He can see it in the familiar twitch of your jaw, and the focused furrow of your brows. 

He brings a hand down between your bodies, flat at the base of his cock until your clit is gliding across his knuckles. Using the position of his hand to double your pleasure, he watches as you feverishly rub against him, using him for your own pleasure. 

Your fingertips at his chest mount harder, and your head falls back, strangled moans slipping past your lips as your hips move faster. Snapping back and forth until they’re stuttering. 

Andrew’s hands are still on your face, adjusting your head to make your eyes level with his. Making sure he gets to watch you cum. 

Your mouth falls open, eyes zoned in on his as you cum around his cock. Your pulsing and shuttering, the only thing keeping your body from slumping forward into his are his hands still holding your head steady. 

A current of pleasure washes through you, lingering in the spasms of your thighs, as Andrew watches. Giving you a moment to breathe, he lets his hands move from your face, pushing through your hair and trailing down to your waist. 

With his dick still buried deep into you, he maneuvers your body until your back is on the mattress. He brings your legs up until your knees are practically against your chest, trapped under his weight as he hovers over you. 

“What was that you said earlier?” His soft growl is just inches from your ear as he presses further into you. 

“About fucking you full?”

You don’t answer, you can’t. Not with the way his dick is buried so far into you, grinding deliberately against the plush of your walls, tip threatening to kiss your cervix. 

Something must’ve snapped in him while he watched you finish, because Andrew isn’t normally this vocal in bed. He’ll groan and whine, speak a brief praise, or quick command, but he’s not one for extensive dirty talk. Hearing him speak like this, looking you in the eyes while he pulls out slowly just to plunge back into you, is unlike him. 

He’s completely entranced by your body under his control. Unable to think about anything other than giving you all of him. The need takes over his entire body, and he can’t help but vocalize it.  

“Want me to fill you up?”

His head comes down to rest against yours, foreheads meeting as he bucks his hips into you hard.

“Want me to give you a baby?”

You nod with your head pressed against his, a pitiful, whining mess at his words. 

Then he drives into you. Serving you deep, deliberate strokes as he keeps your legs folded against your body. Thrusting with a melody of raspy, breathless groans at his lips, his hot breath fans over your face as he fucks you. He loses all control, taken over by a primal need to fill you with his release— to see you carrying his child. 

He’s relentless. Letting the way your nails drag down his back, spur on the sinful slapping of skin on skin that fills the room. It’s not fast, but intentional— purposeful. Each thrust a promise of your future as he keeps his eyes on you, Telling you he loves you in the intimacy of his body colliding with yours. 

“Please Andrew.” The two words are whispered from your lips, begging to feel him soak into you, asking for him to give you everything. And It’s all you have to say for him to completely come undone.

He cums with a string of strangled moans, the weight of his body completely crumbling into you, his forehead still resting against yours.

His body is heaving, dick still buried inside of you- nearly quivering. You bring your hands to his hair, playing with his curls as he comes down from his high.

He pulls back after a few seconds, sliding out of you, and sitting up, freeing you from the weight of his torso on yours. You raise up onto your elbows, watching as he kneels between your legs.

He puts a hand on one of your thighs, prying your legs further apart while he watches your pussy, messy and swollen underneath him. 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up at you, just stares down between your legs, parted for him. Waiting. Standing by in anticipation to see himself dripping from your core. 

You feel it, thick and warm as it seeps at your opening. 

Before it can pool on the sheets beneath you, Andrew brings his thumb to your entrance, thick and sturdy, and pushing into you. His finger sinks in to the knuckle, a low moan leaving your mouth as you both watch between your legs as he fucks his spend back into you. Stroking a few times before making his way back up your body, hovering over you until you feel his dick, still hard and throbbing, gliding through your folds.

“Andrew…” You feel light headed as you pant out his name, and it almost sounds like a cry. 

“Thought you wanted me to keep going till I knocked you up?” His voice approaches a playful tone as he raises his brows along with his words. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just pushes all the way back into you, thrusting nice and slow, determined to fuck you through the night if that’s what it takes. All he knows, is that this time next month, you’ll be pregnant with his baby.

[starksweasley]

free fall

pairing: clark kent x reader

summary: you and clark get into a fight, and then the city explodes.

wc: 2.5k+

The slam of the door is deafening. Not because of the sound, but because of what it means. You don’t even flinch. Just march across the room, jaw set, fists clenched so tight your nails dig crescent moons into your palms. You don’t want to see his face right now. Not when you know it’ll be full of that infuriatingly particular mix of fury and worry that he’s so good at disguising as concern.

“You could’ve died,” Clark mutters quietly. 

You exhale through your nose, sharp and hot. “We’re doing this already?”

“You walked into a weapons drop, alone,” he bites out, voice rising like a slow tide. “You had no protection, no plan, and no backup.”

“I had my plan,” you snap, spinning to face him. “It just didn’t involve checking in with my overbearing alien bodyguard first.”

He flinches. Just slightly. But it’s enough.

“Don’t,” he warns. His voice is so low you’re surprised your ears process the decibel. 

Your laugh is dry. “What? You don’t like being talked down to? Imagine how I felt when you showed up halfway through and practically ripped the comm out of my ear in front of everyone like I’m some stupid kid who can’t tie her own shoes.”

“You were going to get killed.”

“I was doing my job.” Your voice cracks, but you don’t let it stop you. “I was doing what I’m good at. What you know I’m good at. But you don’t care about that, do you? You just care that I didn’t stay in the safe little box you always want me in. I can’t spend my whole life waiting for you, Clark!”

His gaze is calm as he stares at you but you don’t miss the way his hands curl into fists at his sides. “That’s not true. Don’t twist this.”

“Oh, I’m twisting things?” you spit. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell sounds like you think I’m too weak to be trusted with anything real.”

“I didn’t say that,” he growls, stepping closer.

“You didn’t have to,” you exclaim. “You don’t ever have to. You swoop in, rip the roof off, throw some trucks across the parking lot, and suddenly it’s your operation. Your city. Your rules.”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“And I never asked you to!”

That stops him. His face falters for half a second, and he blinks like you just struck him with your ring-clad hand.

“I didn’t ask for a superhero boyfriend,” you thunder on, voice shaking now, unable to stop yourself. “I asked for you. And maybe I was an idiot for thinking I could have both.”

His chest rises and falls fast, and his voice comes out quiet and hard. “Don’t do that. Don’t stand there and act like I’m some stranger in a cape. You know me.”

“Do I?” you whisper. “Because lately, it feels like all I see is Superman. Not Clark. Not the man I fell in love with. Just the guy who shows up after the explosions and tells me I should’ve waited for him.”

He’s silent for too long. His mouth opens, then closes. And when he speaks again, his voice is soft. Broken, almost.

“I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

It takes everything in you not to smooth your hands over his chest and soothe that ache in his tone that twists your stomach into knots, but your throat is tight and you take a step back. Your eyes begin to burn and you look down, unwilling to let him see.

“That’s not love, Clark. That’s fear.”

His brow furrows. “No, it’s not—it’s—”

“Yes, it is. You want to love someone who stays behind. Who stays safe. Who doesn’t scare you.”

“Of course you scare me!” he retorts, arms flailing. “Because you’re the one thing in this world I can’t live without. And I can’t make sure you’re okay. Not all the time. I don’t—I don't know how to live with that.”

You open your mouth to answer. To hurl something sharp and hurtful back at him because you’re angry and exhausted and you don’t know what else to do, but you don’t get the chance.

Because everything shakes.

The floor ripples beneath your feet. A massive rumble splits the air like the earth is groaning. You both freeze. 

Then comes the blast. A thunderous, bone-rattling sound from blocks away, light flashing through the apartment window like a silent scream.

Clark turns instinctively, eyes already glowing faintly with panic and focus. He’s halfway to the window before you the words tumble through your lips. 

“Don’t you dare leave right now.”

He stops in his tracks.

You’re standing there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shoulders trembling. You know you’re being irrational. You know he has a duty to fulfill and you would never usually stand between him and his job. But your heartbeat is pounding in your ears and the edges of your vision blur with frustration and adrenaline. 

“Don’t you leave in the middle of this,” you say, each word weighted. “Don’t fly away from this like it doesn’t matter.”

He turns, slowly, and his face—god, his face.

You’ve seen him wear pain before. Seen it when he lost people, seen it when the world turned to ash in his hands. But this time it’s different because you know you’re the reason he looks like that. 

His brows are drawn tight, a deep crease forming between them. His mouth is slightly open, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. His eyes are so full of agony you wish your ego would melt away just so you could apologize and kiss his face until they light up again. 

He doesn’t want to leave. Of course he doesn't. You can see it in every inch of him. 

“Please,” you plead, even though you know it’s futile. 

“I don’t want to,” he whispers. “You have to believe me—I don’t want to. I want to stay and fix this. I want to take it all back.”

Your breath catches.

“But I can’t.” Clark’s voice shakes. “People are in danger. If I don’t go, they die.”

You stay silent, blinking fast and shaking your head. He steps forward, just enough to cup your cheek in one hand. His palm is warm, trembling.

“I swear to you,” he says, eyes locked on yours, desperate, “I’ll come back. I’ll come home.”

You close your eyes.

By the time you open them again, he’s gone. Your heart lurches so violently you actually stumble back a step.

The space he just vacated is still vibrating with the gust of his departure, curtains whipping like they’re trying to follow him, like they know how badly you want to. You move on instinct, half numb and half breathless, dragging your feet toward the window.

Your apartment’s on the thirty-second floor. It gives you a perfect view of the city—and of the nightmare unfolding within it.

A fireball licks at the sky just a few blocks down, the explosion now a thick pillar of smoke and ash curling into the air like a monster’s shadow. Windows are shattered. Rubble covers the streets. People are running, screaming—some limping, some carrying others, some not moving at all. A gaping wound has torn itself into the heart of the city.

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock. 

And there he is.

A blue-and-red blur streaks through the sky like a bullet of mercy, and your chest caves in at the sight of him. Superman. Clark. Your Clark.

He’s scooping people from rooftops, using his heat vision to weld a collapsing structure into temporary stability, shielding a group of civilians with his own body as an ambulance drives through the chaos. He looks like a god.

But you know that face. You know the pinch in his brow, the tremble in his jaw when he’s scared out of his mind but has to act like he isn’t. You can feel it in your bones: he’s holding on by a thread.

And you’re still up here.

You’re moving before you’ve fully processed it. You throw on the first shoes you find, tear open the stairwell door, and sprint downward two steps at a time. No time for the elevator. No time for hesitation.

By the time you burst into the street, the world is smoke and screams.

You don’t know where to start. 

There’s a woman with a deep gash in her leg leaning against a crumpled bus. You rush to her, toss her arm over your shoulder, and guide her over broken glass toward a triage area forming near a still-standing corner store. You grab bandages from a supply crate and press them to bleeding skin. You haul debris off a man’s chest with a stranger whose name you never ask. You press a hand to a child’s hair as she sobs in your lap. You hand out water bottles. Every time you look up, you search for blue and red. And every time, there he is—lifting, flying, catching, saving. 

And then you spot him. A boy. Eight years old, maybe. Trapped halfway up a twisted steel staircase, the only way up to him a makeshift scaffold of what used to be part of a fire escape. The steel beam leading up to him is bent and definitely unstable. Your feet are sprinting towards him before your brain even has a chance to catch up. 

You climb fast, heart in your throat. The beam groans wearily beneath you as you inch out, crawling on hands and knees.

The boy is whimpering, clutching a stuffed bear to his chest. “I can’t move,” he sobs. “I’m stuck—”

“You’re okay,” you breathe, trying to sound soothing despite the fact that the metal beneath your palms just shifted. “Hey, look at me. What’s your name?”

“J-Jordan.”

“Okay, Jordan. I’m gonna get you down, alright, sweetie? We’re gonna do this together. Hold my shoulders and don’t let go.”

You lift him up, slide him carefully behind you, and begin to scoot backward, inch by inch.

The beam wobbles.

Shit.

You shove the kid toward the edge, where someone’s waiting to catch him. “Take him!” you yell, and they do, pulling him off just in time.

But you’re not so lucky.

The beam snaps, and suddenly you’re falling. A scream violently rips out of your throat as the world turns sideways and the wind rushes past your ears. You flail. Panic claws at your chest, your limbs, your lungs.

And then—

Arms.

Strong, unshakable arms wrap around you like a vice mid-air, halting your fall with an aggressive jolt. You crash into something solid. No, someone. You know that chest. That heat. That scent of ozone and something impossibly Clark.

He sets you down in the middle of the street gently—almost too gently for how hard your body’s shaking. But when your legs stumble, he’s already gripping your waist, steadying you, holding on like he might lose you again if he doesn’t.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is frantic. Rough. He’s running his big hands over your arms, down your ribs, checking for breaks or blood or anything that might explain why you just fell from the goddamn sky.

“I couldn’t just sit there,” you rasp.

He freezes. Hands still on your waist. His eyes are so wild and so blue you feel like you’re drowning on dry land. 

And then he kisses you.

It’s sudden. Desperate. Messy.

His lips crash into yours like an aftershock, all teeth and heat and breathless fear. His hands frame your face now, thumbs trembling where they press against your jaw.

“Please,” he gasps against your mouth like a man starved. “Please just don’t get hurt. I can’t—I need you to be okay. Okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to sleep. Clark  hesitates for one more beat, eyes locked on yours like he’s trying to memorize the moment, then disappears back into the chaos with a gust of wind and a rush of air.

You exhale, chest heaving, and then jump right back in.

You help the EMTs. You tear cloth into bandages. You cradle heads, squeeze hands, speak softly to people bleeding and terrified. You give them what you can.

When the smoke finally begins to clear, you lean against a battered light pole, wiping sweat and grime from your face.

You feel him before you see him. The gust of wind. The heat at your back. The familiar crackle of power in the air. You turn.

Clark is already landing in front of you.

He says nothing. Just wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Then he shoots into the sky with you in his arms.

He doesn’t speak again until you’re back in the apartment.

He sets you down like you’re made of something clear and breakable, but you don’t even make it more than two steps. He’s already reaching for you, already sinking onto the couch and pulling you into his lap, holding you so tightly against his chest you can feel the unsteady rhythm of his heart under your palm.

Your knees fall on either side of his thighs. His arms wrap around your back, slipping under your shirt, one hand weaving up into your hair.

He kisses you again. But this one is slow. Careful. Mouth moving against yours like a prayer. Like an apology. Like he’s trying to pour every unsaid word into your skin through his lips. You swear you feel him sigh into you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when he finally pulls away.

You’re out of focus as you blink up at him. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Clark murmurs. “I was scared. I got scared and I didn’t know how to handle it. And I took it out on you.”

“Clark…”

“I was wrong to be upset at you for being you. For being brave. For trying to help people.” He rests his forehead against yours. Your lips curve into half a smile when his curls brush your skin. “Do you have any idea how proud I am of you? Watching you out there—I didn’t know my heart could break and swell at the same time.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry too. For what I said. I was angry, and it came out ugly. I know you were just trying to protect me.”

His hand moves down to your cheek. “Next time, I’ll try protecting you without treating you like something to hide away.”

Your smile grows gentler. “And I’ll try to remember that loving you means sometimes watching you fly away.”

Clark kisses your forehead. It tingles where his lips meet your skin. “You are the bravest person I know.”

“And you,” you murmur, curling deeper into his chest, “are the softest tank I’ve ever met.”

He huffs a laugh against your hair and your butterflies erupt in your gut at the sound. His arms tighten around you and you feel like you can barely breathe, but you don’t fight his hold. You stay like that, curled together on the couch in the dim light of a quiet apartment.

Outside, the city is still flashing with sirens and scattered lights. But you don’t look.

You stay where you are. With him. 

[marvelous-bamf]

im honestly in love with like every detail of the matt and frank scene

the fact that matt already knows where he lives. i was scared they were going to say something to imply that they havent seen each other since dds2 but thats obviously not the case. theyve kept up a relationship over the years. matt calls him buddy. theyre allies enough that they can go to each other for help, but they also fight every time. thats exactly what i wanted tbh

frank taking pills. hes what, mid to late forties now? and have you seen the beatings he takes? of course he has pain. i know that a character taking pills always is supposed to imply they have a problem, and that definitely could be the case, but either way i took it as a realistic consequence of the life he leads

we all knew that frank didnt kill hector, and matt knows that frank doesnt mark his own bullet casings. but i still appreciated that not for an instant did matt even imply that frank had something to do with it. at most he just figured frank was keeping an eye on his punisher fanboys

"its matthew!" i fucking loved this line actually. its not like he was gonna say its red or daredevil, because hes still desperately trying not to be that. he has for sure told frank at least a couple times that hes not daredevil anymore, and the first thing he does is reaffirm that. but then frank only ever calls him red, because he has never actually believed that matt could leave it behind forever

frank is living in kinda a shithole, full of guns, very utilitarian, jumpy and defensive, ragged looking, vaguely injured, still doing his punisher work and nothing else and its wearing on him. so..... exactly what i was expecting, actually. i suppose theres a scenario where hes living in some fancy high tech arsenal setup. but really, when has frank ever prioritized taking care of himself past the minimum? at least hes doing better than his early punisher s1, construction job, barely speaking or sleeping for months era.

but who, between frank who looks like hell and matt in his fancy suit, is actually doing better right now? well, matt is so deep in repression and denial that hes built himself a life he doesnt like and cant even say foggys name. but frank has always been incredibly honest about what he does and why he does it. matt so desperately needed some honesty from someone who understands him, and by god did frank deliver

[yatori-morgana]

IMPREGNATE ME!! (ᴘᴛ.ɪɪ)

What are the bois' reactions to you abruptly (and jokingly) demanding them to impregnate you?

Contents & Warnings: suggestive, very embarrassed boyfriends <3, crack taken seriously, feminine term in Jamil's

»TWST x AFAB!reader

first years

SECOND YEARS

third years

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Everything had been perfect and peaceful. Riddle was calmly sitting at a table in the tea garden, sipping at a cup of, well, tea with a textbook open and a study guide prepared.

It had been perfect.

And then you rush into the fray like a frantic hurricane, slamming your hands down on the table and rattling the fragile tea set.

"Riddle!" You exclaim, and he flinches at your volume.

Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Is it Ace and Deuce? Did he somehow miss something on his schedule? Is it the Headmage?!

"Impregnate me!"

Riddle stares at you in utter shock.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

"What?" It's slowly processing, his face reddening — but not in anger. No, the opposite. "M-my rose, we can't! We're in the midst of our education! I don't have a job yet, I can't support you or the child, I'm not ready to be a father—"

"Riddle!" You laugh. "I'm joking! Relax." He pauses as you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I just wanted to see what you'd do~"

"Y/n!" He scolds after recovering. He shoves his chair back as he stands up. "Don't scare me like that!" But before he can launch himself into a full blown lecture, you hug him against you. His face presses to your soft chest, and he blinks rapidly in another shock to his system.

You murmur, "We can think about that after we graduate."

"…Y-yeah. Yes. Indeed."

𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢

Ruggie had just wrapped up his current errands for Leona. Finally, he had time to himself. He lazes about the courtyard, definitely not eating an off-limits apple from one of the trees. Not that Crowley would know if he did, anyway.

His fuzzy ears perk at soft footfalls on grass. The breeze wafts your scent toward his nose, and he reclines against the bark behind him again. You won't tattle on him. His sharp teeth break off another chunk of fruit as you flop down beside him.

"Hey Ruggie~"

Uh-oh. He knows that tone.

You turn his face toward you with a hand on his cheek. His chewing slows.

"Impregnate me."

Ruggie promptly chokes.

"Wha— Are you crazy?! I ain't got enough money for a kid! We have, like, three madols between us! How would we feed 'em?!"

You may have just put the fear of the Great Seven in him, actually.

"Ruggie, Ruggie, I'm kidding." You hold him by the shoulders. "It's a joke. Nobody's starving."

He pouts. "Never said anybody was. 'Cept me. You owe me a free meal after scarin' me like that."

You snicker. "Alright, alright, and it'll be your choice."

"As it should be— Hey, don't give me a noogie!!"

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

Azul should've known something was suspicious from how quiet everything was. Nothing is ever quiet for no reason, especially if the twins have a hand in it. He slowly sets aside the paperwork in his hands and prepares to leave the VIP room. He should check the front for any disturbances.

And then the door slams open with the force of an oncoming freight train.

Azul will never admit to that unflattering yelp.

There you stand in all your winded glory, stumbling into the room looking a wreck. Ever the overthinker, he immediately assumes something has gone awry. Naturally, he's alarmed. Before he can demand details, however, you beat him to the punch.

"Impregnate me!"

Azul's body locks up as he gawks at you. His glasses slip. There's no way you'd say that!

Then again…

"This had better be one of your childish pranks," he warns as he straightens up and smooths out his clothes. "Otherwise—" he pushes his glasses up, "—we'll be having a conversation about impulsivity. We are still in schooling—" he places his hands on his hips, "—and we don't have a proper home for a child, let alone—"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" You cover his mouth with both hands. "It's a joke, honey, I'm kidding! Please no lectures!"

"Fine. But please, for my health, no more scares like that."

𝐉𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

Jade had just finished sorting his foraged finds between cooking ingredients, potionology ingredients, terrarium samples, and mystery ingredients. The final category will certainly be fun.

He doesn't look up as you tiptoe inside in an attempt to sneak up on him. One step from your left foot had been too loud.

"Yes, dear pearl?"

You squeak a bit, having thought you were silent as the night. Cover blown, you opt for a more direct approach. You straighten up and march right over to him. Jade would've turned to you on his own, but it's by your hands he's directed. Rather firmly, actually.

"Impregnate me."

Jade tries not to let his surprise show, but the minute widening of his eyes, slight raise in his brow, and slow parting of his lips speaks volumes. He tilts his head, the black streak in his hair falling with the motion.

"Interesting. I never expected you to be this forward. Perhaps I underestimated you. Would you like to start now? At least allow me to clean up—"

"NO! No no no no no!" You wildly wave your hands around in protest. "It's a— I was kidding! I'm joking! I'm not— I don't actually—!"

Backfired.

You should've known Jade wouldn't play along. And the way he's grinning and chuckling behind his gloved hand? He knew from the moment you walked in that you were trying to pull a fast one. Because of course he did.

"I suppose that will teach you to be more careful of what you say, hmm?"

"You're a bastard."

"Afraid not. My parents are married."

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

Floyd was skipping out on basketball practice. He just wasn't feeling it, not with Jamil's annoying nagging and Ace's incessant whining. (At least, that's how Floyd saw it.) So he was kicking rocks near the fountain, hands folded together behind his head. He'd find something to do; he always does, even if it involves a little mayhem. Especially if it involves a little mayhem.

"Floooyd!"

Now that perks him right up.

Floyd spins around, a huge, toothy grin already on his face. "Shrimpyyyy~! There ya are!"

You launch yourself right into his awaiting arms. He catches you with ease and swings you around with unrivaled joy. Then, as he nuzzles you, smooshing your cheeks together in the process, "Whatcha doin', anyway~?

You pull back a bit and make intense eye contact with him.

"Impregnate me."

Floyd stares for a few seconds, expression blank.

And then an even bigger grin.

"Y'wanna have some li'l fry with me? Or elvers, maybe~? Oh, oh, what if we had twins? Or a whole clutch! Mama would love that~!

You need to stop him now.

"I WAS KIDDING! I'm joking, Floyd, I'm joking! Don't get so carried away!"

"Aww, really? That sucks~" But he nuzzles you again. "Ya got a weird sense'a humor, Shrimpy. But tha's okay cuz I like it~" He gives you a big kiss on the cheek, and you whine in protest.

"You were way too excited about it!"

"Why wouldn't I be? I wanna have a big family with my Shrimpy~!"

"FLOYD!!"

𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐀𝐥-𝐀𝐬𝐢𝐦

Kalim was leaving Pop Music Club with his typical peppy attitude when you nearly crashed into him. Kalim, being Kalim, doesn't see a problem with that and pulls you right into a bear hug.

"Y/n! Hi! I missed you, y'know!"

"You saw me an hour ago," you point out.

"And? I'm allowed to miss you!" Okay, that's adorable. His smile is infectious, and you grin right back. "So what's up? What's got ya running so fast?"

You place your hands on his cheeks, ensuring you have his entire focus on you. "Impregnate me."

Kalim stares at you for a few moments, large eyes even wider than usual. And then—

"Really? Then we gotta start planning! We could have a big family! What kinda rooms should we put together?"

"I was joking—"

"We should ask Jamil for help putting together—"

"Kalim, I was kidding!"

"—and gender reveal parties—"

"KALIM!!"

"Huh? What?" He blinks at you.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I was kinda just pranking you."

Kalim tilts his head for a second before straightening back up. "Ohh, I get it! You wanted to see— Ohh. Okay. But, I mean, I still wanna have a real big family with you."

"Oh!" You shouldn't blush like that.

"I'll take good care of you guys, promise! You'll have everything you need, and Jamil can help, too!"

Oh, that traitorous smile of yours. You can't resist him.

"I know, Sunshine. I know."

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

Jamil sank into a cushioned seat the second he had a break. Overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated. That's the way of things, isn't it?

Someone plops down beside him, and he glances up to see you. That's fine, then. He finally lets out the exasperated groan he'd been holding in for the past three and a half hours.

"Tough day?"

"Always," he sighs as he starts to lean on you. The feeling that gives you is similar to when a cat or dog picks you out of a room full of people. You almost feel bad about what you're about to do. But no, you psyched yourself up for this, and you're not going to chicken out.

"Hey, Jamil?"

Immediately, his stormy eyes are narrowed in suspicion. You only ever start a conversation like this when you're about to do something stupid. "…Yes, habibti?"

"Impregnate me."

Jamil goes silent. You have to be joking. You know his situation. He couldn't! Not to mention, you yourself lack stability. What sort of life would your child be born into?!

"No." A flat out rejection. "We're in too precarious of situations to have children. Be realistic."

"I was just kidding. Damn."

He sits up a bit more. "I suspected as much. Even if you weren't, however… It isn't that I don't want to. We just can't right now."

Unfortunately, your face heats up. That was very forward and honest of him. And, to think…

"Now, no more shenanigans. Please?"

You awkwardly chuckle. "No more. Promise."

"Thank you. Now, would it be alright if I…rested here?" He wants to sleep against you.

"Aww. Of course." You pull him closer and let him lay his head on your chest. "Sleep tight, 'kay?"

Jamil only hums in response as he closes his eyes.

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞

Silver rests in his room after another bout of training with Sebek. His ears are still ringing a bit, and he has a few sore spots, but other than that, he's relatively fine. He sits at his desk with his homework, wanting to chip away at it before he inevitably dozes off again.

His door creaks open.

"…Silver?"

He looks up from the papers and sets his pen down. "Is something wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong for me to visit my boyfriend?" You tease.

"No, I meant…"

"I'm kidding," you say, huffing out a short laugh. Silver's eyelids droop a bit when you lean down to hug him from behind. He almost slumps onto his desk. "Sooo, Silver?"

That's a dangerous tone. So dangerous, in fact, it wakes him up a bit. "…Yes?"

"Impregnate me."

Now that jolts him awake.

So much so, in fact, that he almost bonks his head against you.

"I— Y/n, we can't. We still live in school dormitories. And I feel I should ask Malleus for his blessing. Father would be pleased, but… Isn't it too early?" His auroral eyes peer up at you with sparkling concern, ever the dreamy prince.

Adorable.

"Kidding again, Silver~"

"…Oh. I see.." Silver's cheeks glow with a healthy rosiness, and you can't help but give one a bit of a playful pinch. "You do love your jokes. I like that about you."

Even when flustered, he still manages to display his devotion. He really is straight out of a fairy tale.

"Aw, Silver. Thank you, baby. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Just before his eyes fully close, you help him into his bed. At least this way, he shouldn't have any back issues upon waking. You press a kiss to his forehead, and he makes a soft noise of contentment. If he has to sleep like this, let him at least be tucked in by his beloved.

How did I manage to make Silver's the longest?? I've basically never even written for him before!

No proofreading, lol. You can tell who I've never really written for. 💀 I hope no one was too shallow or OOC.

Taglist:

@kimdourden

@teenie-beanie

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

lunch break

Summary: Joel forgot his lunch at home. When you get to his work to bring it to him, he has you for lunch instead.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.1k

Raiting: E

Warnings: established relationship, no outbreak, breeding kink like woah, smut (unprotected sex, public sex, car sex) dirty talk, a little bit of exhibitionism, fluff too I guess

A/N: look, I don't know, this just happened, okay?

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

This wasn’t supposed how you thought bringing lunch to Joel would end.

It was supposed to be a quick in and out to the job site, bringing him the lunch he had forgotten before getting back home in time for Sarah to get back from school and take her to the dentist. You had taken the whole day off especially for that because you knew how scared she was to go to the dentist and Joel couldn’t take the day off. 

The project Joel was currently working on was almost a 45 minute drive somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Apparently some billionaire had bought the whole land and was now building a luxury hotel, Miller constructions first big contract they had won. 

It were long and exhausting hours but Joel did it all with a smile. 

Sure, one on one time with him had gotten less and less but you were in it for the long haul with him. So long that you had moved into his place earlier in the year. So long that you had talked about having a baby together. 

Something that very much took the backroad since this project started a couple months ago. Or so you thought as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, Joel towering over you in the dusty bed of his truck as he pumped his thick cock into you with deep and long strokes, making it hard to keep quiet. 

You weren’t even sure how this happened. 

One moment you walked towards the three containers that had been set up for all the workers, walking towards Joel who was sitting with his back towards you, the next moment he had you under him in his truck bed, panties pushed to the side under the summer dress you had been wearing, making enough room for his cock to fill you, him not having even pulled off his jeans, only pushing it down far enough to free his cock.  

„Not gonna let me hear you, huh?“ He teased, voice low as he leaned in, his lips kissing up your neck, steadily thrusting his cock into you. 

„Don’t want your people to hear,“ you whimpered, one hand in his hair, to keep his mouth right where it was as he sucked softly on that one spot on your neck he knew drove you insane. You crossed your legs behind his back, moaning at the changed angle he was filling you. 

„So fucking sexy,“ he grunted, kissing down towards your collarbone, his fingers pulling at the front of your dress just so he could free one of your nipples, his lips closing around it immediately after, sucking harshly. 

Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry, head thrown back as you looked up into the blue sky above the tree his car was parked beneath. 

Joel was dirty and sweaty, the shirt he had left the house with this morning replaced by a white wife beater that was clinging to his sweaty body. Sweat was dripping down his neck and fuck you don’t think you have ever been more turned on. 

He nibbled on your nipple and you pulled at his hair. 

„Can’t wait till these are full of milk,“ he mumbled against your skin as he kissed himself up your body, nose brushing over your skin as his hips slapped against yours, shaking the whole truck. 

„Full of milk for the baby I’m gonna fuck into you,“ he said, eyes on you before he kissed you deeply, tongue diving into your mouth while he fucked you even deeper. 

You could hear some men laughing in the not so far distance, and you gasped as you remembered just where you were. Were you let Joel have his way with you. You clenched around his cock and he moaned against your lips. 

„Need you to cum for me, baby,“ his forehead came to rest against yours as he fucked into you. 

„Need you to cum so I can fuck my cum so deep inside of you, it’ll take. Gonna make you a mama,“ he murmured, and you gasped. 

„Fuck, Joel,“ you moaned. 

„You want that? Want me to keep you full of my cum?“ He groaned and you nodded.

„I want that. Want you inside me all the time,“ you whined and he groaned a low fuck against your ear as he buried his face against your neck. You wrapped your arms behind his back, one of your hands buried in his sweaty hair.

"Gonna look so good with my baby inside of you. Not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you once you start to show,“ he whispered against your ear and you shuddered. 

„Cum for me baby,“ he sucked on your earlobe. 

„Cum for me so I can pump you full of my cum. Full of my baby,“ he groaned and you clamped down on him, cumming hard. 

„Oh fuck,“ he groaned when he felt you come, following you almost immediately, moaning against your ear as he came, spilling inside of of you, pumping you full with his cum. 

Both out of breath you just stayed like this, for how long you didn’t know. Could be seconds, minutes or hours, you weren’t sure as you held him in your arms, feeling his warm breath against your neck as he laid on top of you. 

He knew how much you loved having him on top of you. 

You brushed your fingers through his hair, a content smile sneaking to your face. 

„Where did that come from?“ You asked after a while and he sat himself up a little so he could look at you. 

„I know you’re ovulating,“ he said and you raised one eyebrow, intrigued at him knowing that.  

„And I’m just really fucking horny for you,“ he said like it was the most normal thing, making you giggle. He chuckled, smiling widely at you before he kissed you softly. 

„Love you,“ you mumbled against his lips. 

„Love you more,“ he mumbled back. 

You were already driving back down the dirt road when Joel made his way back to the construction site, trying to glare at the very obvious smirks and winks he received from his colleagues. 

But who the fuck was he kidding?

He’d go through all the teasing in the world to have a lunch break like that every day. 

It was hours later that he realised, he never actually ate anything.

[demilypyro]

"Another damn Super."

Shotgun Sally had had her fill of fighting superheroes. Henching used to be easy. Crack some safes, intimidate some people, stand guard at some deals. It's the only skillset she's ever had, and she was happy doing it. She had no interest in moving up - too much paperwork and headache - and going straight was impossible with her record. No, henching was where it's at. Or it used to be. Until those meteor storms a few years ago. People getting superpowers from the radiation. Started wearing costumes. Ridiculous. Comic book stuff. Job hadn't been the same since.

Intel came in. Sally answered the phone, writing down all the info in her notebook as usual. New hero. Contact said she goes by "Miss Fire." Left a calling card, apparently? Stupid name. Basic. Probably young, unsponsored. Hasn't been caught on camera yet, but apparently some deals went bad. Bodies at the scene had third degree burns on their hands and faces. Not one of those no-killers, this one. The name made her easy to figure out. Typical energy projection hero, probably has flamethrower breath or shoots fireballs. You hear it all the time, kid gets some flashy powers, gets full of herself, decides to be a crime fighter. Nobody ever trains the Supers to care about human life. Sally'd never had a reason to kill anybody in her work. Some rounds at the feet usually scares people into compliance. At most she'd take a few teeth or break some bones, but she'd never killed. What was their excuse?

Sally was tense. The contact was late. Deal was supposed to be done by now. That meant something was up. But it wasn't her decision whether they pulled out or not, that was up to the boss. She was watching a rat eat a pizza. Then she heard it. Gunfire, sounds of burning and screaming. "We got a Super!" A nod from the boss, and Sally was off.

Sally darted around a corner. There she was. The kid wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Usually these flashy types are dressed in spandex, or wearing heels (ridiculous), but this one was wearing simple boots and a parka. What confused Sally most of all was the lack of any glowing. Usually with these energy projection heroes you could tell what bodypart their powers came from by a residual glow, especially if they'd used their powers recently. Nothing around the throat or the hands.... In fact, her hands weren't even out. They were in her pockets. She looked totally relaxed. Was this not the hero?

Sally leveled her shotgun. She was about twenty paces away. Standard procedure with heroes was to keep your distance, in case they have melee powers. But she was more than close enough to turn the girl into a cheese grater if need be. She had to find out if this was the hero or not. Sally always preferred the direct approach. "Miss Fire, I presume?"

"That's me," the girl replied. Her face was blank. "You don't wanna be pointing that thing at me."

The girl's candor was annoying. "I believe I do. See I've been hearing about you hurting my people. I can't have that."

"They shot first. It wasn't on me."

"I'm gonna give you one chance to get out of here. It's past your bedtime."

"Make me."

Alright, that was enough talking. Sally couldn't tell if this kid had powers or what, but there was only one way to find out. Sally switched her shotgun to a low-spread mode and aimed between the girl's feet. If this wasn't the Super, this would scare her off. If she IS the Super... well, whatever happens happens.

Sally almost missed it. In a swift motion, the girl took her hands out of her pockets and opened both at Sally as if to reach out to her. Sally's reflexes kicked in, throwing herself to the ground to dodge the oncoming fireball or laser beam or whatever it was. But nothing came. The girl was just standing there, with her arms out. She looked like an idiot. Sally got up. "Of all the... what the hell do you think you're doing? I could've shot you."

The girl seemed surprised that she hadn't. She looked scared. "Usually they do by now..." she whimpered. She suddenly turned around and started running in the other direction. Sally was stunned. She was about to chase after her, but then she heard a noise she didn't like. Her gun. It was hissing at her. In fact, it was glowing. Alarmed, Sally threw the shotgun away from her as fast as she could. As it collided with the ground, it exploded into a ball of purple and blue flames.

Sally sat on the ground, watching the smoking remains of her favorite gun. She took her notebook out, and flipped to the info about the new hero. She crossed out "Miss Fire" and wrote "Misfire" under it.

"I hate Supers."

[partiallysame]

OK OK OKK JUUSTT LISTEN TO ME ON THIS ONE PLEAASEEEE. what about price's lil missus (or mister, we're gender inclusive here!) getting captured by makarov and being held for ransom. NEED to see this in your writing

No you’re so right Price’s lil missus can also be his lil mister. His lil love his lil dove. Not sure if I’ve used pronouns other than the term missus but we are inclusive here (also it’s on my list to write more male reader too)

Ok ok ok I think when the boys first moved in Simon was appalled at the lack of security. He immediately put in alarms on the doors and a tracker on your car (with your concern although he would’ve even if you said no. Safety is not an option). You had turned the beep on the front door off bc that’s annoying to hear everytime you open it buttttt if the door was ever left open for too long Simon would get an alert in his phone. Usually just you leaving it open when doing something in the yard or grabbing something from your car buttt this time he got the notification and checked the cameras to see you being carried kicking and screaming into a suv. Suddenly they’re in a military humvee tracking the car on traffic cameras. Price cursing himself bc he kept you a secret for a reason. Covert ops meant a covert personal life was the safest option.

While you were Price’s sweet dove you were anything but docile he simply wouldn’t leave you alone for work without knowing you could protect yourself. Makarov was not expecting the sweet lil thing his men grabbed to somehow get a knife into two of his men. But you know, gun pressed to your head helps everyone calm down. So you found yourself tied up in a dark room. The idiot Russian barely had a moment to take the ransom photo before he heard the gunshots outside. The door was exploded open (not their first idea but the fastest). On the way to you they had to discuss how to handle the situation bc they always did their best to make sure civilians weren’t harmed in this situation but now it’s you. It’s the sweet love of their lives. They wanted to rescue you without adding more trauma than already caused. Before the dust settles from the door you saw Johnny full tac gear. A uniform you’ve only ever seen in photos. Emerging behind him was Kyle and a man in a skeleton mask. Johnny found your gaze, his hand motioned over his own eyes, signaling you to close yours. You did and the room got so unbelievably loud. Eyes shut tight, you felt strong arms wrap around you, lifting and carrying you from the room and the noise. When the ringing in your ears stopped enough you could hear your husband’s voice trying to coax you to open your eyes. His hands working to untie you, too scared to bring a knife near you to just cut the restraints off. When you finally opened your eyes, he watched your body untense. Body falling into his only to feel more arms wrap around you from the back. Sobs falling from you and the men around you. Not so big tough when it comes to your life. You looked down and could see the skeleton mask resting on the floor. “Spooky mask Simon.” Your lil quip brought a small smile to their faces. You were ok. You were safe and still yourself. As they guided you to the humvee you tried to turn to look at where you were being held hostage “no nope nope eyes forward sweetheart” just because you were forced to experience some of their job didn’t mean they wanted you to see all of it. They had been chasing makarov for so long but his mistake of coming after Prices lil wife caused him a bullet (or 4) to the head

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- the aha moment

or...how they realize they're in love with you

seungcheol doesn't get that aha moment, falling in love isn't something that happens within seconds for him. it's like he's slowly drifting into love, not even realizing you've become the focal point of his entire existence. when it finally hits him, it's a quiet, simple moment. he's watching you make him breakfast in the morning, admiring you quietly from the kitchen counter. he zones out for a moment, blinking suddenly and realizing damn. that's my woman. and he knows he's ruined for life.

it's kind of silly, how jeonghan realizes he's in love with you. he's just returned home from a busy day at work, entering the house to find it empty. searching the place top to bottom, he's about to call you when - BOO - you jump out from one of the closets and scares the soul out of him. he's clutching his chest, watching as you collapse onto the ground in a fit of giggles. he can't help but laugh along, realizing through the chaos that he's found his soulmate, and he'd be damned not to admit he's in love with you.

joshua's a simple man by nature. he's easily happy in life, only needing his members, his job, his lifestyle, and of course, you. it doesn't take long into your relationship before he realizes he's in love, as the two of you take a stroll along the Han River after a long day. he's watching the setting sun reflect against your figure, taking his phone out to snap a few pictures. it's when he notices his camera roll is full of pictures of you does he think well, that's it. i'm in love.

upon meeting his family, jun notices how much work you've put into it. you're doing your best to speak his town's dialect, communicating with his parents in a language that made them most comfortable. his heart swells when he sees you amidst his childhood home, trading stories and eating with the people who raised him. it's when he notes that you look so perfect here that he realizes you just fit. he's in love.

as if everything else is with soonyoung, his aha moment is full of fireworks and pizzazz. having just finished the most record breaking performance of his life, he finds himself with one thought only: i want to go home. usually, it's because he's tired. but now, ever since you stumbled into his life, he finds himself wanting, needing, to go home so he can hold you and recite everything that happened today. he's practically thrumming with energy to rush home, and everyone around him sees what is so painfully obvious. he's so in love.

wonwoo's always credited himself to be a loner. not a lot of people can fit with his quiet personality, so when you offer the idea of "parallel play" he's a little confused. his heart warms when you explain that you don't mind doing separate things as long as you're in the same area, understanding that he needs more time to himself than others might. it's when you tell him you love him enough to compromise does he think im so in love with this girl right now.

woozi's used to writing songs dedicated to his fans and members. he sits down for another writing session, brainstorming ideas and the thought of you pops into his mind. he shrugs, thinking it might be nice to mix it up a bit, sitting down to write something about you. it's when he reads his own words back does he realize he's irrevocably screwed and so in love with you. thought about settling down, buying her a house and saying screw the music. yeah, he's in love.

having always been a realist, minghao doesn't necessary believe in true love, or love at first sight. he understands there's going to be someone out there for him, but he's skeptical that that someone is going to be perfect. all his beliefs go out the window the moment he sees you - it's like you're surrounded by a golden glow - and he realizes maybe love at first sight can be real.

seokmin loves and gives as easy as breathing. he's always been a generous guy, and it's when you sit him down and kindly remind him to leave some for himself does he stare at you and realize ok i've found the one. you've become that steadiness in his life that used to be just his members, and you love and give to him like it's as simple as breathing too.

having always been the resident cook, mingyu's eyeing your food creation like it's some kind of poison or drug. he had insisted you didn't need to cook for him, he's always been the cook and doesn't mind it, but you were stubborn and he relented. it's when the first bite blows him away does he realize he kinda misses having someone cook for him too. if you're this good at cooking i might just have to marry you, he says, ignoring how you blush, going back for another bite.

seungkwan's always been the entertainer. he doesn't mind it, he enjoys the fact it's his job to make everyone laugh. but when times get tough and he's in no mood to be the entertainer, you're right there to support him. it's when he gets home to you after a particularly rough day and you welcome him in with open arms, murmuring how he's done well and doesn't need to do more. it's when he realizes he can just be seungkwan - not seungkwan the entertainer, but just seungkwan - and he loves you for that.

vernon never really thought about finding the one. he always just assumed that they would find him. and that's exactly what happens, when you bump into each other at the movie theatre - both there alone just cause. it's when you're enthusiastically going band for band with vernon about movies that he's forced with the realization that shit. maybe i have found the one.

chan's always known he was in love with you. he doesn't like to admit it cause he thinks it makes him sound sappy, but he truly never questioned his love for you. it was a simple thing in his mind - this person makes me so fucking happy - i must be in love. and how could it not be simple for him? he's staring at you quipping about some joke to his friends and he's thinking i love you. he's watching you just wake up from a nap and he's thinking i love you. he sees a text from you on his phone mid-dance practice. i love you. he's always been in love with you because he loves everything to do with you.

[daegall]

☆ when the candles burn out.

➷ Jeno Lee has everything he's wished for, except for you.

pairing: best friend!jeno x (implied fem!) reader

genre: bff2l!AU (WE R SOOO BACK), birthday!AU, university!AU, fluff, slight angst

warnings: none, but feel free to lmk if you find any

word count: 2.6k words

a/n: happies birthday to the (officially titled!) birthday boyyy!!! wishing him the very very best and hope that he knows we're so proud of him and love him sooo much!!!! I've missed writing sm so this was soo fun to make!! sorry if i've been super inactive, i've still got a lot to do before graduation ♡ i hope you all enjoy!!!

If he was asked, Jeno would say his life is very fulfilling, and that he's completely satisfied with it. How could he say any differently? He's doing really well in University, he's got amazing friends and a steady side job to support himself. He shouldn't be complaining.

But he's lying to himself. He knows he feels empty inside. And he knows what could fill that void.

It's you.

Jeno always felt he was missing something—he figured he would fix it later in life. He never knew it would hurt this much, he never knew it would be this hard to fix it. Frankly, he wishes it was something else that would be the glue to fix everything in his life.

It's not that Jeno hated you, no, he loved you. So dearly—he's never ever felt anything so intense in his life. Every time he looked at you, it was like he was reading his favorite book, unable to peel his eyes off the pages. Every time he heard your voice, it was like listening to the soft chirping of birds in the morning—the breeze in the afternoon—the comforting sounds of the bustling city in the evening. And when you touched him, a hug, or even something as simple as a high-five, it's as if you're a fireplace in winter, keeping him warm, inside and out.

God, he wanted you. Bad. Jeno never know one could yearn so deeply. He was never one good with words, but you make him want to write thousands of poems and sing melodies dedicated just to you.

The echoing questions that all his friends constantly ask him haunt him.

'Why don't you tell her?'

'She doesn't know yet?'

'What's the worst that could happen?'

'Why are you so scared?'

That's what Donghyuck always asks him. Jeno can't begin to tell him, he doesn't know where to start, Donghyuck wouldn't understand the turmoil he feels.

Jeno's scared that he's not what you expect. That you have a completely different vision of him than who he actually is. Jeno thinks you need someone who is able to love you loudly, who isn't afraid to give you everything that you not only need, but want, too. Jeno is sure that he's not your ideal man.

Today's his birthday. 25th. He knows because Jaemin greets him the very first this morning, calling him 'halfway-50 year old'. Jeno only rolls his eyes at his usual strange antics, pushing him out of the way of the fridge to grab his yogurt from the fridge.

When Jeno checks his phone, he realizes that Jaemin isn't the first one to say happy birthday. He finds out with a mouthful of yogurt, and a heart full of love, that it was you. On April 23, military time 00:12, you left a long paragraph wishing him a happy birthday, thanking him for everything and for being a great friend, and wishes of love and luck.

"Friends don't send birthday messages that long."

Jeno barely catches on that Jaemin is shamelessly peeking at his phone, throwing him a pointed look. "Maybe she does."

Jaemin's eyebrows raise—a deadpanned look. "She sent me a sentence on my birthday. At 5pm."

"That's cause you gifted her a giftcard for her birthday."

"That's what friends do!" Jaemin retorts. "You gifted her animal crossing—that shit's expensive!"

Jeno has to admit, he's right. About one thing. Friends don't send an essay's worth of a birthday message.

Okay, yeah, saving up for animal crossing for you took some time, but Jeno would do anything for you. And he means everything.

Like meeting up at your place for a birthday celebration with others. He would much rather spend it with only you, but that doesn't seem to be an option, considering how you love to make a huge deal about his birthday every year.

Now here he stands, at your door, knowing full well that you've planned some 'surprise' party. Despite that, he'll still pretend to be shocked—just to make you happy.

Jeno only needs to wait about 3 seconds right after he knocks, before the door swings open, the music inside finally distinguishable and—oh, it's... you. Just you.

Nobody else is seen behind you in your apartment, the familiar living area he recognizes so easily dimmed with a low, warm light, the walls filled with handing streamers of red and green—his favorite colors.

Jeno's heart has never swelled this much with love, his head has never been so clear and unbelievably messy at the same time, his practiced surprised smile completely fading in an expression of shock, his jaw hanging lightly.

"Hello, birthday boy," You grin. God, Jeno might kiss you.

The way you can't seem to stay still in excitement, the anticipation on your face and the way you wear his sweater, something he's definitely left accidentally somewhere inside there—he adores it all.

He never thought his feelings could get even more eager and heartfelt, and yet here he is, feeling it tenfold right in his heart.

"Come in," You smile, grabbing and tugging at his sleeve gently.

You want to laugh at his surprised expression, your excited smile falling shy. "Surprise! I bet you thought it was like all the surprise parties I hosted, huh?"

Jeno should have seen it coming. The fact that you saw through him almost immediately. A soft huff of a laugh leaves his lips as he nods, growing more comfortable as he ventures deeper into the surprise. His eyes trail over the streamers reflecting the warm light from your lamp, his gratitude growing almost unbearable.

Finally, his eyes land on the cake. Unlike the usual ordered or store-bought cake you make Mark Lee get every year for the party, it's sloppy, and it's clear that you made it yourself. The icing barely covers the full surface of the cake, leaving blank, splotchy spots along the cake.

"I tried my best," You comment, noticing his gaze on your cake. You really did, practicing some nights and watching multiple videos to find the best recipe to use.

Jeno grins even more his gaze shifting to you. If you weren't mistaken... he looks at you differently. Well, he looks at you as he always does, with a twinkle in his eyes and with utmost attentiveness, but tonight... it's different.

You think—and this is a big assumption—that he's looking at you with love. You could only dream that he would admit it.

"I love it," He reassures, slowly approaching you. "thank you, Y/N, I love everything about this."

Your cheeks feel sore from all the smiling, but you can't seem to stop smiling, pulling him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. "I'm glad. You deserve the best, Jeno."

Jeno holds you tight, his nose burying into the depths of your hair, eyes shutting to savor the moment as long as possible. His hands are warm, you can feel it through his sweater that you wear, one hand on your lower back, the other between your shoulder blades.

It's as if his hands have burnt through the fabric, because you feel every single movement his hands make. The way his thumbs rub gently up and down—the way his palms tensing up as he holds you closer—this feels better than it should.

When you pull away, the warmth finds it's way to your heart, beating faster suddenly and soaring, as if it was searching for his own to entangle in.

When you lead him to the couch to finally blow out the candles (with he candles now about a third of it's original height), Jeno has never felt happier, leaning in close to the cake.

He laughs when you suddenly panic, halting him to search for your camera.

"Why do you even need to film this?" He chuckles softly, it's a rich sound you find yourself enjoying more than you should.

You roll your eyes, finding the camera on your messy study desk, hidden behind a stack of books you never seem to finish reading. "To remember this! I want to look back on this when I'm eighty and reminisce like a stubborn old lady."

When Jeno blows out his candles after an awkward minute of you singing him 'happy birthday' by yourself, he finds himself wishing that you'd be a stubborn old lady with him. He wishes with his whole heart that he'd be there, reminiscing with you, that'd your grandchildren would be gagging at your love story, he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

Jeno gives you the first slice of the cake, despite your protests, handing it to you with a stern look. His heart melts when you take it from his hands, a small playful scowl on your lips. "I wanted you to taste it first..."

"Fine," He sighs, picking up the two forks you prepared. "we'll eat it together, yeah?"

Jeno dismisses your objections, already stabbing the forks into the cake and scooping it up. He laughs heartily when your words die in your throat, offering the fork to you.

You stare at the piece of cake on your fork with intent. "If it tastes like shit, I'm sorry,"

Even if it did, he'd pretend it was the most delectable delicacy he'd ever eaten. He would believe so, with his whole being. Even if it was bad, your stunning smile would be sweet enough for it to substitute the taste.

You're surprised when Jeno brings his own fork up to your lips, blinking in shock. When you look up at him, he gives you an encouraging look. "I'll feed you, you'll feed me."

You don't think he's aware of how intimate this is. Not when he's looking at you with such innocence and care. But with the dim, warm lighting from the distant lamp, and the music that still plays softly in the background, this feels too romantic—too real.

You go along with it anyway, knowing that you'd do anything and everything for him.

As your lips come in contact with the cake, and your teeth clash just slightly with the metal of the fork, you realize the strawberry jam you used for each layer—it's sour.

Instantly, you gaze up at Jeno, to gauge his reaction and his opinion of your cake, only to see that his mouth is closed, lips stretched into a soft, loving smile as his face his dodged from your fork.

"Jeno, you—how could you!"

In a moment, both forks are on the ground as you lunge forward to grab at his shirt. On your lips is an embarrassed smile, your eyes shut as you shake him back and forth. "You ass! I made this for you..."

"Sorry, sorry!" Jeno laughs, his hands enveloping yours, holding on top of them as you continue to shake him. "You just looked so cute—all anticipated and excited,"

"Yeah! For you to taste it!"

"Fine, fine! I'll taste it! Just stop shaking me!"

When you scowl and release his collar, his hands don't leave yours, instead, he takes your hands in his, his fingers slotting almost perfectly between yours with ease. You don't shy away from this, it's normal for him to do this. It's a typical tactic he uses so you don't start fooling around once more—but this time... it feels different. His touch seems gentler, his thumbs rubbing softly up and down the sides of your palm. You have to admit, it has your heart in a twist.

"How are you going to try it if you keep holding my hands?" You smart him, sticking your tongue out at him.

Jeno's eyes search yours, his gaze deep. It's almost as if he's trying to look into your soul—trying to find the place you keep the thought of him. He should look into your heart, then.

His right hand suddenly leaves yours, and just as you think he's about to grab the fork once more, his hand inches towards your face. You don't dodge it, despite your shock, your lips parting in surprise, and Jeno knows that he's interrupted one of your sassy, smart retorts that he loves so much.

It's like instinct when his palm envelops your cheek, that you lean into his touch, your head tilting into his hold. As his thumbs rub at your cheek, his eyes search your entire face, searching for any signs of discomfort or rejection. He searches, and keeps searching, only to find nothing. You want this. As much as he does.

"...so are you going to try the cake?"

"Give me a minute, you dork,"

You laugh, and he laughs when you laugh. Your laughter entangle in the air and echo, like a resonating song on repeat—the kind that no matter how many times you play over and over, you never get sick of it.

Suddenly, Jeno's nose is brushing against yours. His thumb gently caressing at your bottom lip. He searches your eyes once more, and at this proximity, he can finally tell what you feel. In your eyes, it's him. In his eyes, it's you. In your heart, is his. In his soul, is yours.

The tender exchange of affectionate looks screams only one thing.

I love you.

When Jeno's lips press to yours, you're not surprised. Instead, you welcome it warmly, reciprocating and leaning into it.

His hands travel, one to your neck, the other your waist to tug you closer. Your own find comfort in the hairs of the bottom of his neck, tousling the strands there. You feel his lips curl into a smile, as his neck cranes to find an angle to grow closer to you, if it were possible.

Jeno slowly and gently lowers you to your back, his hand protecting the back of your head as he settles you down on your carpet, hovering over your body. As your arms wrap around his neck, his tongue finds yours, tangling tenderly and lovingly, declaring his care and affection, all his feelings for you.

You smile against his lips as Jeno's laugh vibrates against your own, content and devoted, finding the whole situation unbelievable. Luck truly is in his favor, and he thinks he's one step closer to his birthday wish coming true.

When Jeno pulls away, his breath is warm against your lips, the tip of his nose grazing against yours.

"...tastes sweet," He finally elates, smiling. His eyes find yours, pupils dilated with love.

You laugh out, eyes squeezed shut, and head throwing back against his hand that still holds you protectively. You snort when he gives you a confused, almost lost puppy-like look. "The cake jam was sour, Jeno,"

"Oh," he hums. "must've just been you I was tasting, then..."

You push playfully at his shoulder. "Oh my god, you sappy idiot!"

"No, no," He retorts with a grin. "you taste sweet. I didn't get a single taste of sour,"

"Taste the cake, then!"

"Don't wanna, just want you,"

Despite his words, you make him taste the cake, laughing as his nose scrunches up. "It's—oh god—it's sweet! I swear!" He insists.

Finally, Jeno feels complete. He no longer feels an empty void inside of him, he no longer feels lonely or hurt when he looks at you—though he does feel his heart hurt, swelling with the amount of love he has for you. He can finally say wholeheartedly that he's satisfied with his life, that he feels fulfilled.

He's doing really well in University, he's got amazing friends, the best girlfriend he could ask for, and a steady side job to support himself and his girl, you.

Jeno is dead set on making his birthday wish come true.