#plot twist: he never stops pouting

[fatehunted]

➳ — @yjstce / conner kent replied:

not cool :/

❝ Conner, how many times do you want me to say it? I really am sorry. Are you going to pout at me forever? ❞

[omgeto]

☆ THRILL (h)ER! — SATOSUGU X READER

summary: when watching a scary movie with your two best friends, you cant help but hold onto them tight every time you get jumpscared. but as the night goes on and your fingers roam... wait, what movie were you watching again?

wc: 3.3k (its alll smut guys so give me a medal)

cw: double penetration, praising, slight degradation, gojo and geto bickering, fingering, dirty talk (?) and some fun loving you're their pretty little princess. afab!reader, MDNI

an: guys look I finally posted a fic for kinktober, yay me, I hope you like it since Id say the smut on this one hits different sooo give it a chance. also only big brains will understand the fic title.

KINKTOBER M.LIST.

your best friends, gojo and geto always have a way of making you feel right at home, especially when you find yourself in your favourite spot on the couch – sandwiched between them. geto's embrace is a gentle yet possessive one, his arms wrapped around you in a tender hold that radiates warmth, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your lower back.

to your side, gojo's long limbs seamlessly entwine with yours. your legs stretch over to meet him, creating an intimate tangle of limbs. his fingers trail leisurely up and down your thighs, their teasing caresses sending delightful shivers through your body. it's a familiar and electric sensation that's become an unspoken language among the three of you—one that hasn’t fully been enacted upon… yet.

"i don't know why you insist we watch this movie every year," geto complains, his gaze locked onto his b est friend, a playful frustration in his tone. "you're so predictable."

"oh, don't be a bore," gojo retorts, matching geto's glare before shifting his attention down to you. his voice is laced with mischief as he speaks to you. "you find it fun, don't you?" 

“what? do i like crappy slashers from the 80s with big titted damsels running from a shitly costumed killer?” you deadpan, your sarcasm evident. you could feel the vibration from geto as he lowly chuckles. gojo’s face forms a pout that prompts you to quickly add, “but i love them.”

gojo’s pout transforms into a triumphant grin as your admission earns you a playful nudge from him. “that’s my girl,” he exclaims, giving your thigh an excited rub as he turns on the movie.

geto, still chuckling softly, leans in closer. “well, i suppose if toru enjoys it, we can endure it one more time.” his words carry a hint of tenderness, his arm around you tightening ever so slightly, puling you closer into his embrace.                                                                            

you watch the movie in a comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the tv and gojo's oddly placed screams that you've come to expect every year. his over-the-top reactions to jump scares and gruesome scenes never fail to amuse you, and it's a source of endless entertainment for both you and geto.

geto, on the other hand, watches the movie with a more stoic expression, occasionally shaking his head at the implausible plot twists and unrealistic gore. His hand continues to rest on your thigh, his fingers now tracing soothing patterns as if to counterbalance the tension on the screen.

as the movie progresses, you notice how both gojo and geto steal glances at you when they think you're not looking, as their innocent touches progress into heavy petting. but there's a moment where you all pause, their movements stop, and you all look at each other as the loud sounds of exaggerated moans blare from the screen.

“i always forget this scene is in there,” gojo lies, with a snicker, an appreciative smile forming on his face as he watches the scene.gojo's arm remains draped around your shoulders, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm, while geto's touch has grown increasingly intimate, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles.

“oh don’t bullshit satoru,” geto accuses, taking his hand off of you for a second to send a jab into gojo’s side, “i know you’re getting off on watching this ditzy blonde getting laid.”

“not true,” gojo retorts childishly, “i think there’s better sights to get off on, isn’t that right?” he finishes casting his eyes, not so subtly, over to you.

“well i can’t lie and say the sights aren’t… appealing,” geto grins his hands coming back on you, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“you two are such guys,” you laugh, trying to remain nonchalant even though on the inside the pace of your heart was quickening, and every touch of their fingers sends jolts straight to your core. “you’re focusing on the wrong things here.”

“and what should we be focusing on here?” geto murmurs at you, you couldn’t see his face but you knew a smirk was plastered across it. his challenge hangs in the air as you pause, hesitating as you scan the room, your eyes meeting gojo’s trying to gauge if they are thinking what you are. geto can sense your hesitation as he feels your breathing still as you lean against him, so he pulls his finger under your chin turning your head to face him. “let us focus on you, come here.”

you lean in, his lips enclosing on yours in a deep kiss, you turn your body almost straddling him so you could get better access. his tongue enters your mouth, as his hands work down your body, and as the kiss intensifies, you’re aware of gojo’s gaze on you. you extend an inviting hand toward him, flashing him a smile as you pull away from geto and set your lips on your other friend.

gojo groans as your lips work with his, and his hands go straight into his pants, fisting his dick that has been hard all night just at the sight of you. geto cascades kisses down your neck as he starts to pull your shirt up off of you, you gasp at the feeling of both of their hands and lips all over you.

“h-how long have you two been planning this one then, huh?” you grin, a laugh escaping through your moans, as you let geto get rid of your shirt, assisting gojo with taking off your pants. 

“how long have we known you?” geto responds rhetorically, and gojo nod in agreement, as they both take off their jogging bottoms, leaving you all sitting on the couch in your underwear. there is no more hesitation, or uncertainty between you three—you all know exactly what you want.

“so who gets to have me first?” you joke, your eyes darting between the two of them, their lustful eyes are unmistakable as they stare at your body, their dicks straining against their boxers ready to be suffocated by your tight pussy.

“i get to!” gojo sputters out quickly, but he’s not as swift as geto who’s already pulled you back onto him, his fingers pushing into you without any warning. your mouth parts, as you let out a whine, as his long digits give your pussy fast, relentless strokes, he adds another finger, smirking as your body buckles against his. “hey no fair!” gojo pouts, side eyeing geto, but he can’t help biting his lip as he hears your cunt squelch everytime his best friend shoves his fingers into it.

“don’t worry, ‘toru,” geto reassures, his fingers curling up into you before he pulls it out swiftly, spreading your pussy apart and giving gojo a knowing look, “there’s room for the both of us.”

gojo eagerly drives his fingers into you from behind, his body pressing against yours as he charges your fingers into you. your moans increase as you feel a flurry of digits explore your pussy, gojo’s hand grips on his shoulder and geto hand holds your waist as they both tug your body back and forth in an attempt to get you closer to them.

“s-shit” you cry out, as you clench around their fingers, trying to keep them inside of you. you grind down against both of their fingers, your whimpers encouraging them to twist and push their fingers deeper into you.

“you see how much of a mess she gets for us?” geto asks gojo with a low chuckle, and gojo nods, smiling as the wetness of your pussy allows for his fingers to slide into you with ease, “press down on her clit. hard.”

“don’t tell me what to do,” gojo mutters, but he does it anyway. his thumb going straight to your clit, pushing down on it, smirking as you groan your back arching right into him. 

“see i told you,” geto chimes, laughing as gojo glares at him. geto’s focus shifts to you, as he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to your mouth, he holds your chin, placing his thumb on your bottom lip as he raises his eyebrows at you for permission. you nod lazily, opening your mouth, accepting two of his fingers —which are drenched in your juices. “‘toru, you gonna finish her off for me.”

gojo smirks, his fingers working in overdrive, as he adds another digit inside of you and you could feel yourself about to release. geto can tell you're close from the way you bite down on his fingers. “you close? you gonna cum on satoru’s fingers as you taste yourself?”

you couldn’t even respond, as your cum sprays all over gojo’s fingers and geto’s stomach. the boys both smirk at each other, as they hear your high pitched moans and see heaps of your cum spilling out of your pussy running down your thighs. gojo is in awe, his fingers still remain in you and he pushes them up lazily, trying to keep you plugged with your cum. you relax onto his fingers, letting him do as he pleases, as you try and catch your breath your body slumping onto geto’s.

“you did so well,” geto praises in his air, lifting up your head off your chest, pecking your lips softly. “you took both of our fingers letting us stretch your tight pussy, it felt good didn’t it?” 

“y-yeah it felt so good sugu,” you sigh, turning your head to face gojo, as you pull him closer into you, “you both felt so good.”

“you wanna let us stuff you further?” gojo questions eagerly, his hard dick resting on your ass, as rocks against you.

“satoru,” geto reprimands, shaking his head at his friends over excitement. but gojo shoots him a look shrugging as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, practically inhaling you.

“but suguru, she wants us both to stuff her,” he argues, as fingers already go back to your sobbing cunt. “you want that dont you?” he whispers, directly in your ear, slowly coaxing your pussy with soft strokes as he murmurs in your ear. “you want me and sugu to shove our dicks right up your pussy, together.”

“i don’t know if i can…” you hesitate, your voice faltering, but you pull your lip between your teeth, closing your eyes as you think about taking both of them.

“c’mon pretty girl,” geto persuades you, forcing you to open your eyes and look at the teasing smirk on your face, “don’t think we don’t know how slutty you can be. you know your greedy little cunt take both of us with ease, and you want it to, don't you?” you nod your head slowly in agreement, but geto shakes his, “no, we need to hear you say it. use your words. tell us what you want.”

“i want your dicks to stuff my pussy,” you admit, feeling your confidence grow as the smirk on geto’s face widens and you can hear gojo lowly growl in your ear. “i need it.”

“well we have to give our girl what she wants, right sugu?” gojo taunts, pulling you off of gojo and onto his lap, his dick slaps against your pussy. “suguru got to see your pretty face, before, so this time you’re all mine, okay?” gojo says to you, and you could hear geto kiss his teeth, but he obliges letting gojo have his way this time. 

“you ready for me?” gojo asks, waiting for your approval as he lifts you up slightly over his dick, he even looks over to geto he leans back against the couch, with his dick in his hand. you don’t even answer gojo, sliding down onto gojo as you moan together.

geto fists his dick at the sight, “go on satoru, fuck her,” he orders, his strokes increasing as he watches as gojo begin to thrust into you. your hands press down on gojo’s shoulder’s as you start to bounce on him, you lean forward whining straight in his ear, causing him fuck you harder.

gojo plays with your bra strap, pulling it and letting it release against your shoulder, “i don’t know why you’ve still got this on,” he complains, as brings his hands to the clasp of your bra, undoing it. your tits bounce as he pulls off your bra, and both boys smile at the sight. gojo’s fingers pull against both of your nipples, twisting and pulling at them causing you to cry at every tug. “so sensitive,” he mutters to himself, touching your tits inquisitively as he continues to toy with them, loving how with every touch your cries grow louder.

“it’s crazy how we stretched you so well earlier, but your pussy is still tight as fuck,” gojo comments, his words punctuated with every thrust. “i had all my fingers inside of you already, but your cock hungry cunt just can’t seem to get enough.”

“is he fucking you good?” geto calls, feeling himself about to cum, as he rubs against his dick hard. you look over to him and smile, nodding quickly as you wrap your hands around gojos neck, clinging to him as his dick drives into you. geto stands up, coming up behind you pressing a kiss on your neck, “you need me to help get you off?”

“she doesn’t need anything from you, i’m doing just fine,” gojo mumbles, but he lets you slightly raise up off of his dick and he smirks as he feels geto join him, geto’s dick presses against gojo in excitement as they wait in anticipation for you to enclose them with your pussy. 

“don’t be nervous,” geto coos from behind you, nipping at your ear. you look at gojo and he gives you an encouraging nod, and you slide back down onto them hissing in slight pain as you feel them both enter you. “it’s okay pretty, you’re doing so so well,” geto continues to reassure you, pressing soothing kisses down your neck, his lips sucking at your flesh. you all pause as you fully take them both in, and you feel the pain subside smiling at gojo giving him permission to move. 

geto follows suit, and you all move in tandem, fucking against each other. gojo places his hands on your ass, pushing your cheeks in pace with his movements whereas geto’s hands cup your tits, holding them firmly as he spreads his fingers over your nipples, rolling them.

“fu-fuck you two are too big, you can’t” you whine, clawing against gojo’s chest. they were both drilling into you relentlessly, you couldn’t catch your breath as every second you were being double stuffed with dick. tears spring to your eyes, as you cry out in pleasure, grinding down against them trying to get as much as them as possible. 

“if only you could see how slutty our girl looks,” gojo says to geto, as he watches your head fall back, another moan escaping your lips. “her eyes are all glossed over, she’s fucking crying, all slutted out on our dicks right now.”

“is that so?” geto mutters, he forces himself into you deeper, his back hitching up against yours, his clench on your tits tightening as he inches himself in your pussy, his hips slapping against you. “she’s such a good slut, i knew she’d be able to take us well, and look she’s loving it, already creaming all over us, isn’t that baby?”

you nod, your hand coming up to hold geto’s head as he nestles into your neck. you were losing your train of thought, you wanted to tell them how good they felt, how their dicks rubbing against each other in you was all you needed for the rest of you life, but when you open your mouth all that can leave your lips is incoherent words and moans. 

both of them smile, watching as you come undone on their dicks. gojo gives geto a nod, and their hands trade places. gojos fingers coming back to your tits, rubbing and pushing them apart before lowering his head to your chest, nuzzling your boobs. gojo and geto were so close that some things between them didn’t need to be spoken, and they were so close to you that they knew your body in and out. they knew when to push and pull, and where to suck just to get you cumming their lap.

“i’m s-so close, i’m gonna cu—” you try and speak out, but your mind is too far gone for you to finish. their dicks slip out of you as your bounces become sloppy, the pleasure too much for you but geto forces you back muttering reassurance in your neck. and the sudden contact causes you to cum, you release all over both them, but they don’t stop their movements, their dicks driving into you still, pushing back in all the cum you were letting out.

“satoru, we gonna give our girl one final stuffing?” geto prompts, and gojo nods, they both give you one final push and you could feel your pussy stretch as their cum sprays your walls. you wail out, the tears streaming your face as your body jerks forward, feeling their dicks go limp inside of you as you all pant in pleasure.

“that was fucking amazing,” gojo praises, a blissful smile on his face as he leans back his head resting on his arms. you return his smile, your lips meeting his in a quick kiss, that he groans at as you pull away. you come off his dick slowly, all of your eyes staring at the ropes of cum that immediately spill out of your pussy as he unplugs you. 

geto turns your head to face him, his dick still lodged deeply inside of you, he pulls you into a long kiss, his mouth smothering yours. he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, roughly biting down on it before releasing you, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to stare up at him “you’re mine, my pretty slutty mess.”

“um she’s ours,” gojo chimes in, but geto shrugs, not caring to listen to your other friend. geto, finally pulls you off his dick, and your pussy clenches around nothing, already missing the feeling of their dicks.

“you too always know to take good care of me,” you exhale, exhausted your pussy sore about being stretched open by the two of them. geto pulls you back into his original hold, leaning back against his chest, and your legs stretch over gojo’s lap. but this time instead of innocent gentle touches, geto’s hands lazily tug at your nipples, and gojo caresses your naked thighs, his fingers flicking at your clit every now and again.

“that’s what friends are for,” geto muses, pressing his lips against your cheek before saying, “now satoru, are you gonna press play on this shitty movie or what?”

AN: ight so there you have it my FIRST FIC of kinktober, what do you guys think I need to hear all your thoughts since Ooooof this took me so long to write. so I hope it is worth it. also if you see my bias towards geto during this then LOOK AWAY, im sorry gojo stans but im a geto lover foreverrr. but yeahhh lmk ur thoughts stay tuned for my other kink tober fics which WILL be on time I promise smooches.

[cheriladycl01]

Joy Ride - Charles Leclerc x Reader SMUT

Plot: Charles shows you what he can do in the backseat of his Ferrari

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, hand job, p in v, car sex, 18+ Minors DNI

It was the typical date night with your boyfriend Charles, he'd taken you out for a dinner in Monaco after you guys had a little flutter in the Monte Carlo Casino. Now he'd driven you guys out of the province and into France.

The windows were rolled down and the sea breeze was whipping through your hair. Charles couldn't keep his eyes off of you, not just right now but for the whole night you guys had been together. You were in this dress, it must have been new as Charles had never seen you in it and he'd stayed in close contact all night not enjoying the prying eyes from the other men that had been around on the streets.

However, the road and getting you guys safley to the destination he had in mind was his top priority.

But fuck you looked incredible and his grip on the steering wheel was getting tighter and tighter.

"You okay baby?" you ask with a honey dripping from you voice that nearly had Charles head rolling back. You turn to him, looking at his tensed up expression and how rigid he seemed in the car.

"Mhmm" he answers with a tight lipped smile, keeping his eyes forward on the road, only glancing in the rear view mirror a few times just to keep an eye out.

"Are you sure, you seem tense. I didn't want to say anthing earlier but now im just worried" you offer, placing a gentle hand on his thigh that has his whole leg cramping up from tensing it.

"Okay what the hell is wrong?" you ask a little bit of aggravation in your voice.

"Nothing, I said i was fine" he awkwardly laughs, shaking off the growing feeling in his pants.

"No, something is wrong. Tell me!" you beg thinking its something that you've done wrong.

"It's okay, I promise" he says, but you can still hear the grit in your voice.

"No, stop the car right now" you say, looking over at him.

"What?" he asks in shock looking over at you.

"I said stop the car Charles!" you say, some grit in your own voice from annoyance that you felt towards your usually calm and open boyfriend.

He pulls the car up into a safe side layby a gulp as he makes sure its in neutral and turns off the engine. He runs a hand through his hair, shocked at your tone before turning to look at you, only to be met with a sight he'd never seen before. Your arms were crossed and a pout was held tightly on your lips.

"Whats got you upset? Was it something i said?" he asks now more concered for you than anything.

"No, but i know you arent being honest with me about something! What is it? Please just tell me!" you ask turning in your seat, a look of concern flashing across your own face, seeing him now look forward at the road, only a streetlight a couple of yards down the road lighting up the surroundings.

"You've been teasing me all evening and i just want to get home without crashing this car because I'm so distracted by you" he groans his thumb hitting the centre peace of the wheel, close to the horn as his knuckles tighten around the edges of the wheel.

"All night, Charles you should have said" you coo at him as a hand goes to his thigh making him tense and look at your hand that even looked pretty to him. Even your nails that you'd had freshly done with your friends two days ago that he'd not yet felt scrape down his back creating little red lines of lust that he loved feeling.

"Baby, stop! Lets just get home" he groans out his head cocking to the side to look at you.

"So irritable Mr Leclerc" you coo looking across at him before taking your seatbelt off.

You move with the agility of a cat, making your way onto the back seat before twisting over and beckoning him to follow you though. The car, as a sport car, was in fact smaller than others so saddling up in the back was harder than it would in something like a 4x4.

Charles held eye contact with you in the rearview mirror as he took his seatbelt off. He turned to look at you, eyes now blown wide in excitement that he was finally getting what he'd been craving all night.

"So pretty" he sighs as he takes a seat in the back, dragging you to sit on top of his trousers. He toughs with the edging of the dress you were wearing where the slit reached the top of your thigh. His hands slip under, feeling the edge of the lace panties you knew to put on for the events you hoped would happen later that night.

"Can i? Please?" he asks waiting to touch you further.

"You don't have to ask, the answers always going to be yes" you moan as he leans up to kiss across your jaw and down your neck. His fingers slip into your underwear feeling the wetness before slipping in with ease.

Clearly he wasn't the only one who had gotten worked up.

"Do you want me as much as i want you?" he whispers in your ear making you shiver and grasp as his fingers make a scissoring motion that has you rocking your hips against his hand for more friction. The feeling of his trousers rubbing against your thighs as you move back and forth has you leaning into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses across his skin.

"Yes, please Charles" you moan into his skin as he speeds up the movement of his fingers his thumb toying with your clit despite the ache in his wrist from the awkward angle you guys are currently at.

"Come on touch me too, im just as desperate as you" he gasps as your hips rocking forces pressure against him that he needs to let release.

Your hands reach down undoing the button as clasp of his back trousers pulling them and his boxers down just enough to have his cock spring up. Your hand grasps it, starting in a slow and steady motion dragging your thumb over the top having the most whiny moans come from his as you do, his hips thursting up in approval.

"I cant wait any longer please" he moans moving the skirt of your dress behind you. He pulls your underwear to one side holding the base of himself as he eases in. A sigh comes from the pair of you as he bottoms out, holding you against his for a second.

"Been waiting on this all night" he sighs breathing heavily agaisnt your neck as he feels you start to move up and down. He thrusts up meeting yours in the perfect tandem, loving hearing the moans and breathy gasps that were coming from you. Your hand grabs his chin forcing him to look at you.

"Why didn't you say anything" you scoff out a laugh a little bit.

"Didn't wanna rush or ruin the - the night" he moans as he feels you tighten around him.

"You've not ruined the night at all" you moan as you clentch around him. The feeling has him thrusting up into you, getting as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum baby" he moans as he grips your hips tighter.

"Me too, fuck.." you moan as your eyes close and you feel the coil in your stomach snap.

"Fuck" Charles moans as his eyes close and he relaxes back as you help the both of you ride out your highs.

You slow down and cuddle againt him, listening to him get his breath back.

"We could have waited until we got home" Charles says smiling at you a little.

"Mmmmm but that was fun! We should do it again" you grin at him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

And with that you guys drove home, both getting in the bathroom for a much needed shower.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[cherryblossomfairyy]

Shake It Off.

Pairing: spencer reid x popstar!reader

Summary: Glimpses into the chaotic, glittering life of popstar Y/N and her quiet genius : the relationship going live, new music, dates, rumors and rings. Along the lyrics of the song "Shake It Off" by Taylor Swift.

Masterlist

a/n: ngl i kinda lost the plot, but enjoy! wc: 7,8K

cw: intimate moments

Spencer Reid adjusted his messenger bag awkwardly as he stood backstage at your concert. The energy of the stadium buzzed behind the curtains, a mix of bass, screaming fans, and your voice soaring through the speakers. It was a world completely unlike his usual one of serial killers and behavioral analysis. Garcia had practically shoved him into attending. “She likes you, Reid! Go see her perform! Don’t overthink it!” The final notes of one of your many hit songs echoed, and the crowd erupted. Then came your encore — and your speech. “I know some people say a lot of stuff about me — in the tabloids, online, even on late-night TV,” you said, breathless, sweat-slicked, smiling like you couldn’t be touched. “But y’know what I always say?” The beat dropped. “Hey, hey, hey. Just think, while you've been gettin' down and out about the liars and the dirty, dirty cheats of the world. You could've been gettin' down to this sick beat” Spencer chuckled despite himself. You had told him once that you hated gossip — but that you’d learned to “shake it off.” It sounded like a defense mechanism, and he recognized it instantly. He used intellectualism. You used glitter and glittering lyrics. Backstage, after the show, you threw your arms around his neck. “Did you hate it?” He shook his head. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. It was… fun.” You grinned. “Is that a Reid-certified review?” “Statistically speaking, the combination of upbeat music, synchronized dance, and audience interaction creates a dopamine response in the prefrontal—” You kissed him before he could finish. “Just say yes, baby genius.”

A week later, you were curled up on Spencer’s couch in one of his oversized cardigans, scrolling through your phone. The latest tabloid headline flashed: “Pop Princess Parties While Profiler Pouts — Trouble in Paradise?” You let out a frustrated groan and dropped the phone. “God, they make it sound like we’re in some reality show.” Spencer looked up from his book, concerned. “Do you want me to file a cease and desist?” You laughed, weakly. “No. I just— sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, they’re going to twist it. I post a video, they say I’m showing off. I don’t post, they say I’m hiding something. I never miss a beat, I’m lightning on my feet, but they still say I’m fake.” He set his book down and sat beside you. “Do you want to stop?” “I can’t stop,” you whispered. “I don’t want to stop. I just… wish people would stop talking about me like I’m not a person.” “That's what people say, mm-mm.” Spencer reached for your hand. “I know what it’s like to be misinterpreted. When I joined the BAU at 22, no one thought I belonged. They called me a robot. Mocked me. Assumed I was weak.” You turned toward him. “And what did you do?” “I showed them what I’m capable of,” he said softly. “Eventually. And so will you. Because you’re the strongest person I know.” You blinked at him. “I thought I was the smartest.” With a sweet smile you said. “You can be both,” he smiled, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Let the world spin. We’ve got our own rhythm.” Outside, cameras might be flashing, but in this quiet moment, you felt invincible — not because of fame, but because of him.

You leaned into Spencer’s chest, his cardigan sliding off one shoulder. “I hate how they think they know me,” you murmured, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “The real me.” He looked down at you, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “I do,” he said. “I know you.”

There was something about the way he said it—low, reverent, like a secret being confessed in the dark—that made the air between you shift. Your heart thudded with the same rhythm that pulsed through arena speakers, but slower… heavier. You tilted your head. “Then prove it.” His breath caught, eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t answer with words. You closed the space between you with a kiss, slow at first, until his hands found your waist and pulled you into his lap. He tasted like cinnamon tea and something distinctly Spencer—warm, a little hesitant, but all-consuming once he gave in. As your lips moved against his, your hands wandered—beneath the hem of his sweater, over the sharp lines of his ribs and the softness of his skin. His cardigan slipped further down your arms as his lips trailed to your jaw, then down the column of your throat.

“You’re not some pop persona to me,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You’re Y/N. The one who snorts when she laughs. The one who steals my FBI sweaters and sings in the shower off-key.” You laughed breathlessly. “I never miss a beat,” remember?” Spencer smiled against your skin. “Then why is my heart completely off tempo right now?” You tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling. “Maybe we need to reset the rhythm.”

That’s all it took. The way he kissed you after that—like he’d been thinking about it all week, maybe longer—was less composed, more needy. You gasped as he lifted you with surprising strength, carrying you to the bedroom like he already knew every step in this dance. Spencer laid you back against the pillows, his gaze dark but soft, reverent. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured as his fingers traced your thighs, slow and deliberate. “I’ll tell you if I want you to keep going,” you teased, breathless. That earned a smirk — rare and devastating — just before he leaned down, kissing a trail from your ribs to your hips, peeling fabric from your skin like he was unwrapping a secret.

He wasn’t rushed. Every movement was patient, like he was profiling your body — learning what made you tremble, what pulled gasps from your lips, what made your back arch. His mouth followed his hands, exploring you with maddening slowness. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered into your skin, “but not because they say it on magazine covers. Because I see you.” You pulled him up, your hands tangled in his hair, kissing him deeper, needier. “I want all of you, Spencer. Now.”

When he entered you, it wasn’t frenzied—it was complete. He moved with rhythm, like he was composing a symphony only you could hear. Each thrust was laced with emotion, soft moans, whispered affirmations: “You feel incredible.” “You’re everything.” “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your fingers dug into his back as your bodies tangled, sweat-slicked and desperate, riding that high together—until you came undone in his arms, trembling with pleasure, calling his name like a melody. He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck with a broken moan, as if letting go in your arms was the safest thing he’d ever done. The room was dim, the only light a soft amber glow from his bedside lamp. You lay curled against Spencer, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Neither of you spoke for a while. There was no need. Finally, you whispered, “Do you think it’ll always be this complicated? Me in the spotlight. You in the line of fire.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Maybe. But I think… when we come back to this—this room, this bed, this… us—it won’t matter what’s outside.” You traced circles on his chest. “They’re already speculating about us. If I post you, I’ll get hate. If I don’t, I’ll get accused of hiding you.” Spencer kissed the top of your head. “Then don’t post anything for them. Just live for you. For us.” You smiled, half-asleep. “That’s kind of poetic for someone who quotes Freud and quantum physics.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice a lullaby. You sighed contentedly. “You know, the next time they say I’m ‘dating above my IQ,’ “Got nothing in my brain. That's what people say, mm-mm” I’m just gonna say, ‘Damn right I am.’” Spencer laughed, low and real. “Well, the haters gonna hate, right?” You turned to face him, hand on his cheek. “And I’ll keep shaking it off. As long as I have you to come home to.” And in the quiet, wrapped in each other, nothing else mattered.

It started with a red carpet photo. You were in Milan for a music awards event — Spencer couldn’t make it due to a case in L.A. You’d FaceTimed that morning, but now he was scrolling through Twitter on the jet back to D.C., and there it was:

Y/N looking cozy with chart-topping DJ Luca Thomas — new collab or something more? “Cause the players gonna play, play, play.”

The photo showed you in a glittering backless gown, laughing with the tall, annoyingly handsome producer, his hand just a little too familiar on your lower back. Spencer felt something twist in his chest — irrational, he told himself. He trusted you. Still, the image burned in his mind like a profile he couldn’t shake. When he finally saw you that night, already jetlagged and in one of his shirts, you greeted him with a smile and open arms. But his hug was tight. Possessive.

“You okay?” you asked, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You and Thomas looked... close,” he said, voice casual but eyes sharp. You pulled back, blinking. “It was press. You know how red carpets are—everyone gets touchy when there's a million flashes going off.” Spencer didn’t respond right away.

“Wait,” you said, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Are you jealous?” “No,” he said too quickly. “I’m… concerned.” “About?” He exhaled. “I’m not used to dating someone the whole world wants. And I know I’m not... flashy. Or charming on camera.” You cupped his face gently. “You’re not a stage show, Spencer. You’re home. Luca Thomas is a playlist. You’re the whole damn symphony of my heart.” “It's like I got this music in my mind. Sayin', "It's gonna be alright"

His brows furrowed, then softened. “That’s oddly romantic coming from someone who once rhymed ‘Ferrari’ with ‘party.’”You laughed. “Come here, genius.” You kissed him slow, hand slipping under his sweater. “I’ll prove who I belong to. Again.” And he let you.

Two weeks later, you were performing at a major charity gala, and you pulled a surprise move mid-show. The crowd screamed as you stepped forward in a shimmering black jumpsuit, mic in hand, music dropping to a hush. “I’ve got someone really special in the audience tonight,” you said, scanning the front row where your friend, garcia and Spencer sat, awkwardly in a tailored suit Garcia forced on him. “He doesn’t like attention. Or loud noise. Or… people.” Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“But he likes me for me. And that means more than any award I’ve ever won.” Gasps and coos from the audience. “So, Dr. Spencer Reid… this one’s for you.” The band kicked into a dreamy acoustic version of “the lakes” — stripped down, even slower, almost reverent — and your eyes never left his the entire time.

Backstage after, paparazzi swarmed the exits. Spencer instinctively reached for your hand, unsure. “You sure you want to be seen with me?” he asked, teasing, but a flicker of doubt in his voice. You squeezed his hand. “I need to be seen with you. Otherwise how will the world know my taste is impeccable?” A camera flash popped. You leaned in and kissed him — soft, public, no hiding. And for the first time, Spencer didn’t flinch.

The kiss made headlines by midnight.

“Pop Queen Y/N Confirms Romance with FBI Genius — Worlds Collide in the Best Way”

“Dr. Reid? More Like Dr. Steal Your Girl”

“Some Fans Swoon, Others... Not So Much” Your social media exploded. @ ynupdates: Y/N kissing Spencer Reid on stage just fixed my trust issues. @ Dr.Reidpage: My FBI crush is dating a popstar. I’m both betrayed and so proud. But, of course, the haters were loud too. @ popgossip24: Why is she dating that nerdy FBI guy?? She could have anyone. @ foryoupage: He looks so awkward, like he doesn’t even belong in her world.

You rolled your eyes scrolling through the comments, curled up next to Spencer in bed, his shirt half-buttoned, hair still messy from sleep. He looked over your shoulder. “Should I profile their insecurities one by one?” You laughed. “That’s what I love about you.” He kissed your cheek. “Not that I need to remind you, but the players gonna play, play, play, play, play...” You joined in with a grin. “And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate...”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what do we do?” You grabbed your phone and posted a photo of the two of you: Spencer mid-laugh, wearing your sunglasses, you in his cardigan, holding a coffee mug that said 'Talk BAU to me.'

Caption: ” I keep cruisin'. Can't stop, won't stop groovin.” #softlaunchcomplete #shakeitoff #reidsmine #hatersgonnahate

The post racked up 4 million likes in four hours. Garcia texted: “YASSSSS. He is trending. I repeat, Dr. Reid is trending. Protect him at all costs.” Later that day, paparazzi caught the two of you walking hand in hand near Quantico, coffees in hand, sunglasses on.

“Y/N and Reid: Lowkey, Lovey, and Unbothered”

You whispered to him as cameras clicked, “You know we’re a meme now, right?” He nodded. “Then let them meme. I have you. That’s the only headline I care about.” And despite the chaos, the headlines, and the noise — when he looked at you, it all melted away. You were just Y/N and Spencer. And the rest? You’d “shake it off.”

The event was huge: a cross-industry charity gala bringing together top names from music, film, and federal service. And somehow, that meant you and Spencer walking the red carpet together for the first time — officially.

You were radiant in a sleek, deep crimson gown, sparkling under every flash. Spencer was in a classic black tux (thanks to Garcia), looking criminally handsome and only slightly panicked. “Just breathe,” you whispered, looping your arm through his. “I memorized calming breathing techniques in five languages. None of them apply when someone yells ‘kiss her again for the camera.’”

You laughed and leaned in. “You’re doing amazing.” Just then, a reporter waved you over. “Y/N! Dr. Reid! Over here — can we grab a quick word?” You nodded and led Spencer to the mic. The reporter, bright-eyed and clearly thrilled, smiled. “Okay, first of all — couple of the year, easily. You look stunning, and Dr. Reid, might I say, very dashing.”

Spencer adjusted his glasses. “Thank you. I let someone else dress me today.” You squeezed his hand. “Garcia. She’s a miracle worker.” The reporter grinned. “Now, Y/N — you recently went viral for dedicating a song to Dr. Reid at your concert. And then that kiss backstage broke the internet. What made you decide to go public?”

You smiled at Spencer. “Because the truth deserves a spotlight, too.” “Besides,” you added with a wink, “the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate…” The reporter gasped. “You didn’t. That was iconic.” Spencer cleared his throat. “She warned me when we started dating. She’s not subtle.”

The reporter turned to him. “Dr. Reid, you’re usually pretty private. How does it feel to suddenly be in the entertainment spotlight?” He looked thoughtful for a second. “Well… it’s unusual. There are more sequins and fewer serial killers than I’m used to. But if it means standing beside her, I can adjust.” You visibly melted. So did the crowd.

One final question came in: “Any advice for dealing with the public pressure, Y/N?” You leaned into Spencer. “Find someone who sees you — not your followers, not the headlines. Just… you.” And as the cameras flashed and the world buzzed, you and Spencer walked down the carpet like you belonged — because you did. Together.

Spencer Reid had been shot at. Kidnapped. Drugged. Tortured. He’d once outsmarted a cult leader in a Mexican prison using only a rubber band and his knowledge of obscure mathematics. None of that prepared him for a red carpet event. Flashbulbs popped in chaotic rhythm. The sound was overwhelming. Everyone wanted something — a smile, a wave, a quote. But none of it mattered, because she was beside him. Y/N.

In a red dress that made his thoughts short-circuit. Not because of the fabric or the cut — though yes, that too — but because of how comfortable she looked in her own skin. How she glowed. She held his hand like it grounded her. She made the cameras seem irrelevant. And when she quoted Shake It Off with a wink at the interviewer, he felt something bloom in his chest he hadn’t quite named before: pride, maybe. Or awe. Or something dangerously close to forever. after the tiring event they went to her place, to relax and come down of the high.

They stumbled through the front door, laughing.“Okay,” she said, kicking off her heels. “Be honest. Did you hate it?” “I’ve delivered psychological profiles to murderers who were more relaxed than I was tonight,” Spencer admitted, loosening his tie. “But… no. I didn’t hate it.”

She raised a brow. “Even the part where that one reporter called you ‘America’s most dateable genius’?” “That was… unsettling.” “Hot,” she corrected, pulling him closer. “It was hot.” She kissed him, soft and playful at first. Then slower. Deeper. She tasted like champagne and cherry flavoured gloss and something sweet he couldn’t name. “You gonna help me out of this dress, Dr. Reid?” she murmured against his mouth. His brain short-circuited again. “Statistically speaking, zippers in tight-fitted gowns are—”

She turned, pulling her hair to one side. “Zip. Now. Or I’m gonna call Garcia to do it..” He swallowed, fingers slightly shaking as he undid the zipper. The dress slid down like a whisper, pooling at her feet. “I’ll never understand how this is both an outfit and structural engineering,” he mumbled, mesmerized. She stepped out of the dress and into his arms, smiling. “You’re the only structure I care about tonight.”

They ended up tangled on the couch — her legs across his lap, your laughter echoing around the apartment, interrupted only by kisses and the occasional: “Wait, did that reporter really ask if I was training you for fame?” She smirked. “You’re untrainable. That’s why I love you.” He paused. Looked at her. “You… do?” She blinked, realization dawning. “Oh.” “I mean,” she rushed, “yeah. Kinda. Not in a pressure-y way. In a… I think I already do and I don’t want to not anymore way.”

Spencer smiled — slow, soft, a little stunned. “Good,” he said, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Because I love you, too.” And outside, the world kept spinning. But in here, it was quiet. In here, they were just Spencer and Y/N. And they didn’t need anything else but eachother — not tonight.

It had been a hell of a week. A whirlwind of PR meetings, rehearsals, and an exhausting photo shoot where your stylist insisted on taping you into an outfit so tight you couldn’t fully breathe. All you wanted now was sweatpants, tea, and Spencer’s arms around you. When you walked into your apartment that night, it was quiet — except for the soft hum of jazz playing from the record player. Spencer wasn’t on the couch, but a small note sat on the coffee table. “In the bedroom. No shoes allowed. — Spencer”

You smiled, kicked off your heels, and followed the scent of cinnamon and paper and something faintly musky — his cologne. Inside your bedroom, candles flickered low, casting golden light on the bed — and sitting on the duvet was a box. Wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine. Very Spencer.

Another note sat on top, written in his careful, neat handwriting. “For the girl who can sell out stadiums and still makes time for Dr.Who reruns with me. Thought you could use something... grounding. Love, Spencer.” You sat down, heart fluttering, and opened the box. Inside was a first edition copy of your favorite childhood book — the one you once told him you used to read backstage when you were 12, nervous before performing at school talent shows. Pressed inside the front cover was a Polaroid of the two of you at a used bookstore, both in sunglasses and hoodies, hiding from fans.

Below it, in his handwriting again: “You’ve always been magic. Even before the spotlight.” You didn’t even realize you were crying until you heard the door creak behind you. Spencer stood in the doorway, holding two mugs of tea. He paused. “Too much?” You shook your head, eyes glassy. “No. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He walked over, set the mugs down, and wrapped his arms around you from behind. “I just wanted to remind you that before all the noise, the cameras, the flashing lights… you were already enough.” You turned and kissed him — slow, deep, and grateful. And that night, the gift wasn’t just the book. It was the silence. The stillness. The way he saw you, even when you forgot how to see yourself.

It was supposed to be a cozy morning. Rain tapped softly on the windows, the two of you curled on the couch, legs tangled, sharing a blanket and sipping coffee. Spencer was reading aloud from a book about obscure ancient symbols. You were only half-listening, more focused on how happy he looked — hair still messy, glasses low on his nose, smile soft.

Then his phone rang. His whole body shifted. He stood immediately, the warmth disappearing from beside you. “Reid.” A pause. “What? Where?” You sat up, heart dropping. He was already pulling on his jacket.

“There’s been a shooting. An agent’s down. They need us at the scene — Quantico dispatched the jet ten minutes ago.” Your throat tightened. “Do you have to—?” “I have to.” You stood, walked over, grabbing his hand. “Be careful.” He looked at you like he wanted to say a hundred things — but settled on, “I’ll call you when I land.”

It has been radio silent ever since he left. You have been waiting, scared, by the phone for hours. For an update, a message, a call, anything to know he’s save. It was 2:07 AM when you saw the first headline.

“FBI Agent Caught in Hostage Situation During Ongoing Case — No Confirmed Fatalities”

Your stomach dropped. No confirmed fatalities. But no names, either. You tried calling. No answer. Then texts. “Are you okay? Please, Spence, say something.I don’t care about protocols — I just need to know you’re breathing.”

The internet was relentless. People already tagging your name alongside vague theories.

@ fandombuzz: Y/N’s FBI boyfriend was allegedly injured during today’s standoff? @ nosycatlover: If that nerd dies I swear I’m never listening to her again.

You were spiraling. And then — finally — your phone lit up. Unknown number. You picked up, voice cracking. “Hello?” “Hey…” Spencer’s voice was low, exhausted. “It’s me. I lost my phone during the evacuation.” You closed your eyes, chest heaving. “I thought—God, I thought I was gonna lose you.” “I’m okay. A few bruises. But alive.” You felt the tears hit, hard and fast. “I can’t shake it off, Spencer. Not when it’s you.”

There was silence for a second. Then you heard the break in his voice,he whispers softly to you “I’m sorry for scaring you, I hate this feeling. I promise I’ll try harder to update you.”

“You better, I can’t breath right until I know you're safe."

The Next Morning – When He Comes Home The second he walked through the door, still in his wrinkled FBI vest, you launched into him — arms around his neck, lips crashing into his. “You scared the hell out of me.” “I scared myself,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “All I could think about was getting back here. Back to you.” You touched the side of his face gently. “Next time you go running into danger…” “Yes?”

“You take me with you. Or you take a damn tank.” He chuckled, voice hoarse. “Noted.” Then you whispered, “Promise me you’ll always come home.” “I promise,” he said, eyes locked with yours. “Because wherever you are… that’s home.”

The venue was glowing with golden lights, music pulsing through the rooftop as the crowd swayed in a slow-burning rhythm. You were in a deep purple-colored dress that shimmered every time you moved. Spencer was beside you in a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tie long forgotten, curls soft and touchable. And most importantly? You were blissfully happy. Until—

“Oh my God!,” a voice cut through the bass-heavy track behind you. You turned. There he was. Your ex. Wearing smugness like cologne. And beside him? His new girlfriend — clearly dressed to outshine someone. You.

She blinked at you, mouth slightly parted. “Wow. You look… different.” Spencer stepped closer to you instinctively, hand on your waist. You gave her a once-over, then smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, different’s always been my thing.” Spencer leaned in, whispering in your ear. “That him?” “Mm-hmm,” you murmured. “The ex-man. With the dramatic accessories.”

“My ex-man brought his new girlfriend”

“But I’m just gonna shake…” You looked Spencer straight in the eye, grinning. And you did exactly that. You grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, not even glancing back as you twirled into his arms, the crowd cheering around you.

“And to the fella over there with the hella good hair.”  You sang the line to him, giving him a big wink and “Won't you come on over, baby?”. Spencer laughed — loud and real. Dragging your fingers through his curls playfully, trying to kiss him as he pulled you close, then spinning you out and back in like he’d been dancing his whole life. “I’m the fella with the hella good hair?” “You are,” you said, lips brushing his jaw. “And you’re mine.” His voice dropped, low and warm. “They can stare all they want. I’m not letting you go.” And he didn’t. “We can shake, shake, shake.”

While your ex watched, bewildered at how little power he had left over you, you were wrapped in the arms of the man who actually saw you - sparkling, alive, unbothered. So you danced. And laughed. And didn’t look back.

You were humming as you kicked off your heels, still high from the energy of the night. “I think I actually enjoyed that,” you said, flopping onto the couch and tugging him down beside you. Spencer didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you. You tilted your head. “What?” “I just… I watched you tonight,” he said slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “The way you danced, the way you smiled when he walked in. Like he was nothing. Like the past didn’t even scratch you.”

“It didn’t,” you said softly. “Not really. Not compared to this. Compared to you.” He smiled faintly, but there was something deeper in his eyes. “I think tonight made me realize how terrified I am of losing you.” Your brow furrowed. “Spencer—” “Not because of him,” he added quickly. “I know I’m not that kind of afraid. It’s just… you’re brilliant, and radiant, and fearless. You walk into rooms and change the atmosphere. I walk into rooms and analyze the oxygen.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “You walk into rooms and make me feel safe in a way no spotlight ever has.” His eyes closed. He inhaled the way he always did when overwhelmed — sharp, then slow. “I don’t know how someone like me ended up dancing with someone like you,” he whispered. You kissed him gently. “Because there is no one on this world that can make feel as loved as you ever have. I feel honored that I get to hear all your briljant thoughts.” You sniffled, realising how true your words are. “And because you’re “the fella with the hella good hair,” you teased.

He laughed under his breath. “And,” you added more softly, pulling his hand over your heart, “because this? It beats louder for you than it ever did for anyone else.” Silence stretched between you — not awkward, but reverent. Then he kissed you. Not desperate, not rushed. Just real. And when you curled into him on the couch later, his voice barely audible, he whispered something into your hair that made your eyes sting. “I don’t just love you. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anything.”

The lights dimmed. The roar of the audience softened into an expectant hush. Tonight, the cameras weren’t your enemy. The crowd wasn’t pressure. Tonight, it was just you and him.

Spencer Reid sat in the front row of the Music & Media Impact Awards, utterly still except for the nervous way his fingers tapped on his knee. He looked breathtaking in a charcoal suit, hair freshly trimmed but still curling slightly at the ends. His handsomeness wasn’t loud — it never was. But to you? He was the only one in the room.

And tonight… you were going to tell the whole world why. The stage lights flared. You stepped into the glow, mic in hand, glittering gown catching every spotlight. The crowd erupted. You leaned into the mic, heart racing. “This next song isn’t on the album,” you began. “I wrote it in secret, after someone walked into my life who reminded me that love doesn’t have to hurt. That it can be kind, quiet, and still make you feel like a damn hurricane.” “I'm lightnin' on my feet. And that's what they don't see, mm-mm.”

The crowd murmured. Spencer blinked, visibly startled. “This one’s for the man who never tried to dim my light — only ever held up a mirror so I could see it for myself.”

The piano began. And then you sang. “Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night. My baby's fit like a daydream.” Not about heartbreak. Not about fame. But about a boy with brilliant eyes and messy hair who could recite Shakespeare and statistics in the same breath. About late-night bookshop dates, whispered kisses behind closed doors, and dancing barefoot in the living room to jazz no one else heard.

Your voice cracked once — but it only made the lyrics hit harder. Midway through, the camera panned to Spencer. And the world saw it. The way he looked at you like he was watching the stars breathe. The way his lips parted in awe. The way his eyes — red-rimmed — never left your face. When the final note fell, the crowd rose to their feet. A standing ovation. Roaring applause.

But all you saw was him — standing too, hands trembling slightly as you stepped off the stage and walked straight into his arms. “Was that…” he started, breath caught, “for me?” You pulled him closer. “Every note.” He kissed you right there, in front of the world, in front of the flashing cameras and open mouths and stunned press. And somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered: “That’s not just a song. That’s the real thing.”

By morning, the internet was in meltdown. @ PopCrave: Y/N’s surprise love ballad at the MMIA leaves crowd sobbing — and Dr. Spencer Reid in tears. @ cultureunfiltered: Pop star writes new song for FBI profiler boyfriend… and yes, this is our Roman Empire now. @ DailySleaze: Dr. Spencer Reid: Hot Nerd or Heartthrob Hero? A deep dive into why smart is the new sexy.

Your DMs were chaos. Your team was losing their minds. And your fans? Unhinged in the best way. @ ynnation: We don’t want a bad boy, we want a genius in a cardigan who’ll annotate our heart. @ brainyxyn: "He never dimmed my light — only held up a mirror." HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME CRY BEFORE COFFEE.

Meanwhile, Spencer had tried (and failed) to mute the noise. “Do you know how many ‘hot nerd’ listicles I’ve been involuntarily added to?” he asked that night, holding up his tablet. “I think someone made a Buzzfeed quiz titled ‘Which of Spencer Reid’s Ties Matches Your Emotional Damage Level.’” You snorted. “Okay, but do they get it right?” “I got ‘The Maroon One That Says You Need Therapy.’” “Accurate.”

He gave you a long-suffering look — then smiled. “They don’t know the half of it.”

Two days later, you came home to a note on your piano. Do not open until I tell you to. Also: turn off your phone. I mean it. —Spencer. You obeyed. He arrived 20 minutes later, wearing a cozy grey sweater and carrying a manila folder. “I wrote you something,” he said, clearly nervous. “But I… I don’t do songs. I do science.”

You opened the folder. It wasn’t a love letter. It was a proof. Titled: "The Mathematical Probability of Forever: A Personal Hypothesis.” It included: • A Venn diagram titled "Your Chaos + My Logic = Something Sustainable” • A timeline with key events labeled things like “first eye contact” and “first mutual book hangover” • A small scatterplot of serotonin levels from his daily journal entries since meeting you • And at the bottom, written in the margin beside an impossibly sweet equation: “You are the constant in every variable I can’t control.”

You blinked, tears rushing in uninvited. “Spencer,” you whispered, voice cracked. “This is… this is everything.” He fidgeted, suddenly shy. “Does it make sense?”

“Yes, ofcourse,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “It makes sense, it makes feelings. In the best way possible.” He buried his face in your neck, voice warm with relief. “Good. Because I think I just scientifically proved that I’m in love with you.” You laughed, a little teary. “Guess we’re peer-reviewed, then."

Spencer had never been inside a recording studio. He walked in cautiously, wide-eyed, eyes darting between the mixing board, walls padded with soundproofing, and your lyric scribbles scattered everywhere like clues to a case. You stood in a pair of Spencer’s mismatched socks in the vocal booth (for good luck), headphones around your neck, humming softly into the mic. Spencer sat outside, watching you through the glass with the reverence of someone who couldn’t believe they were even allowed to.

“I’m stuck,” you said over the intercom, pressing the button. “Bridge is mostly done.

Just need a good ending, something grounded.” Spencer tilted his head. “What’s the bridge?  You recited it:

“I was spinning in circles, chasing my doubt. Trying to find what life’s all about. My heart was a puzzle with pieces misplaced. ‘Til your love came in and softened the pace” He thought for a moment, then mumbled, almost to himself: “Now you’re the variable that stabilized my chaos.”

You blinked. “Say that again.” He looked startled. “What?” You burst into a grin, slamming the intercom button. “That! Spencer! That is the line!” He flushed red. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to write a lyric.” You laughed. “You just accidentally wrote the entire soul of the track.”

Two Weeks Later – The Announcement You posted a black-and-white photo. You. Spencer’s hand in yours, just visible. The edge of a page. A scribbled line in pencil. “You’re the variable that stabilized my chaos.”

And below it, the caption: New Album: CHAOS THEORY Out this fall.

The internet imploded. @ PopCrave: Y/N’s new album title confirms long-rumored scientific influence from her FBI boyfriend. @ brainyxyn: *CHAOS THEORY?? That’s literally Reid-coded. She's naming an era after his entire worldview. @ spencergfactual: This is how you love someone like Spencer Reid. You name your art after their brain. @ culturedromantics: We are getting an intellectual, emotionally literate love album. Buckle up.

Spencer just looked at you over his book that night, stunned. “They really think this whole thing is about me?” You kissed his temple and whispered, “That’s because it is.”

CHAOS THEORY (Launch Night)

The venue pulsed with anticipation — intimate, moody, lit with deep violets and golds. Just a few hundred fans, press, and industry insiders packed in to witness the live debut of your new album. Spencer stood backstage, fidgeting slightly, wearing all black. He’d been quiet all day — proud, yes, but tense. Like your success was a miracle and he didn’t want to breathe too loud in case he broke it.

When you walked past him toward the stage, he gently caught your hand. “You okay?” you asked. He nodded. “Statistically? This may be the night the world realizes what I’ve always known.” You blinked, thrown. “What’s that?” He leaned in and murmured, “That you're brilliant in ways no algorithm can measure.” And with that, you took the stage.

The setlist was a ride — deep, aching ballads, glittering pop confessionals, even a spoken-word interlude called “Parallel Lines” that referenced one of Spencer’s journal entries.But the moment of the night?

Track 7: “Paper Rings ” —an upbeat, sparkling, chaotic-love anthem that had the entire room on its feet. You twirled, laughed through the lyrics, eyes finding Spencer in the wings.

“Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet. Now I've read all of the books beside your bed./ I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings./ Blue ink vows and quantum things.”

And the crowd lost. its. mind. Twitter exploded before the song ended: @ popwitch: UM is Y/N saying she'd marry Spencer with PAPER RINGS? @ wifeyynnation: Blue ink vows. And quantum things?? She’s so gone for him I’m SCREAMING @ diamonddetectors: Not to alarm anyone but there is DEFINITELY a gold band on her right hand tonight. Engagement ring flipped around?! You were still breathless, glowing from the lights and adrenaline, when Spencer met you at your dressing room door. “That song,” he said, eyes soft and unreadable, “you really meant that?” You nodded, still catching your breath. “I don’t need a diamond. Just you. Paper rings would do.”

He kissed your forehead — then reached into his coat. And handed you a tiny origami ring, made from a torn-out page of one of his journals. Inside the fold, in tiny perfect print: “Proposal probability: inevitable.” You laughed. You cried. You kissed him until the makeup smudged. And somewhere down the hall, a photographer caught the flash of gold on your finger as the door shut behind you.

By 8am, the headlines were out of control: @ EntertainmentDaily: Paper Rings and Real Sparks: Is Y/N Secretly Engaged to Dr. Spencer Reid?! @ thePOPhour: “I’d marry you with paper rings” — Popstar's new song ignites engagement rumors after suspicious hand photo surfaces. @ GossipGenie: FBI refuses to comment on whether Dr. Spencer Reid has proposed to global pop sensation… but our hearts say yes.

Clips of your “Paper Rings (and Theories)” performance trended for 48 hours straight. And the fans? Fully unhinged.

@ ynnation: If they don’t actually get married with a paper ring and they don't adopt a dog and call him Schrödinger, and make him the ring bearer, I will sue. @ spencerfiles: He gave her a homemade origami ring. WE ARE LIVING IN A NOVEL. @ engagedintheory: I calculated the trajectory of this relationship based on

Spencer’s facial expression during that song and yes. It’s a proposal arc.

Even your label leaned in, dropping a cryptic teaser: “Track 13 is classified.” Which, of course, sent your fans theories into orbit.

Spencer had never planned anything like this before. Not a press conference. Not a field op. Not even one of the 187 surprise birthday parties Garcia tried to rope him into.

This was different. This was you. So he made a list (of course).

Proposal Outline – v3.4 by Dr. Spencer Reid Objective: Propose to Y/N using personalized symbolic logic and emotionally resonant memories, while maintaining discretion and maximizing emotional impact. Stage 1: Location • Initial pick: the bookstore where we first hid from a storm. • Revised: planetarium after-hours, private viewing of Cassiopeia (her favorite). Request meteor simulator. Stage 2: Object • Custom ring: inscribed with the phrase “stabilized chaos” in Latin. (Ask Garcia for engraving vendor.) • Also: duplicate origami ring, sealed in glass as keepsake. Stage 3: Delivery • Monologue: include quotes from her favorite poets + Alan Turing + something dumb I said that made her laugh. • Close with: “There is no formula for love, but I would still spend my life solving for you.” Stage 4: Contingencies • In case of tears: pocket tissues. • In case she says no: improbable. Statistical margin of error: 0.002%.

He closed the notebook and looked down at the velvet box in his hand. He wasn’t nervous — not exactly. He was ready. And so, so in love. He just needed the stars to align. Literally.

"It's like I got this music in my mind. Sayin', "It's gonna be alright"

You thought it was just a late-night surprise. Spencer had been vague all day — “Wear something warm,” “Trust me,” “No, I’m not hacking NASA again,” and “Yes, it involves stars.”

The car dropped you off at a quiet observatory in the hills just outside D.C. Security led you through a side entrance, and when you stepped into the main dome, the lights were low... and it was just the two of you. No astronomers. No public crowd.

Only the hush of awe and the curved ceiling above, suddenly alive with constellations. Cassiopeia blinked into view. Your favorite. Spencer had remembered. Of course he had. You turned to find him, but he was already standing in the center of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other reaching out to you. "Come here."

You walked slowly to him, the silence thick with something beautiful and terrifying. He was wearing his soft grey cardigan — the one you always stole — and his expression looked somewhere between reverent and undone. “I’ve been preparing this,” he said, voice shaking. “For weeks. Actually, months. Realistically? Since about three minutes after I met you.”

You laughed softly, your breath fogging in the cool air. “You are unpredictable,” he continued, “which, for someone like me, should be unbearable. But instead… you’ve redefined what safe feels like. You made chaos feel like home.” Behind him, the stars flickered and spun — a slow cosmic dance. He pulled a folded page from his coat pocket. It was torn from one of his journals. A star map, annotated in his handwriting. You glanced at it, confused — until you saw what he had circled. You. A point in space marked in constellation. Labeled “Constant.”

He dropped to one knee. The room stilled. He opened a velvet box — not just any ring, but a delicate band with a tiny engraving on the inside you’d later find said "amor est scientia" — love is knowledge. “I don’t have a formula for forever,” he said softly. “But I know the constant in every equation I want to solve for… is you.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could only nod — then say it: “Yes.” His hands trembled as he slid the ring onto your finger. You kissed him. Hard. Gripping his cardigan like you’d never let go. Somewhere in the rafters, a meteor simulation streaked across the digital sky. And beneath it, the genius who thought he didn’t deserve this kind of love finally understood: he was her muse too.

Back at Quantico, the BAU squad had never seen Spencer this nervous—and glowing—at the same time. Garcia was the first to notice the ring during on of their family dinners. She squealed loudly enough to make Morgan nearly drop his glass of wine. “Reid, you did this without me knowing?! I demand every detail!” she demanded, practically bouncing in her chair.

JJ smiled warmly, “It suits you both perfectly.” Morgan clapped Spencer on the back, grinning. “Man, I thought you were just gonna propose with a PowerPoint. Proud of you, dude.” Spencer adjusted his glasses, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “I tried to incorporate some astrophysics, but yes… I proposed.”

You laughed and leaned into Spencer, feeling the familiar comfort of your chosen family. Hotch nodded approvingly, “Congratulations. You two deserve the happiness.” The room was filled with laughter and teasing, everyone eager to hear the story of the stars and the paper ring. You felt completely at home, surrounded by the people who had been there through everything.

Weeks later, in the quiet after the storm of the album launch and proposal rumors, you sat down with your guitar and a quiet heart. Inspired by Spencer, the team, and the moment you just lived, you wrote a song—something unpolished and raw, meant only for him. You called it: “Constellation”

A soft ballad about finding a constant in the chaos, about love as a guiding light through the darkness. You sent the track to Spencer in a private message, no pressure, no release date—just a gift. His reply came quickly, and it made you smile like nothing else could: “I’m crying. The science checks out. This is the soundtrack of my life.”

And in that quiet exchange, away from the flashing cameras and screaming fans, you both knew: this was just the beginning.

You had never intended to release “Constellation.” It was your secret song—your personal love letter to Spencer, tucked away from the spotlight. But somehow, an early demo leaked. The reaction? Instant and overwhelming.

@ PopStarIntellect: The most beautiful surprise is Y/N’s secret track “Constellation,” a stellar love ballad that sounds like it was written for the stars themselves. @ lyricdetective: “Find a constant in the chaos”??? Clearly about Dr. Spencer Reid. Fans are losing it. @ reidnation: @ reidBAU I didn’t think I could love this couple more. But this song? I’m shattered. In the best way.

Despite the leak, you and Spencer just laughed. “Guess the universe has its own PR team,” you said. He grinned, pulling you close. “And their taste in music is impeccable.”

It was a rare Saturday morning when the two of you had zero plans. You woke up to Spencer reading aloud from a vintage astronomy book while you made coffee. “Did you know,” he said, “that the Crab Nebula is the remnant of a supernova observed in 1054 AD?”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “I love how you find poetry in science.” He looked at you, eyes soft and warm. “Because you are my poetry.” You spent the day like that — lazy breakfasts, stolen kisses, writing lyrics on the porch while Spencer decoded a crossword puzzle.

Later, you two sprawled on the couch, playlists humming softly, fingers intertwined. At one point, Spencer pulled out his notebook and scribbled a new idea. “For our next song,” he said, “a love letter with equations.” You laughed. “Of course you do.” He kissed your forehead. “Because you taught me love isn’t just in feelings. It’s in logic. It’s in constellations.” And there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you both knew: this was the life you’d been waiting to write.

[httpsdana]

I’m not sure if you are taking requests but can you write one for kenan yildiz we’re the reader is a real bookworm and they are sat in bed and Kenans trying to give her kisses and cuddles but she’s to interested in her book making kenan all pouty.

Sorry that was really long

Hope it makes sense. xo

Bookworm~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: this is like the fastest thing I've ever wrote but I kinda like it

The thing Kenan loved the most about her was her obsession with books. Dark romance, fiction, horror; everything.

But sometimes, it was the thing he hated the most.

When, like now, they lay in bed supposedly having some together time after a tiring day for both of them, and she had her eyes on the pages, ignoring his entire existence (that's a bit dramatic, but hey, that’s Kenan).

Her glasses sat gently on the bridge of her nose, eyes scanning the lines very carefully as she rested against his chest. He tried pressing a kiss on the top of her head, hoping she'd look up at him and ask about his day. But he received nothing in return. Literally nothing.

He tried cuddling her closer, tightening his arms around her waist and nuzzling his head into her hair. Still nothing.

He let out the first sigh, big and dramatic. Nothing.

The second one. Absolutely nothing. The thir—

“What do you want, Kenan?”

Her voice broke the silence, but her eyes never left the book in hand.

“I want my girlfriend to pay attention to me, if that's possible,” he said sarcastically, pressing a kiss this time on her forehead.

She only hummed in response, too invested in the new plot twist.

“Babe,” he poked her shoulder.

She didn't answer, only flipped the page too quickly to read what was on the next one.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whined, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek, then her temple, before snatching the book out of her hands and grabbing her chin with the other, shutting her up by catching her lips with his before she could even argue.

She was taken aback by his quick movements, and before she had the chance to kiss him back, he pulled away. Both of them breathless as he threw the book across the bed.

“Was that… necessary?” Still out of breath, she asked.

Kenan hummed, reaching up to remove her glasses. He brushed some hair off her face, leaning down to kiss the bridge of her nose where the glasses had sat a few moments ago.

“You were ignoring me,” he murmured with a pout, sliding his body down the bed to place his head in the crook of her neck.

“I was just reading,” she giggled, reaching up to run her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck.

“And ignoring me,” he added, pressing a small kiss on her collarbone.

“It was such a good plot twist, though,” she responded, this time kissing his forehead.

Kenan let out a sigh before breathing in her comforting scent.

“Good enough to ignore me basically all night?” he asked, his arms pulling her body closer to his.

“Maybe,” she joked, making him gasp dramatically and sit up immediately.

“You take that back right now,” he warned her, but his voice held nothing more than love and affection.

“Mhm… no,” she joked, before she was tackled by Kenan, his fingers tickling her sides as she laughed loudly.

“S-stop!” she said through laughter, making him shake his head.

“Not until you take that back and say that I'm the best boyfriend in the world,” he said, his fingers working on her sides to make her laugh even more.

She tried to wiggle out of his grip, but with his full weight on her, it was nearly impossible.

“I take it back!”

Kenan stopped but didn’t let her go.

“And…?” he waited for her to continue.

“You're the best boyfriend in the world,” she said through deep breaths, making Kenan smirk.

“Damn right I am,” he said, before dropping on the bed next to her and pulling her back to his chest.

“Don't ignore me for a book next time,” he mumbled against her hair, running his fingers through the strands on her back.

“But it was really goo-”

She was interrupted by his voice again.

“Do you want me to tickle you again?” He raised his eyebrows, making her shake her head quickly and bury her face in his chest.

“No, please don’t,” her voice muffled from his shirt.

Kenan chuckled, wrapping her tighter in his embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered, his mouth moving against her forehead as he kissed her there again.

“Mhm… I love you more,” she murmured, her eyes sleepy as she started to drift to sleep.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[aesopsbaby]

⤷. Yandere Bully Norton Campbell

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: Headcanons

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I need him in all ways possible. Anyways, I'm finally back to doing requests after a whole year of taking a break,,,hopefully this is what you were looking for anon,, :,) ALSOOO what do you guys think of the header >:] I spent an hour doing it,,,sobsobs Now I have to do it for the rest of my masterlist.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Possessiveness, forced codependency, forced dependency, non-con touching, obsession, stalking, mentions of threats (kidnapping), swearing, use of pet names, kinda crybaby reader

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Mine to break

ᯓ He's so cold and so mean... He acts as if he doesn't care for your well-being, always flicking your forehead, pulling on your arm ── harsh enough to cause you to wince ── just to get you to follow him. Occasionally, Norton will casually throw insults your way whenever he passes by you.

Oh, but when someone else even so much as laughs in your direction? Norton feels the instant rage bubbling up inside him. Do you think it's funny to allow people to do that to you? Are you really that dense? Can you really not comprehend when someone is being mean to you, that you need him to protect you?

... Well, it doesn't affect him much. He'd love to come to your rescue, so don't worry your pretty little head, darling!

ᯓ More often than not, he'll ignore you as well. He wants to test you, wants to see you desperate, and begging for his attention. He needs to know that you're as dependent on him as he is with you.

ᯓ Norton’s obsession with you isn’t just about being close to you; it’s about protecting you—at all costs. His actions are driven by a twisted sense of duty, and he believes that no one else can care for you as he does. He watches you from the shadows, always making sure you're safe—he's constantly plotting to ensure that no one else can get too close to you. His princess, his treasure. HIS.

ᯓ Norton enjoys watching you, likes to see you squirm in discomfort from the staring. Norton likes, no, wants to push your boundaries. He needs to see what else you'll allow him to do before it's too much ─ and even until then, it's not like that'll stop him either way.

ᯓ Norton doesn’t just want you to survive the match—he wants to own your survival. He’ll make it clear that, in his eyes, you’re his to protect. If you escape or are rescued by someone else, he sees it as a betrayal. He can't help but scoff and bark out a curt laughter as he grips your arm tightly, pulling you away from other players while you struggle to keep up with him, stumbling over your steps as you wince from his harsh grasp.

"You must be fucking with me, right sweetheart? You think you're cute being such a fucking whore, that it huh?"

He doesn’t allow you to get close to anyone. You are his, and he makes it painfully obvious with his possessive behavior. If he feels like you're slipping away or getting too close to another survivor, he’ll make sure to "remind" you who you belong to by being extra sweet, manipulative, or even aggressive.

"Getting a little too comfortable, aren't you baby? Continue testing me and maybe I’ll tie you up, keep you locked up in my room where you belong."

ᯓ Norton loves making his little darling cry— not just the tears but the struggle before they fall. He never misses a chance to break you down. He likes seeing you like this—helpless, teary-eyed, struggling to hold yourself together while your fingers grasp at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And oh, how he relishes in that fact.

You hiccup softly, trying to stifle your sobs as Norton kneels in front of you, resting his arms on your lap. His prying eyes gleam with something unreadable—amusement, fondness, possession.

"You just don’t stop, do you?" He hums, the corner of his lips tugging up into a fond smirk. "Tears, sniffles, that wobbly little pout… Such a mess, sunshine."

His fingers trace over your damp cheeks, wiping the evidence of your breakdown away with slow, deliberate strokes. "You cry so pretty.." he muses, tilting your chin up. "Almost makes me wanna make you cry more. But I guess I should fix you up instead, huh?"

His hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you into his chest. Letting you cling onto his shirt desperately to ground yourself. He lets out a soft chuckle, his voice a deep hum as he pats your head soothingly. "There you go… That’s better right, my little crybaby?"

ᯓ And then, just as easily as he makes you crumble, he soothes you. His touch turns warm, hands wiping your tears, pulling you close, letting you cling to him. Not out of guilt—never that—but because he wants you to need him, to seek comfort in the very hands that made you cry.

[robolvrr]

pop 'n lock it! *⁠.⁠✧｡⁠☆

rodimus prime x gn! flirty bounty hunter reader

sexy aliens at hotspots near you! • rodimus has learned that maybe cybertronians aren't as feared by the rest of the galaxy as he thinks.

warnings: nsfw, sexual content. (fisting, valveplay, friends with benefits.) non-cybertronian reader.

"come here often?"

your fingers rub absently on the safety lock of a battered pistol. the sizzle of raw laser still sends a wave of nausea through your system, before your internal servers have forwarded through past memories and interactions to positively identify the cocky voice rumbling through your communications system.

your lips playfully pull upwards.

"how'd you get my line, roddy? don't remember giving you this frequency babe."

the laughter that follows is painfully confident. so much so, that you can easily pick the chuckles apart and find the nervousness coursing beneath. he's about to snip back at you but that's just so predictable, especially since he's much more fun tongue-tied.

"daww, you missed me pretty thing? and here i thought you were too busy being a lil commander. if you wanted me so bad you coulda just told me the last time."

rodimus lets out the equivalent of a bark. you turn your attention to the sky, squinting in an attempt to see if he was piercing through the atmosphere or not.

"oh, you're mean! you know, sometimes i think you just like to project. i get you that riled up, sweetspark?"

that's how he wants to play tonight? cute.

you make eye-contact with a ball of flame and melted metal dancing across bright, magenta skies like a comet out of hell. humming, your pistol meets your hip, belt heavy with equpiment.

"your paint job gonna hold, hm? coming down awfully hot, needy."

"am not."

"uh-huh. sure, speedy. you want me to buff it better later?"

"just get that expression off your face. ugh."

that smile is downright cheshire. this planet's entire warmth and core couldn't force his frame any hotter than the sly smirks you design. it's your plotting grin.

the possibilities send a nice shiver down to his pedes.

"good mechs get rewards. stop playing coy and admit you're stressed and you missed me."

silence, for once, fills your comms. he can imagine you sucking your teeth with a feigned, sour pout.

"... be ready."

your head tips back when you giggle. legs drape over a slender, glossy bike before it sets to hover over rusted terrain, helmet clicking into place as your suit whirs to function.

[ welcome back, user. where to? ]

wrists twist back until the engine purrs. you wonder if rodimus will too.

"the usual. clear my night and tell trax the job is done."

your bike and you shoot through the desert in a blur, leaving the approaching prime and your disintegrated target of ash far behind.

---------

rodimus knows he shouldn't be interacting with you on any level. like, at all.

it's not as if you're a major threat. he's learned the hard way not to leap to conclusions, though you've never made a point of following through with any threats and you're cute, kind of intimidating. almost some figment of his imagination that flits in the corners of his optics.

he hasn't told anyone, anyone, on the ship about you.

for one, they just wouldn't get it.

rodimus prime, captain of the lost light, dirty pervert who enjoys interfacing outside his species every once in awhile. who is hopelessly intoxicated by a being hundreds of feet shorter and yet lets 'em run him up a wall.

for two, he's sure it isn't "ethical." magnus wouldn't look at him the same and he already was in hot water.

for three? well for three, you should be in prison. he's not sure where or which one, but from his research and your blunt pride, you're not exactly a good person.

not entirely. you've gotten rid of some awful corruption and he doesn't like how he's starting to question where his morals and your efficiency mix, because he's certain you don't fry his processors that bad to the point he's losing his sense.

you do.

rodimus lands on the planet's surface, fields buzzing too much to remember the name or care about proper docking. it's not as if he's sticking around for long, per your request.

which is cool. totally cool.

rodimus feels like shareware when he transforms into alt-mode, aware you're probably already waiting. his pistons roar and he fights the urge not to ding you again, because yeah, he's needy.

so what if he misses your mouth? missed your skin, synthetic and otherwise, missed your foreign technology analyzing his ticks and limits?

he needed this. he deserves this, that much was true.

the crackle of his comms make his wheels bite rock aggressively.

"don't make me wait."

----------

he arrives not even five minutes later. you're too static to care about or remember his measurement of time. it's quick and to your standards and that's all that matters.

his chassis is dusty. sure enough, there is visible damage upon his descent. you don't look up, or over, your shoulder until he drawls in bratty greeting.

"you know, most hosts are a little more attentive."

there he goes. classic rodimus, always misbehaving. biting what he could chew and choking instead.

you let the silence grow awkward before you give him what he wants. you can sense the way he's unsure by how his vents vary, fans slowly whirring as they lower the temperature down a degree.

"and most guests are more polite. who said i invited you?"

poor thing looks like a kicked pet. his optic ridges droop and his dermas screw up, stubborn.

"i can be good. it's just... i need you, okay? that's what you wanted to hear, right? just give me tonight. please."

he slips down the concrete wall as steps, practiced and nonchalant, drift his direction. all his insecurities and want bubble to a nasty concoction and his legs part without command.

he can feel it. your stare, right on his closed array. the visual, physical culmination of his obsession dripping and oh, primus. your mouth is opening and you're letting it fall on your tongue.

"hahhh.. frag." he stores the image in a file far away.

"like candy, roddy. i can forgive you for intruding if you haven't been touching yourself like i asked, darling."

he groans and his digits scrape the foundation. you suck your finger and he's shaking.

"sure tastes like it."

frag it all. you make him so desperate it's embarrassing.

he nods his head fast and his panels pop and lock open.

leaning forward, you make a mental note to see just when your schedule will open up again this lunar cycle. while his spike is just as pretty as he is, an curved phallic throb of silver metal with sparkling, ruby bio-lights, you dip lower instead.

rodimus didn't have time to ask, hearing the whoosh of your thrusters and suddenly tongue and spit find his node with turbokitten licks.

"ooohhhh, okay, hah! w-warn somebody before you just g— guhh..!"

you never ask him to mass displace when intimate. it's partially the reason he feels so gross. there is no reason for him to be this broken already.

he should be breaking you. you should be under him, unable to take an inch. unable to think straight, or walk straight—

you're nibbling.

the rounded knob is rubber and thick. solid. firm, but slippery. you're not worried about harming him, though you do bite harder than necessary to ensure he's getting stimulated.

transfluid starts to drench your chin as you swirl and slobber, forming a warm suction that earns you a glitched moan.

"yes, yes, yeeeeeeaaahh... j-jhust like. ah! that.."

eager fingers circle his valve. he hiccups his approval.

then, your hand. he has to focus on not crushing it but from the yelp and helm bumping the ceiling, he wasn't expecting the action at all. you dreamily continue to coat him in your saliva as your wrist slithers in.

rodimus is sure he's going to offline.

you're not big. that's been established. but he still has to ease his calipers, legs trembling as you shove more and more of your forearm in him.

"please don't stop. i-i'm sho sorry. i'll be good. i'll be so good fhoure yew."

lubricant coats his faceplate when he hears your wicked amusement murmur against his valve instead.

his processor is fuzzy. he can't grab at anything because his strength will collapse the support beams, or you'll shoot that domineering leer that makes him feel like he's tipped over a vase.

rodimus whines, bleats. after lapping and swallows, your mouth has lost patience and drifted to his pulsing shaft instead. your lips are so much softer than a cybertonian, pillowy and velvet.

meanwhile, you are lazy. still pumping up to the elbow, in and out, in, out, innnn, outttt.

"let me see you cry, honey. so cute when you do. so handsome. so pretty."

the captain ex-vents sharp. his optics are cerulean. they glow in the darkness and drink you up.

"y-yeah?"

greedy! he's too obvious.

"you're the prettiest cybertonian i have ever seen." there it is, that engine growl. it vibrates your form with a tickle.

"my little light. my perfect...", you know what you're saying is going to make him overthink. you keep going because you feel how close he is already. "perfect prime."

that does it. rodimus tries to reboot his vocalizer as he shrieks out, dopey and bursting. a large, pink pool puddles at his aft, a single servo snatching you by the waist by instinct and dragging you up, up, up, up.

his glossa shoves down your throat and you paw at his helm.

he wants this burnt into his very being. his spark is thrashing.

"give. more. c'mon."

smoothing away tears, you suckle. his glossa slithers out and spit and fluid makes spider-web bridges between your mouths.

"you know i am not that mean, right? relax your pistons."

rodimus looks at you, albeit too tenderly. you close your eyes and distract you both instead by kissing him again.

"hah. as if. you're evil."

"you seem to have a habit of letting evil people around you, roddy." clink. the suit on your body phases off. he looks like he wants to stick you in his intake, drool and all.

"... touché."

[fairytsuk1]

tie me up, pin me down | (s)

synopsis: husband!alex indulging his wife´s request to dom him then taking over when she teases him too much

pairing: alex quackity x reader

words: 4k

warnings: husband/wife dynamic, dom/sub dynamic, teasing, cowgirl position, reverse dynamic, sub!alex

“You wanna—what?”

Alex kneads your hips in his hands, eyes searching yours for clarification. You were nestled in his lap, arms slinked around his broad shoulders as you stared deeply into his dark eyes. Alex held you easily, your body molding to his in a practiced motion the two of you had perfected over the years of being together.

 “Are you serious?”

A throb between your thighs leaves you aching as you roll your hips into Alex’s lap. Your husband lets out a soft sigh at the feel of your plush ass pressing so deliciously against his bulge. 

“Of course,” you grumble, hands twisting his wedding ring delicately. “I wanna top you, seriously.”

Alex takes in your words as a slight grin works its way onto his freckled face, urging you harder against his growing erection while humming lowly. The two of you enjoyed a little power play every once in a while.

Though you had never outright asked to top him, you and Alex always fell into an easy rhythm; you’d take what he gave you, and he’d give you all you could need. It was fun, it was easy, it was sexy. 

“Hmm, are you sure you want to? Maybe I’ll be super bratty, like you!”

Your hand slaps his chest, a mewl escaping you when you grind just right; your clit pulses as you bear down on your husband’s arousal. Your lips peck at his jaw and neck, your hips growing greedy as they rocked again and again against him. He already had you losing yourself in him, and it was just so unfair how weak he made you.

“First off, I’m not bratty—“

“Sure, you’re not.”

Lips press into a thin line, and the first move is made when you press manicured nails into the soft skin of Alex’s jaw. His cheeks are mush against your fingertips. You deliciously squirm at the feel of holding him in place, panting against his lips and keeping him still.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Alex’s eyes give the green light, and you continue. “Second off, I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“Can you?”

It’s muffled against your fingertips but doesn’t stop the smile from crawling onto Alex’s lips like a Cheshire cat. You scoff, releasing his jaw and pouting in his lap while you look at him. 

“I can, and you better believe me. I’ll tease you till you’re crying and begging me to stop.”

Your husband is non-threatened, chuckling and unable to hold back his smirk as his hand skims your sides and comes to massage your chest. His deft fingers easily find the curve of your tits. His thumb runs over your nipple, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning and arching into his chest. 

“We’ll see. That’s usually you, you know.”

“Just watch me,” you say, leaning in and capturing Alex’s lips in a hot kiss. 

He groans and pulls you closer, already growing desperate as he gathers you in his arms to lift you and take you to the bedroom. Your legs wrap around his waist effortlessly, and you giggle when he hoists you up into the air. 

“C’mon, no more games!”

The two of you are a mess of tangled limbs and panting breaths for the rest of the evening.

Days pass. Alex is busy with work, and you’ve got your own thing going on: cooking, shopping, relaxing. You’re secretly plotting and praying Alex doesn’t know. He saunters around like he’s innocent. A stretch in the living room here, a towel wrapped around him there. Post-shower, mind you. Your husband was making you hot under the collar, and you hated it. You need to get under his skin and make him feel crowded and needy.

Oh, you were plotting. You make his favorite. Tamales Rojas. Red tamales. It’s labor mixed with love as you tenderly make each one with a smile on your face. Alex greets you with a pleasant sniff and arms wrapping around your waist. “Smells good in here. What are you doing, trying to convince me of something?”

“No, I just wanted to do something special for you.” 

You whisper and turn in his arms to wrap yourself around his shoulders. You get close enough to kiss, and you can see his eyes darting down to peer at your lips. He pulls you closer to his body by your hips; he’s familiar with you, and he knows you can’t resist crumbling before him when he towers over you just like this. Yet, you’re still standing, and your grin has turned into a full-blown smirk.

“Ready to eat?”

Alex’s eyes are dark and stormy, and they drink you in like a full glass of red wine. He hums lowly, thumbs rubbing at your hip bones before skimming your waist and tugging you closer by the small of your back. “I’m ready for something else.”

Despite the aching call for submission that comes from your gut, you manage to resist and worm your way out of Alex’s shocked arms. He stares at you curiously and follows like a dog to the kitchen. Alex doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s wondering why the two of you aren’t fucking right on the kitchen table.

You plate the tamales for him, the spicy pork making your mouth water as you set his plate in front of him.

“Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome,” and you’re sitting opposite him with crossed arms and legs.

You weren’t expecting the retaliation from Alex, though, who corners his plate like a man starved. He looks the exact same as he would, as if he was going to eat you out, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he crowds the plate like it was your sweet pussy. Your mouth runs dry as Alex starts to feast, making soft groans of pleasure as he tears his teeth into the masa and pork. 

Alex’s eyes are dark when they drift up to yours. He looks hungry. His eyes watch you for a moment before he wipes his lips and takes a sip of water. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“No I–I am,” you mumble, cheeks flushing and eyes darting away as you try to conceal your shy gaze. “What do you think?”

“It’s fucking delicious, babe. I’ll do the dishes tonight,” and he drawls his words out in a way that makes your thighs squeeze together. “You really outdid yourself, didn’t you, mi amor?”

He knows he’s hitting all your weak points. He absolutely knows what he’s doing with the praise that sends heat down to your throbbing clit. You take a tentative bite and nod, not dignifying him with a response. Alex smirked before crowding his plate and beginning to eat even more voraciously. 

Alex groans, licking his lips and smacking them as if he was devouring you. It’s too much, and you’re standing abruptly with your half-full plate. “I’m done. I’m gonna put this in the sink.”

“Okay, baby,” his eyes linger as you cross the room. 

Even in the kitchen, you can feel his piercing gaze. You stay where you are, listening as your husband stands and approaches you. He’s quiet as he draws close, humming a random tune as he rests his chin on the junction of your neck. Then, a sharp smack echoes in the small apartment.

“Alex!”

“I know what you’re doing,” he drawls into your ear, hand taking a handful of your ass before smacking it again for emphasis. “Trying to ignore me? Even when I want you so bad…”

“I’m not ignoring you,” you whisper and try to keep the shake from your voice. “I made your favorite.”

“As if that’s not when you want something. Come on, let me have you.”

Was that begging*? Oh, it was definitely begging. You must bite your lip to prevent a smirk as you turn in his arms.

“Get to washing.”

Just like that, you leave him shell-shocked in the kitchen. You lounge in the living room, listening to Alex vigorously scrub pots and pans. You can imagine the pouty look on his face as he meticulously cleaned every dish. You had won this round.

Alex did not like to give up, though. It was one of the things you loved about him. When he was into something, he was into it. It all started with a casual Saturday morning, two days after the tamales rojos incident–as you liked to call it. It was two days of bliss, of married life with your husband. Yet, on this particular day, Alex seemed different.

He did all the chores early. He made you breakfast and carried your cup of coffee to you in bed. Usually, these sweet gestures and over-the-top affectionate moments were saved for more meaningful occasions, not just ordinary Saturday afternoons.

“Any reason for this?”

“Just wanted to do something special for you,” Alex murmurs. His eyes stare deep into yours with an intensity that makes you hot under the collar. “What’s your plan for today?”

“Oh, nothing,” you lie easily.

You were ready to put your plan into action and absolutely dominate him.

“Well, have fun with your lazy day,” Alex teased, and you leaned forward for a syrupy kiss.

But it was denied. Alex swiftly turns his head, and your lips plant a full kiss on his cheek. He smirked, and you could see the intensity of his gaze mingle with the boyish playfulness of his personality. This wasn’t any ordinary Alex. No, this was bratty, submissive and downright infuriating Alex.

If you wanted to top him, he would not make it easy for you. You put your big girl boots on, opting for a different avenue to get what you desperately wanted. Alex goes about his day like usual. You pay him no mind. You merely watch him, observe him like a zoo animal. He’d dodge a kiss here, pretend he wasn’t listening there.

He was pretty good at being a brat. It just wasn’t enough to get you to back down. You crowd him after dinner, taking steady, measured steps up to his seated form. He keeps his eyes on the TV as if he sees through you. You cock a hip and lean down to get face to face.

Alex’s breath quickens. You can feel the soft puffs on your face as you force him to meet your gaze. He holds it for a moment, and before he can swiftly turn away, your hand darts out to grip his fleshy cheeks between your fingers. You caught him.

“You haven’t been playing nice,” you murmur and shake your head as Alex tries to open his mouth, prevented by the way the pads of your fingers dig into the groove under his jawbone. You pin him in place.

“No,” you drawl. “Don’t try to speak. Just look at me. I’m already making you do it. You might as well comply.”

Alex’s cheeks lift into a smushed smile, and your lips form a flat line. Your hand tilts his head up farther, enough to see the redness float into the apples of his cheeks.

“Lemme go,” he mumbles, voice hollow and wet with spit.

“No.”

“Why not?”

You hold him for a moment longer before releasing him, your hand traveling to cup his throat. His breath hitches then, and you’re smirking at how your husband so easily enjoyed being put in his place.

“Because, I want you to go upstairs and lie flat on your back. I want you pliant, open, spread just for me. I want to devour you.”

Alex dashes up the stairs, an excited yet breathless laugh escaping him. You wait till you hear nothing before making your way upstairs. Photos of your wedding, the two of you together, and the life you had built together pass by your form.

He’s spread out in his boxers for you. A teasing smile lingers on Alex’s face as he rests on one arm.

“Hey, pretty,” he quips your usual nickname as you climb over him and settle your clothed self on top of his form. “You look good, baby.”

“I always look good,” you tease and hold a finger to his lips. “But I’m not your baby tonight.”

“Oh? What happened to my good girl?”

Your hips roll against his half-chub, a hiss escaping him as you drag your clothed pussy over the length of his cock, teasing him slowly with every circle of your hips. It’s already hot in the room, your lips parting to puff soft breaths as you worked your hips over Alex’s dick. Alex’s thighs tense with need, and you can see how he struggles from pinning you to the bed and absolutely ravishing you. 

His fingers flex, and you’re sweeping his wrists into the grip of your palm and pinning them over his head. Your man playfully gasps, and your lips quirked into a smirk. 

“I’m not your good girl. Tonight, I want you to surrender to me. I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow,” and you drag out your words to punctuate them with a grind of your hips. “I’m telling you, Alex, you’re gonna be begging me to cum.”

“We’ll see about that. For now, why don’t you just show me, hmm?”

Your lips meet in a fiery, hot kiss. It’s sloppy and wet with how your tongues glide together, lips sucking at the pink muscle while Alex squirms beneath you. Your fingers press his wrists further into the plush of the mattress, and Alex groans for a moment of breath.

“So unfair, I wanna touch you,” he whines softly.

“Be patient,” you utter against his lips, grinding your pussy against his hips. You were already soaking through your panties, but you kept your clothes on. “I’ll let you touch me if you’re good.”

Alex makes no real move to push you off, though you know he can. Instead, he lets you in him. Lets you kiss his lips till they’re pink, swollen, and bitten. He looks up at you with lowered lids, chest heaving as your manicured nails rake across his skin. He looked downright delicious. 

You’re gentle in the way you plant kisses from his sternum down to the waistband of his boxers. You let go of his wrists, and he quickly tucks his arms behind his head to prop himself up and watch you. Your lips are plush, soft and warm as they drag over his clothed cock. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as you palmed him over his boxers, a low moan escaping him as he shifted.

He was already so hard, so wanting for you. Your fingers scrape against the sensitive skin of his tummy as you peel his boxers off, his dick leaking and flushed against his navel. You’re still fully dressed, and you can see your man eyeing you with annoyance.

“I wanna see you,” he says after a beat of silence. “Please?”

“Please, what?”

Alex’s face contorts, and while you know he’s not entirely against calling you mommy, he was certainly not used to it. It comes out quiet, meek. His eyes are shy as he glances away at the pictures on your nightstand before returning to your form. You smirk and lean so close that your noses touch.

“Say it, and I’ll take all my clothes off.”

“Please, Mommy?”

“Of course, you’re so good for me.”

An exquisite look of pleasure crosses Alex’s face when you compliment him. He leans into your palm that smooths his hair out, his eyes wide as you slowly lift and pull your shirt off. Your husband has seen you a million times like this but never got that awestruck teenage boy look off his face.

Your breasts grow exposed, nipples hardening in the cool air. You sit atop him, hands roaming over your torso as you give him a show. You huff and whine when your palms drag over your tits, and Alex’s eyes grow to saucers as he watches you. Pathetic little pleas are spoken by him, his eyes raking over your form as you pleasure yourself.

“Can you take the rest of it off? I wanna see you so bad,” Alex gives him, his voice betraying him as he begs for you.

“Oh, yeah? Want me to take all of it off?”

“Yes, I just fuckin’ said–”

You’re pinning him down again. Your eyes are dark, lashes fluttering against your flushed skin as you stare at him.

“You’ll take what I give you with no complaints. Do you hear me?”

Alex’s lip quivers, and he thrashes for a moment before relaxing. You sat on your knees above him, sweatpants still adorned, as Alex arched up to try to get some friction. You watch him squirm, humming lowly and leaning down to plant peck after peck on his sternum. 

Your lips trace his pecs, softly gliding over his right nipple. A squeak escapes him, and then a moan when you take his nipple into your mouth and suck. He always did this with you. Teased you till you couldn’t take it anymore, and well, you understood, given how satisfying it was to watch your husband pathetically whimper for your body. 

Sitting up, you untie your sweatpants and tug off your panties. Alex’s eyes rake over you with pure need, his wrists sitting pliantly and obediently above his head. The two of you look at each other before you’re sinking down and slotting your pussy over his cock.

“Oh fuck. You’re so wet, baby. Fuuuck, can you–ngh, y’know.”

“Not yet, honey,” you purr, dragging your soaked folds over the curve of his dick. “You feel so good, so warm against me. Oh god, fuck, wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Please fuck me,” Alex’s voice is hoarse. Desperate. “Ohmygod, pleasepleaseplease. Wanna feel your pussy, I wanna be inside you. Mommy, please?”

It’s so fucking tempting. You ground yourself faster, harder, growing near delirious as you felt his pre-cum mix with your slick, making the glide that much wetter. You’re on your forearms, hips working back and forth against Alex, his eyes rolling back and lips parting to expose the delicate expanse of his throat. Little moles dotted his skin, and a sharp moan floats past your lips.

“Fuck, I-I’m, fuck. Okay, oh god, okay.”

You’re caving and sitting up in an instant. His words just made you even hornier, and you needed to feel him now. Your hand grabs the base of his cock–a strangled wail coming from Alex–before you line him up with your pussy. He was twitching in your hand, gripping the headboard as you sank down.

“Holy shit, ngh, yes! Fuck me, please. Just move!”

“Hush, I’m moving–okay?”

It’s so hurried, and you’re immediately bouncing like a bunny in his lap. Alex can’t take it anymore, and his hands come to grab onto your hips eagerly, pulling you flush against his cock as he buries himself deep inside you. You let him, greedily bouncing up and down on his dick. He was so hard, throbbing inside you, and you couldn’t get enough of how he handled your hips and tugged you down with every bounce.

He’s so thick that his dick stretches you out with every long glide. You pant, eyes fluttering as your hands fist the sheets. Alex is privy to how you writhe and grind against his hips. Pathetic mewls are pushed from your lips, and you’re looking at him with wide eyes that beg for him.

Your thighs ache. The burn is so intense that you’re pausing above him with a trembling lip. Alex drinks you in, his thumb rubbing circles on the muscles of your legs before smirking.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I-I can’t,” you breathe, and you try so hard to keep moving, to keep grinding, but your thighs give out on you, and you slam back down onto Alex. “‘M too tired, can’t keep up…”

“Oh, you can’t? Sounds like you need some help,” and he’s fucking crooning at you in that soft voice that makes you melt.

You’re nodding before you even know it, hips weakly rocking back and forth as Alex sits on his forearms. The two of you stare at each other, the wet squelch between your bodies the only thing audible as you hold your gazes.

“I want you to say it,” he rasps slowly.

“Just fuck me–it doesn’t matter! I-I’m still in charge, and I’m demanding you fuck me.”

“Yeah, you’re demanding like a little brat. What you really want is for me to take control. You’re such a needy little thing. You can’t lie to me.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is it not?” Alex’s hands pull you closer, the two of you still connected. He plants his feet on the bed, and you’re immediately lifted higher into the air as he starts to thrust into you. “Look at you. You know you want it. Aww, you’re so cute like this, honey.”

You’re hiccuping, your gaze downcast as your husband fucks up into you with his raw strength. You’re crying out, grappling for purchase anywhere you can find it: the sheets, Alex’s shoulders, his chest. He fills you up so well, and your eyes grow glassy as he hits that spot deep inside you. 

“Oh god, oh fuck me. Mmf! Alex, fuck, Alex–you’re fucking me so good!”

“Yeah, fuck. Ngh, I love your pussy, baby. You’re everything to me, just wanna make you feel good.”

Your hand comes to rub at your clit, puffy and sensitive, and your fingers tremble as you rub tight circles. It comes at you hot, fast, and fiery as your orgasm courses through you. Every muscle locks up, and you’re keeling over with a sharp cry as you cream on his dick.

“That’s it, there we go. That was all you needed; you just needed me to fuck you. God, can I keep going? Wanna cum so bad, wanna fill you up.”

“Fucking, yes–keep going!”

Everything’s so sensitive to the point it almost hurts, and your belly throbs with that mix of pain and pleasure. You shake above him, feeling Alex bounce your body above him before stilling and cumming hard. It’s so hot that you’re letting out a bleary whine as he fills you to the brim.

Your muscles shake above him, and your voice is weak and panting.

“I–That was not; I was supposed to top you,” you mumble, using every last ounce of your strength to lift yourself up and lay right against Alex’s chest. Your face is smushed into his smooth skin, and he wraps an arm around you immediately, pulling you closer by your waist.

“You did, for a little. You did so good, too,” Alex whispers in your ear, tongue flicking over the shell of it with a huff of a laugh. “You just can’t resist me, and I always know what you need.”

His hands trace random shapes across your ass, nails barely grazing over the sensitive flesh. You’re quiet, planting kiss after kiss along his chest and pecs. He hums lowly, not really saying anything–he doesn’t want to break the quiet. 

“I love having sex with you,” you admit, head tilting up to peer at him. “I just love you.”

“Well, I’d hope so. We are married, after all.”

He’s light. Teasing. Your face flushes, and you curse at the fact that he could still make you blush like a schoolgirl. Your fingers trace a circle around his nipple, and he jerks a bit.

“You know what I mean,” you implore softly.

This wasn’t just about sex, dominance and submission, or more. This was pure, unadulterated love. You wanted to pour your love for him through your eyes, your words, your existence.

“I know. I love you so much,” he whispers your name so quietly you almost miss it.

But you hear it. It’s full of tenderness and love. It’s said in the way you whisper to your lover in the dead of night, knowing they’re not listening but also that they’re still feeling that affection through whatever cosmic osmosis connects the two of you. It’s raw. Authentic. He means the world to you, and you mean the world to him. 

In this moment, it’s pure ecstasy.

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

 

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied. 

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense. 

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable. 

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

 

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality. 

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together. 

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

 

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot. 

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

[miumura]

NOT THE TYPE ⌇K. SUNOO

( 🌐 ) SYNOPSIS > Sunoo was never the type to feel awkward around you, so you couldn’t quite understand why he was acting this way. If only you knew how he was just as bewildered as you were. He’s not the type to ever develop romantic feelings for his friends, but now he finds himself questioning how he felt about you. 

PAIRING best-friend!sunoo x fem!reader GENRE fluff, oblivious to love (?), friends to lovers WARNINGS none, just flustered sunoo <3 FEATURING jake from enhypen WORD COUNT 1.3K+ ( 1360 words )

SOPH'S NOTE > thought of this while listening to our by boynextdoor ^^ i needed to write more for sunoo and i think this idea suited him well <3 i think this is one of my faves lwk!!

“Are you okay, Sunoo?” you asked with concern, slowing your pace to get a better look at his face. Sunoo was rarely this quiet, especially during your walks back home. Normally, he'd have plenty to say—whether it was about the stray cat that always avoided his attempts to pet it or the latest dessert that was released from his favorite place. His unusual silence and lack of his usual cheerful chatter was a sign that something was off.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied softly, glancing at you. He chuckled lightly at your confused expression, pressing his thumb gently against your glabella to smooth out your furrowed brows. “Stop making that face, you’ll get wrinkles.”

You relaxed your expression but remained skeptical as he smiled, attempting to convince you that he was merely zoning out. Despite his efforts, the slight pout on his lips betrayed him—it was a telltale sign that something was weighing on his mind. While it wasn't uncommon for him to make that face, he had been doing it much more frequently, especially when he was with you. You knew Sunoo was lying.

Sunoo was never one to lie, especially not to you.

He knew you had been more worried about him lately, always quick to catch his mood shifts. Sunoo never realized how transparent his feelings were through his facial expressions, but you always seemed to know. It was as if he were an open book, filled with endless plot twists that you still tried to keep up with, continuing to read despite the confusion. He hated leaving you in the dark about his feelings, especially since you constantly reminded him that you were there for him.

But this was different.

Would you still be there for him if he told you that he likes you?

He had never been conflicted about his feelings, and he probably wouldn’t have been if Jake hadn’t planted that stupid idea in his head. Ever since Jake asked whether he saw you in a different light—more than a friend—Sunoo couldn’t stop thinking about it. Despite constantly telling himself and others that he simply saw you as a close friend, he couldn’t help but doubt himself. He always brushed it off, but today, that question lingered endlessly in his mind.

What does he really think about you?

He wanted to finally answer the question that kept haunting him. So, he analyzed his feelings around you, trying to see if they were different from usual. When he arrived at your house to walk with you, he felt the familiar comfort of your presence. It wasn’t an unusual feeling, as Sunoo had always felt at ease with you. Although he tried to be cautious, he soon found himself naturally moving closer to you as you walked, thinking nothing of it.

Talking with you was always enjoyable, discussing things you both liked. He often caught himself pausing more than usual, trying to discern if his happiness meant something more. He was pretty sure you noticed too, given the curious looks you’d been giving him since he picked you up. Sunoo also thought he was acting strangely, so he decided to push the thoughts away.

Jake’s question was stupid anyway.

Naturally, he returned to his usual self as you both continued to chat while waiting for your orders. He found himself attentively listening to you, his eyes tracing your facial expressions. He watched the way your eyes creased when you smiled and how the corners of your lips tugged upward, making him smile too.

You were pretty.

Did he view you in a different light, more than a friend? That question popped up again when he found himself gazing into your eyes, leaving him momentarily shocked. He quickly looked away, feeling his face heat up as he tried to focus elsewhere. Sunoo tried to convince himself that he was just “caught up in the moment,” but his rapidly beating heart was betraying his words. He had never been so immersed in someone before, and now he realized the kind of look he’d always been giving you.

The way he never missed an opportunity to hang out with you, the way his smiles and laughs seemed more genuine and frequent around you, and the way he admired you without even realizing it—how could he have been so blind?

Coming to this realization and finally answering the question he’d been avoiding might have done more harm than good. Sunoo found himself increasingly wary of his actions, trying hard to hide his feelings around you.

But he was failing miserably.

He couldn’t even maintain eye contact with you for more than ten seconds without feeling nervous and worrying about a blush creeping onto his face. Instead, he was talking to you while only looking at his food, which he found to be quite rude himself. He wished he could have remained oblivious, but now he had to learn how to keep his composure.

Yet, he wasn’t sure if he could manage that, especially when his breath hitched every time your arm brushed against his. Simple tasks like walking you home became challenging as his thoughts clouded his mind. He always did it, but now his feelings made it difficult for him to think straight.

“Sunoo, we are here,” you finally broke the silence. As Sunoo’s thoughts swirled, he suddenly realized he was standing in front of your house. The familiar setting broke through his haze of confusion, and he blinked, momentarily disoriented. He had been so lost in his feelings and his struggle to keep himself composed that he hadn’t noticed the quiet walk from the cafe to your doorstep.

“Oh, yeah,” He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. He shifted nervously, his mind racing with what he wanted to say but couldn’t quite muster. “I’m sorry if I was too out of it today.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him with a soft smile, one that felt different from the various looks you’d given him throughout the day. “Everyone has their days.”

Even though you had noticed he was off, you never wanted to bombard him with your worries. You respected his personal space, never wanting to intrude, especially if it seemed like he wasn’t ready to share. Sunoo would have been upset if a friend acted that way towards him, but you never seemed to get frustrated with him. His heart continued to race, and he found himself softening at your words, touched by your understanding and patience.

“Just know I’m always here if you want to talk about it, okay?” you said, looking into his eyes with a serious yet comforting expression.

Sunoo nodded quickly, his gaze darting away from yours again. He could hear you chuckle softly as your footsteps moved closer to your door. As you reached for the handle, Sunoo’s eyes lingered on you, feeling a mix of frustration and relief.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, giving a quick, awkward wave. You turned to face him with a small, understanding smile and waved back. Once you closed the door, Sunoo felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was quickly overshadowed by his anxiety.

He turned away from your house, his steps hurried as he made his way back down the path. Now that he was alone, he finally had the space to confront the thoughts he had been desperately trying to avoid. As he replayed the evening in his mind, he was coming to terms with his feelings.

He had always liked you, and it was a different kind of “like” compared to others. He had never recognized it because he was always with you, making it easy to overlook.

It’s because he always had you.

That realization hit him hard, and he felt a surge of regret for how he’d acted today. Once he arrived home, his hands flew to cover his face as he sank against a nearby wall, muffling a frustrated scream into his palms. His face burned with embarrassment, and he was overwhelmed by a mix of emotions.

Even now, he still couldn’t believe it.

He truly did fall for his best friend.

💬 : flustered!enha 😈

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 1]

(Chapter 3)

Love and War

Brooklyn in the summer smelled like sweat, beer, and ambition.

The war had wrapped itself around the city, tight and unrelenting. Posters lined the streets, urging young men to enlist, to fight, to be heroes. Some did it because they believed in the cause. Others because they had no other options. Bucky Barnes had signed up before anyone even had to ask.

Y/N still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She adjusted the collar of her dress as she pushed her way through the crowded bar, the air thick with laughter and cigarette smoke. This place had become their routine—Friday nights at Murphy’s, a little bubble of normalcy in a world teetering on the edge. It was where they drowned out the weight of responsibility, where Steve stopped thinking about all the rejection letters the army kept shoving in his face, and where Y/N could forget the exhaustion of her nurse training, the never-ending parade of videos of wounded soldiers who reminded her exactly what war did to men like Bucky.

Speaking of which.

“Barnes.” Y/N slid into the booth opposite him, her tone dry, her expression unimpressed.

Bucky barely looked up from the blonde curled into his side. “Sweetheart.”

Y/N forced a smile, all sharp edges. “Oh, is that still my name? I figured you might’ve forgotten it with all the others you’ve been throwing around.”

Bucky smirked, slow and lazy, but she caught the flicker of something beneath it—something he didn’t want her to see. Something he was trying to bury. “Jealous, are we?”

“Oh, desperately,” she deadpanned, stealing his drink and taking a sip before he could protest.

Steve slid into the seat beside her, looking exhausted but amused. “Play nice, you two.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, leaning back. Steve had enough on his plate without dealing with their usual back-and-forth. His latest failed attempt to enlist was written all over his face, the frustration lingering in the tight line of his jaw.

“How’d it go?” she asked gently.

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Same as always.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “It’s a damn joke, pal. They’re sending boys younger than you overseas, and they won’t even let you try.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop,” Steve muttered.

Y/N frowned, but she knew better than to argue. Instead, she shot Bucky a look. “And what about you? Any word on where you’re getting stationed?”

Bucky shrugged, but there was tension in the set of his shoulders. “Not yet.”

The blonde beside him—Mary? Maggie? Something like that—traced a finger along his arm. “Maybe you won’t even have to go,” she cooed.

Y/N snorted, crossing her arms. “Right, because the army is known for changing their minds when a pretty girl asks nicely.”

The blonde pouted, but Bucky just chuckled. “You always this mean, doll?”

“Only to people who deserve it,” Y/N shot back.

Bucky’s smirk faltered for just a second, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there was something there—something real, something raw. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

He turned back to the blonde, draping an arm around her shoulder, making a show of leaning in close. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, just loud enough for Y/N to hear. “Some girls just don’t know how to have fun.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let it show.

She plastered on a smirk, picking up his abandoned drink once more. “Have all the fun you want, Barnes. Just try not to trip over your own ego on the way out.”

Bucky grinned, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Steve sighed, rubbing his temples. “I swear, one day, you two are gonna kill each other.”

Y/N lifted her stolen drink. “Cheers to that.”

Bucky let out a short laugh, but there was no humor behind it. He let his fingers drum against the table, glancing at Y/N before looking away just as quickly. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, voice so low only she could hear. “That’d probably be easier.”

Y/N froze, but before she could ask what he meant, he turned back to the blonde, flashing that same charming grin. It was a performance. She knew that now.

And it hurt anyway.

[stxneflxwers]

summary. mistletoe kisses~

a/n. some of these are OC x Reader... sorry? 😭 anywayyyyy. enjoy...?

characters. aventurine. dr ratio. OCs (malachy. lilith). gn reader.

cw. kissing (what did you expect, gets a little heated in aventurine's part). implied to be post-penacony (possibly, cuz i couldn't figure out when was a good time). teasing (aventurine & malachy). all lowercase.

aventurine.

he definitely planted the mistletoe there in the first place. spent most of the time trying to get you both under that special little spot so he could kiss you just right. but then, he thinks to himself, "why stop there?" when he could do so much more.

by the time you two are finally under the dangling mistletoe, he's planting teasing, fluttering kisses up your hand, your wrist, your arm. he refuses to kiss the sweetest spot in the world just yet. when he reaches your shoulder, he goes further – kissing your shoulder, your throat, your jaw. anywhere but your lips. he has the stupidest, most smug grin on his face the closer he gets to touching your lips with his own.

before he can say some strange remark about bets or risks, you take his face into your hands and smash your mouths together. the kiss quickly turns feverish, hands wandering and tongues tangling.

when you finally release his head with a soft pop, you're the one wearing the smug grin – like he had some twisted, infectious effect on you.

his whole face is pink and he's struggling to muster a single word.

you win this time.

dr ratio.

he knows of this strange tradition, but he personally never bothered to "experiment" with it. there's no experiment to be had, anyway. not to him, at least. this, however, makes you a little sad. just a little. and therefore you're going to remedy his "mistake" by interrupting his reading time.

a necessary evil, really.

you hop up to him, hiding mistletoe behind your back, and it's very obvious what you're plotting. you stare down at him with a bright grin as he sits in his favorite chair, reading another hefty yet crisp and new textbook. he tries ignoring you at first, he knows.

after a solid few moments of a staring contest (which neither of you were going to lose), he sighs.

"if you desired a kiss that badly, you could've just asked–" he starts, and you're swiftly dangling the mistletoe above both of your heads. your grin glows brighter than the sun itself. and he was threatening to put an umbrella up.

instead, he smiles wryly, "alright. just this once." he relents, and you mentally cheer – already diving in for a kiss.

malachy.

they're acutely aware of the time of year. and they know better than to walk under a doorway without checking if you're around first. they're messing with you through evasion tactics.

as they enjoy a chilly cup of a cocoa milkshake, you glare at them from the doorway that connects the kitchen and living room. it doesn't matter if it's winter, they will enjoy that damned milkshake. the milkshake you desperately want to knock out of their hands like an attention-seeking cat.

instead, you point at the top of the doorway with a pout on your lips, leading their lone visible eye to stare at the enticing mistletoe.

"...make me." they smirk from across the room, all too cozy in their seat.

"you little–!" you gasp in offense.

and then you jump up, yanking the mistletoe off and marching over to them. you hold the mistletoe above your heads.

"how about now?" you ask with a low yet agitated purr.

"hmm... maybe." they taunt you further, but before you can react, they graze their hot fingertips down your jaw. they guide your head closer, soon pressing chocolatey lips against your own.

lilith.

there's been a similar tradition in jaeger-iii for many trailblaze years now. however, as her planet is mostly populated by various parapolice forces, the tradition grew less innocent over time. however, she truly doesn't care too much. she knows people have their fun in various ways, even if it's personally distasteful to her.

needless to say, she was a little surprised when you came bounding by with flowers and gifts for her at the cathedral. she didn't expect you to be so chaste about the occasion. she silently wonders if she's the one who has degraded over time.

you're very forthright with her about your wants and needs, and she prefers it this way. she doesn't enjoy playing mind games. but this little game of yours was one she happily plays her part in.

the mistletoe was hanging above the door of her side of the confessional booth, and she smiles softly. yet you were nowhere in sight. upon opening the booth's door, you pop out and hug her with maybe too much excitement.

"kiss me?" you whisper to her, gesturing your eyes and head to the dangling mistletoe.

"...always." she whispers back, giving you everything you wanted and more.

[str4ngr]

______

When Gojo told you his job required privacy, you reassured him that you could handle it. By no means did you interpret that as him lying about your existence. 

“Wha- So you just go with another woman?” Your voice grates on his ears like a dull knife, twisting up the guilty ache in his heart, 

“Baby, I told you—“ 

“You said you’d go alone!”

Gojo huffed in frustration, brows furrowed and eyes clamped shut behind his blindfold. What was the best way to explain this. He knew you had every right to be upset, to be angry, but he wished you could understand.

“It’s not like I wanted to.” He chose, though judging by your expression, it doesn’t seem like he chose well. “I—”

“Just— just stop.” Arguing was pointless, the both of you were grown enough to see that. His eyes lingered on your face as he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

Gojo couldn’t help it, struggling to fight the twitching of his lips; you looked so cute. Sighing again, knowing he shouldn’t tease your sweet pout in a moment like this, he look down, pursing his lips. 

“Honey…” He started, taking a tentative step towards you. Your eyes were glossy with tears, and he struggled to hold back the heartbreak in his expression.

Gojo hated upsetting you—truly, he did. Like a helpless puppy to your affection, he couldn’t stand being anywhere but your good side. 

Being a sorcerer was a line of work that constantly put his life at risk, adding onto the fact that just being Gojo Satoru left him with the biggest target on his head. Although he loved you, he never wanted you to be a part of that. Of the constant paranoia, of the overwhelming burden of responsibility. You were a haven, where being ‘the strongest’ was left behind and he was allowed to be him. 

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, the words died on his tongue. Gojo couldn’t think of a good excuse, a plausible explanation, because you both knew the truth: Gojo didn’t want you to come with him.

______

if you have any other ideas, lmk in the comments or asks please!!

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Triad Part 9 — Reunion Part 2

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is 3200 words of self-indulgent smut that ALSO moves the plot forward and then a 1100 word funny/sweet little gift at the end that ALSO ALSO moves the plot forward. If you want to skip the smut, just reading the bit beneath the *** will give you enough of an idea of what happened and why it’s going to be important in less explicit terms. Listen to Total Control by DJO if you want additional ~vibes~ and see if you can guess the two other songs that inspired/are referenced in this part. First person to guess each wins a drabble of your choosing (word choice tbd by the vibes I’m feeling while I write it lol).

Click here to be added to the taglist so you never miss an update!

Warnings: Pure smut with dom/sub undertones, choking and restraints included. Buckle up folks!

When Az wakes up a few hours later, his chest hiccups with a sharp intake of breath. With his brain still stuck under the mountain, he struggles against the restraints confining him to the bed. 

His thrashing startles you and Cas awake, and while the male loosens his grip and scrambles backwards, you tighten your arms around Az’s waist. Shadow swirl all around you, just as confused as their master. 

“Shhhh,” you whisper, rubbing soothing circles around his belly button. “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a dream; you’re back home now.” 

You keep whispering sweet reassurances as the shadows start to settle, wrapping you and Azriel in their calming chill. Slowly, he stops trying to wriggle away and relaxes in your arms, eventually twisting around to look at you. 

“‘M sorry,” he mutters, voice still hoarse from sleep. You check the clock on the wall, noticing that it’s well past dinner time already. 

“Don’t apologize,” you say, raising your hands to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. “It’s our job to take care of you, Azzie.”

“And we love our job,” Cas quips, crawling across the bed with a steaming mug in one hand, which he holds to Az’s lips. “So be a dear and let us do it, yeah?” 

Azriel rolls his narrowed eyes, but dutifully takes a sip anyway. The hot liquid merges with his insides, soothing aches both physical and mental. 

Once the tea is gone, Cas reaches over for a croissant and lifted it up to Az’s mouth. 

“I can feed myself, you know,” Az complains, reaching out to try and swipe the pastry from Cassian’s grip. Cas laughs and pulls it away, teasing him. 

“Please? Just this once?” He pleads, eyes widening as he sticks out his lower lip in a pout.  “You weren’t the only one affected by shutting off the bond, you know.”

The look Az gives him suggests that there will be hell to pay for this later, but Cassian’s entire face lights up when Az parts his lips. He takes small bites and chews slowly as both males stare at each other, bond shimmering with pleasure at the intimacy of the act. 

It’s a gesture of trust on both parts and you watch, breathless and teary, as the intensity of their gazes deepens with each bite. After Cas shoves the last bit in, he lets his fingers linger longer than necessary, ghosting against Az’s lips. 

Az swallows, smirks, and then sucks Cas’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue 

“So that’s how you want to play this, huh?” Cas growls, patience draining from his body. You see it in the way his muscles tighten, a sign that he’s desperately clinging to the last of his self control. 

Saying nothing, Az just hums around Cas’s fingers and it’s fucking hot, the way your usually dominant mate can so easily slip into a submissive role while still holding onto all the power. But through the bond, it’s clear that they both need this. 

Cas needs to burn off some of the anger and frustration that had built up during Azriel’s absence, and Az (though he’d never admit it out loud) needs reassurance, to feel loved and desired. Letting his mates have their way with him is a sure fire way to calm the insecurities that have grown like ivy during his prolonged isolation.  

Besides, he’s never fully defenseless. If things go too far, his shadows are always there to lend a helping hand in regaining control. 

You make eye contact with Cas over Az’s head, matching grins on your faces as the possibilities flash down the bond, filling your minds with the most delightful images. 

Letting his lips fall open again, Az runs his teeth along the fingers that start to drop just hard enough to send a shudder of pleasure down Cas’s arm. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, heart working double time to accommodate how rapidly his body awakens. 

“On your back,” Cassian whispers, the power he’s trying to contain escaping through his voice where a hardness sharpens the edges of his words, turning them into weapons. 

“Or what?” Az asks, scooting away from you so he’s fully facing Cas. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow, a half-smirk grazing the corners of his lips. 

Red magic flutters out of clenched fists, siphons struggling to contain it all. 

“You’re acting real smug over there,” he hisses, leaning in closer to Az, “for someone who’s seen me tear armies limb from limb.” 

The darkness seeping into Cas’s eyes has Az straining against his tight sleep shorts, the confines of which are a sweet kind of agony. 

And Azriel is smug because he knows exactly which buttons to push to get what he wants. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispers, eyes darkening as he smirks at Cas from across the room. 

It’s a callback to when they first met, when Cassian had made it his personal mission to make Az’s life a living hell. Things came to a head one night after they’d been out drinking and they ended up fighting behind one of the seedy dive bars littered throughout Windhaven and the surrounding forest. 

“RHYS DOESN’T NEED ANOTHER BROTHER,” Cassian bellowed, feeling his magic sparking beneath his skin. 

Something in Cassian broke when Azriel’s lips had hardened, the Shadowsinger’s steely gaze piercing straight through Cas’s heart as he growled “I’m not afraid of you.”

It made Cas feel squeamish which, in turn, stoked the fires of his internal rage. His veins stung as red-hot flames licked their way through his body. Clenching his jaw and then each muscle below it, he used brute force to tame his errant magic. 

He raised his arms, ready to shove the infuriating Shadow Master away when shadows swirled around him, tightening into shackles around his wrist. His eyes widened; he’d finally found someone who could give it back to him as hard as he liked to give it. 

With one eyebrow raised, the silent Shadowsinger held out a hand. The shadows only released their grip when Cassian slumped forward with laughter tumbling from his lips. Cassian and Azriel clasped hands and were brothers from that day forward. 

And though Cas’s jaw twitches now just like it did then, it’s not laughter that escapes his lips but a Cauldron-damned snarl. In a flash of red, he surges forward to clamp a hand around Az’s neck, shoving until messy curls thump against the headboard.   

“You do look so pretty in blue,” Cas hums, candlelight reflecting off his teeth as he bares them in a wicked grin. 

“Come here darling,” he says, reaching over to you with his free hand. You slip your own smaller one into it, mirroring the look on his face as he tugs you closer. “You keep quiet,” he says to Az, tossing his words out like an afterthought as he turns to look at you. 

You look up at him all batted lashes and blown out pupils and he melts, all of the lines on his face disappearing. He pulls you into his side, letting his arm snake around your waist. 

“And you, sweet little thing,” he whispers, lowering his lips to brush against your pulse point, “can get comfortable riiiiight here.” Cas arranges you on Az’s lap, straddling one of his thighs with your ass just barely brushing against his cock. 

He squeezes Az’s throat a little harder, just for a few seconds, and then lets go completely. Az is completely silent, staring up at Cas with wide, eager eyes. 

“Good boy,” Cas says, patting Az on the cheek before turning his full attention to you. His eyes flash a deep, blood red as he waves a hand behind him like an afterthought. From his fingertips, red magic shoots out  like twirling arrows that wrap around Az’s wrists, pinning them to the headboard. 

If he wasn’t so horny, Cas would be in a state of shock, but it’s like it doesn’t register that he shouldn’t be able to do that. Or at least that he’s never done that before. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and from the burning, crackling blue magic flowing through the bond from Az’s side you think that Az would agree if was capable of coherent thoughts. 

Az’s wrists are bound tight enough that he can feel the restraints pressing into his skin, but they’re still malleable and comfortable. His shadows surround the red bands, curious and excited. 

Cas leans in to press a firm yet gentle kiss to your lips, murmuring against them. “He’s being so good, isn’t he, angel?” 

You agree, letting the desire buzzing in your body ooze out through your words. “So good.” 

Then you stick your tongue in between Cas’s lips, coaxing a breathy moan from the male knowing it will have Az frothing at the mouth. He loves making the two of you put on a show for him, so you’re going to give him exactly what he wants. Except you make the rules this time, so you take your time exploring every crevasse in Cas’s mouth. Eventually, his hands slide up your waist, shoving up your thin top. 

“Off,” he commands, leaning back to watch you slip the fabric over your head. You toss it aside and arch your back as you fold forward to press your hardened nipples against his bare chest. 

“Pants, too,” he instructs, waving a hand at you. Within seconds you’re completely bare, cunt soaking Az’s pajama pants. Instinctively, you rub your clit against his thigh a few times and your ass brushes against Az’s clothed dick. 

It has him rocking his hips back and forth, needing just a little bit of friction to take the edge off of his overwhelming desires. Keeping his mouth shut is taking too much of his focus so his body’s getting antsy. 

“I think he liked that,” you say, acknowledging Az without turning around. Instead, you scoot forward, pressing your knees into Cassian’s sides to lift yourself and free up space for you to reach down, freeing his cock from its cloth prison.

Cas hums, saying nothing as he tightens his grip on your hips, lowering you onto him. He bends his legs, propping them up next to Az’s hips, and stretches you open, slowly easing himself inside. Behind you, Az whimpers, making Cas smirk as he tugs you down until your chests are flush. That gives Az a full, unobstructed view of what’s going on. 

Once you’ve adjusted to Cas’s size, you start to ride him, chasing a rapidly building high. Cas guides you, chin on your shoulder so he can stare straight at Az while he says “I want you to come on my cock, can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you hiss, grinding yourself down so his tip circles that sensitive spot deep inside you. 

“Then we’re gonna get at least one more out of ya before it’s Az’s turn. He made us wait, so now we’re making him wait.”

Az is squirming behind you but staying silent—Cas never said he couldn’t move, only that he had to keep quiet. Like he can read Az’s thoughts, Cas laughs; a sharp, growling chuckle like a predator messing with his prey. “And I know you think you’re getting away with something back there, but I can feel you moving. Keep going, if you want, but you’ll pay for it later.” 

This new side of Cas has you mumbling nonsense, just fragmented words and phrases conveying the message to keep going, right there. He uses his bent legs to his advantage, pounding up into you. The hands on your hips squeeze tighter and you hope they leave bruises behind so you can match Az. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find your release, milking every last aftershock until you slump onto Cas’s chest, boneless and breathless. 

“Got another one in there for us?” He whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“I can try,” you mumble against the curve of his pecs. 

“Good girl.” He helps prop you back up and, from his spot behind you, holds a hand out towards Az. The glowing red bonds dissolve, freeing his wrists, and he immediately scoots forward. Cas lifts you up, grabbing your ass to make room for Az to shimmy down flat on his back and then settling you with your knees next to his ears. 

Two thick fingers dip into your dripping cunt. Cas collects some of your slick before shoving you down onto Az’s waiting lips. 

He moves those fingers lower, circling the rim of Az’s hole to ease it open. Az whimpers, finally getting the touch he’s been wanting and it’s almost too much too fast. 

Cas slides his free hand down the curve of your ass and onto Az’s neck, curling his fingers around to press against his mate’s pulse point.

“I told you to keep quiet,” Cas snarls. Shadows nuzzle up against the hard planes of Cassian’s body, murmuring apologies that only Az can hear. 

You feel Az still beneath you but are so close to your second peak that you keep grinding against his face. It only lasts for a few seconds before Cassian loosens his grip. 

“You better make her cum. If you want me to fuck you, I want to hear Y/N scream your name,” he whispers, leaning down to graze his teeth against the skin behind Az’s ear. 

“Please, Az,” you whine, fingernails digging into the headboard as you writhe against his mouth searching for your release. His tongue darts into your folds and then he sucks on your clit, lapping up towards it with the flat of his tongue. “Fuck, do that again.” He obliges, wanting nothing more than to feel your walls fluttering against his tongue, to please you, to please Cassian. It’s getting to be too much, having Cas’s fingers working his hole open and you humping his face. 

When he dips his tongue into you again, you stutter into your climax. Your hips thrust up until your clit hits Az’s nose and then you grind down, each small movement sending shockwaves through your system. 

“Az,” you cry, slumping back against Cas as you’re hit with the full force of a second orgasm without getting the chance to recover from the first. It hits just on the pleasure side of the pain/pleasure spectrum and you ride it out, pulsing walls sucking his tongue back in. 

“Good job, honey,” Cas murmurs, wrapping an arm around your chest to pull you in as tight as possible. You let your core fall away from Az’s mouth and Cassian helps you crawl off of Az. Collapsing on the bed next to Az, you curl into his side, seeking out his warmth. 

Love you, you mutter through the bond, sending a flutter of purple magic his way. Shadows wrap you in a soothing cocoon in answer. 

Cas tugs Az down the bed, flipping him onto his stomach and pulling his hips back so Cas can slip his tip into the loosened hole. 

“You ready for me, baby? Think you can take it?” Cas asks, low and breathy since he’s teasing himself as much as he’s teasing Az.

“Yessss,” Az hisses, trying to tip his hips forward to take more. Cas barks out a laugh and smacks a flat palm down on one of Az’s cheeks. 

With your head curled to the side, you have a perfect view of the slight jiggle of Az’s ass. Cas’s other hand tightens around the sloping waist leading down to toned hips, and then he slaps again two, three, four times. 

“I never said you could speak,” he scolds. Az’s eyes are bright and glinting with unshed tears as he grasps desperately at the last remaining shreds of his self control. 

Cas waits for a full two minutes, slowly pushing his cock in deeper. Az stretches to accommodate him, tight rim tugging to try and speed the process along. “Fuck, you take me so well.”

When his pelvis is flush against Az, he bends down and slides his hand into the dark hair standing out against the white sheets. He tips Az’s head to the side, exposing one ear so he can mutter against it. “Okay, you can speak now, baby. You’re doing a good job, Azzie.” Azzie. The nickname shouldn’t arouse him like this, make him clench even tighter around Cas. It’s the name that you call him when you’re feeling sweet, when you really want something, or when you’re trying to get his attention when he’s really, really broken. Az isn’t sure which one of these things Cas is trying to communicate. All three, probably, with the way he’s nipping at Az’s earlier hard enough to break the skin. 

“Cas,” Az groans, arching his back to rub his dick against the silk beneath him. You scoot down and push him up on his forearms, slipping into the space beneath him to line your head up with his leaking tip. Cas starts thrusting, strokes wild, deep, and messy as he loses himself in the feeling of Az’s tightness, pounding against his prostate. 

“Not gonna last long,” Cas grunts, body frothing with lust and magic after spending so long teasing his mates. 

You suck Az in between your lips, swallowing as much of him as your current position will allow, and feel him twitch against your tongue. 

“Me ‘neither,” Az mumbles against the curve of your stomach, right below your belly button. His lips ghost against your skin, sending cool shadows in the direction of his breath. 

He fucks into your mouth every time Cas bottoms out in him, pushing him even deeper. Cas doesn’t last long, spilling into Az with a strangled choke. Azriel speeds up, hips bucking wildly as he takes 

“Gonna come for us, baby?” Cas rasps, running his hands up and down Az’s thighs, slumping forward to keep his dick inside, softening against Az’s prostate. 

“Y-yes,” Az keens as he spills himself into your mouth like all he was waiting for was permission. His cum drips down the back of your throat and you swallow it all, sucking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm until he whimpers, overstimulated and wriggling in between you and Cassian. 

Cas pulls out and guides Az until he’s laying back with his head and shoulders propped up by only the biggest, fluffiest pillows. You curl up against his side and lift your hand to Az’s neck, grazing the darkening bruises there. Within seconds, Cas has his hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing it tight as he pulls your hand away. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs, letting his own free hand settle atop Azriel’s collarbone, fingertips following the trail of marks at the base of his mate’s neck. “I want him to wear them like a necklace.”

Az flushes the prettiest shade of red you’ve ever seen and you hum in acknowledgement. You turn to face Cas, grin as wild as your post-fuck hair. 

“Next time, I want you to choke him ‘til he’s blue in the face.”

Golden, molten-lava lust oozes through the bond followed by a bright white flash of shame that’s engulfed by shadows in less than a second.  

***

Az is up early the next morning, needing a moment to himself before his mates wake up. Alone at the kitchen table with only the slowly rising sun to keep him company, he works on shrouding the memories of last night in the darkness at the very back of his mind. 

When his shadows alert him that someone’s coming up the walkway, he bolts to the door to catch them before they knock or, Mother forbid, ring the bell and wake his slumbering mates. He still has his coffee in one hand when he swings the door open, scowling 

“Why, good morning, Shadowsinger,” Rhys drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his face, smooth as butter. “I can come back later if you’re currently indisposed.”

And—oh. Az’s free hand flies to his neck, fingertips ghosting over the bruises littering his throat. In his haste to get to the door, he forgot to deal with those. 

Rolling his eyes, he swings the door open wider, beckoning his brother in. 

“Come in, you mongrel. But if you wake my mates, you’ll choke on my shadows.” The threat is light-hearted but completely serious when paired with the ice cold glare pinching at the corners of his eyes. Shadows nip at Rhysand’s heels as he follows Az into the cozy little kitchen, sinking into one of the worn, wooden chairs surrounding the table. 

Azriel opts to lean against the counter, one leg propped up and a hand clutching the cool marble. Rhys waves one hand, pouring and summoning a cup of coffee with a flick of his hand. 

“Show off,” Az snorts into his mug as he takes a long sip of his (black) coffee. 

“Somebody’s jealous,” Rhys teases as he adjusts the cream and sugar levels until they’re just right. 

Az lowers his mug revealing a nose wrinkled in distaste. 

“Of you? Never.” Disgust lasts mere seconds before laughter is bubbling out of his mouth, rumbling deep in his chest. It helps him breathe a little easier.

“I wouldn’t mind swapping places with you for a few days.” Rhys winks as he lifts his mug to his lips. 

“You’d have your hands full with those two.” Az waves his mug, gesturing vaguely towards his neck. “This is an anomaly.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. Cassian always did like being thrown around a little bit too much.” Both males laugh, thinking about a younger Cas holding the full force of his power back in fights, grinning up at his opponent with a mouthful of blood and asking Is that all you’ve got? 

It’s quiet for a while as they sip their coffee, but then Rhys sets his mug down and leans forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on the table. 

“It’s okay if you liked it, though. They’re your mates, brother. It’s a safe way to be vulnerable, to let your guard down.”

Az’s hazel eyes narrow and his shadows spring into action, swirling around his feet. Rhysand waits patiently, knowing that cracking Azriel’s hard exterior would take time and a delicate hand. 

Eventually, he speaks. 

“I…enjoyed myself. Cas’s magic is much more powerful than I thought.”

“Oh?”

“It was damn near refined. I’ve never seen him have that much control over it, not even on the battlefield.” 

Rhys hums and cocks his head, picturing the explosive bursts of red that had cleared battlefields many times before. 

“That makes sense, actually. Cassian’s always been afraid of his power, more comfortable using physical force than magic. It could be a mutually beneficial exercise for the both of you—for all three of you, really. By letting your guard down, you likely allowed Cassian to tap into some of your self control. And the unequivocal trust that stems from bond ensured that both of you felt safe enough to let power flow freely through the bond. I suspect that if you keep practicing, Rhys pauses to flash a wink and a cheeky grin at the blushing Shadowsinger, “then eventually you’ll be able to borrow from each other outside of the bedroom, too.” He punctuates his sentence with a shrug; after all this Triad Bond was rare, so his ideas were merely conjectures. 

“So you’re saying we can strengthen our magic by having sex?” 

“Sex is a powerful act—of love, of trust, of acceptance—it could become a safe space for you to explore the depths of your powers together.” Az twists his face up in a (hilarious, in Rhys’s opinion) mixture of confusion and intrigue dusted with disgust. 

“This isn’t one of Y/N’s trashy romance novels.” 

“Or…maybe it is?” Az’s eyes narrow and his shadows stiffen like they’re offended. “Is it really so hard to believe that you’re worthy of a grand love story, brother?”

Azriel frowns, but before he can answer you stumble into the kitchen with Cassian a step behind you to prevent you from falling. Your feet are heavy as your body tries desperately to cling onto sleep. The sight of Azriel leaning against the counter with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips and one of Cas’ oldest sweaters with the sleeves bunched around his wrists prompts you to scurry faster—the soft version of the Shadowsinger is your favorite. 

“Morning, Azzie,” you mumble against his shoulder as you press your face into the soft wool, arms around his waist squeezing tight. Behind you, you hear the familiar low rumble of Rhys’ laughter and are grateful for the opportunity to bury your head further into your mate to hide your blush. You hadn’t noticed him; tunnel vision took over as soon as you saw Az looking sweet and cozy with his baggy clothes and steaming mug of coffee. 

“Oi, I’m here, too,” Rhys teases, prompting Cassian to pull him into a bear hug. 

“Good morning, Rhysie,” he croons, peppering sloppy kisses all over the High Lord’s face. Rhys chokes on his laughter as he tries to shove the brute off of him. 

Cassian is stronger, though, and only tightens his grip further. 

“Careful, brother,” Rhys drawls, suddenly stilling as he catches Az’s dark and stormy gaze locked on them, a slight twitching of his jaw betraying his well-concealed jealousy. “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble later.” 

Cas loosens his grip and turns towards Az, grinning at the sight of his mate’s narrowed eyes. 

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping will happen,” he says, swatting at the errant shadow nipping at his neck. 

Rhysand backs away, hands held up in surrender. 

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it. And, Azriel, do try to keep your mind open, trust is a powerful magic.”

With that, a cackling Rhysand disappears, leaving you and Cassian to deal with the sputtering Spymaster left behind.

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638@hnyclover@anutellaa@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog@queerqueenlynn@brujitafantomatico @nickishadow139 @starcrossedsan @dustyinkpages

[slashingdisneypasta]

Chucky Lee Ray x Reader || Drabble

Plot: When you come home from a really terrible date who definitely expects to be invited in, you do something Kinda Sneaky... and say you live with your brother and, oops! You forgot your key!!- and knock on the apartment next to yours, acting like this one is yours. Chucky's apartment.

Warnings: N/A.

Knock knock. No answer.

Knock knock knock. No answer.

Humming nervously, because why the hell why isn't he answering?? Please be home, Chucky, p l e a s e- "He must have his headphones on, the dumbass." You throw back to your date, Hank, rolling your eyes like 'brothers, huh?'.

"Hey, if you cant get it, you can always come back to my place?"

"Oh thats nice of you- " Knockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknock-

"Bro!" You exclaim in a loud, totally-fake greeting as soon as the door flies open and reveals Charles Lee Ray, looking as if you just woke him up, his hair in his dark eyes and a beer-stained, moth-eaten white t-shirt on that completely washes him out and makes him look like Samara Morgan (Sweet jesus, if you weren't so desperate to get away from Hank, you would be terrified of this nightmare look). His face twists into grumpy, tired confusion but before he can ask you what the hell you're talking about- you slip your arms around his waist and squeeze him in a hug. "Play along." Dear god, play along.

When you pull back, a hostage-smile pasted to your face standing there with Hank behind you looking bored and annoyed (And wearing a stained t-shirt of his own- under a date blazer), the cranky frown on his face upturns into a smirk. Oh~

You hope to god thats a good smirk and your annoying neighbour is not about to screw you.

Its not like Hank is dangerous, or t h r e a t e n i n g, at all- no. He's fine. But after 4 hours of talking about his fucking car, and The Big Bang Theory (How funny Howard Walowitz is in the first seasons and how misunderstood he is with women- jesus), and meeting his mother at the start-- you are DONE!!

DONE!! FINISHED!

You're up to hear with him and Chucky, as annoying and rude as he is, suddenly feels like a great alternative! At least if you went out with him tonight, you might've gotten a good buzz out of it. Hank took you to a Chuck E Cheese, and he didn't bring a flask.

When Chucky leans against the door and makes room for you to slip by, smirking dangerously at your date, you happily go into his apartment. You never wanted to get in there so bad, before. You never wanted to go in there, period, before today. But now it feels like sanctuary. "So... you're the guy that took out Y/N tonight."

Oh no- he's still talking. Why on earth is Chucky still talking-

"-Yeah thats him!" You cut in, before flashing Hank a bright smile and a waive. "I had a great time- bye Hank!" Please go. Please go. Please go now-

Before your date can leave and you can never see him again, Chucky stops him- and when you glance at his face, you can see an even broader, more mischievous smirk on him. Oh no. "Hold on there, man, wait. I gotta make sure you're alright, don't I??"

"No, bro, you don't." You say pointedly, making Chucky turn that nefarious, lascivious grin onto you for a moment.

"Hehe... I think I do."

Through grit teeth, you beseech him. "Fight the urge." Or, well- beg him. You're begging. You're absolutely begging.

Because wherever Chucky is going to take this, is not going to be good, especially with that evil twinkle in his pale blue eyes. "What kinda brother would I be if I didn't check him?"

"The best brother in the world."

"Ahhhhh... you're just sayin' that. Hey Hank- " When you both turn back to the hallway and see that Hank is, actually, gone-- you're equally baffled and relieved. Thank god, but... when did he leave??? Chucky, on the other hand, pouts. "Damn. ... Maybe he wasn't that into you."

While rolling your eyes, you catch sight of a black object plainly sticking out of Chucky's pyjama pants. "Or maybe he saw the gun tucked into your pants! Is that loaded!??"

"... no."

"No!??" That did not sound definitive!!

"Well yeah, of course it is. But here's the thing, doll. Guess what?" You're about to ask a put-out and huffy 'what?', when Chucky pulls the door to his apartment abruptly closed; standing far too close to you and looking at you in that lecherous Chucky-way that makes you feel so small and squirrelly. Wait- "Look at that?~ You're all mine, all of a sudden~ Hehe,"

As you stand there, half scared/half... something else, you wonder dumbly how and when did you lose control of this situation-

[mehbzz]

Short flirty drabble. No smut, no plot. Poly!Ghostface mentioned

Billy Loomis x F!Reader

“Boo!”

“Fuck sake Billy,” you hissed, heart leaping in your chest and eyes flicking behind him for any sign of Stu, wary of another attack. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He’s smiling, happy, and you can’t help smiling with him as he downs the rest of his drink despite the pounding of your heart. His eyes sweep over you, lingering in places that has your skin heating.

“You know I think I understand Stu now,” he says with a slight smile, stepping past you to place his glass on the counter next to the sink, a move that even after your jump scare gives you a flicker of annoyance. ”The apron is cute.”

“Don’t start,” You roll your eyes, the teasing you’ve endured for your choice of attire when doing chores was never ending.

“You’re cute,” He cuts you off and you shiver a little at the compliment. “making us dinner, taking care of the house.”

“I didn’t make dinner, I ordered-,” You stopped, frowning at his little smirk. “Shut up. And I’m cleaning up the mess you made in my kitchen.” You picked up his glass, dropping it into the sink with a huff. “Taking care of the house my ass. And dirty stuff goes in the sink.”

“Yes Mom.”

“Go away, go back to Stu.” There’s no heat to your words, not with the way his hands reach out to rest on your hips.

“The apron was necessary then?” He tugs the string and you reach behind you to slap his hand away without turning around. “You didn’t put that on hoping Stu would come in?”

You open your mouth, hands tightening on the edge of the sink but the no doesn’t come out. Maybe maybe you had been hoping for that. They’d been so wrapped up in each other all night you were feeling a little left out.

“Bunny?”

You turn around, hoping your face is not as red as it feels and Billy smirks. His hands stay on your hips, and once you face him he moves his fingers, dipping under the sides of the apron to try and slip under your shirt.

“If you guys didn’t make such a mess I wouldn’t have to wear protective gear,” You try to sound annoyed but it doesn't seem to bother him. “It is necessary, I’m not just indulging Stu’s little house wife fantasy.”

"Not just? So you are wearing it for him?" The smug grin on his face flounders you for a second, embarrassment at being caught out twisting your tongue. “What about for me?”

You froze. “You don’t have a housewife fantasy.”

It came out a little abrupt, harsher than you meant. He was being a tease, he was horny, and the realization had taken you off guard, made you feel defensive for some reason.

“\Where is Stu anyway?”

Billy looks annoyed for a brief second, not liking you brushing him off but it's quickly gone. “Still engrossed in Caligula,” He pauses, clicking his tongue in frustration. “If he breaks it from rewinding too much I’m not paying for it again.”

“Yeah you will,” you quipped, turning away to avoid looking at him, too aware of the heat his gaze inspired in your belly, aware that he was following you so closely you could feel the warm hard press of his cock against your backside.

“Bunny.”

The pout in the pet name made your insides churn as you placed the glass onto the draining board.

“You like doing things for Stu but not me?”

His voice was closer; and you turned instinctively, breath catching in your chest as he caged you in with his arms.

“What? No I-,” You inhaled sharply as he nudged his thigh between yours. “I like doing things for you.”

You try to sound teasing but it comes out as a near whisper, and you feel your mouth go dry as he raises an eyebrow.

“Mmmm? What do you like doing for me?” Billy matched your tone, his voice a bare whisper as his lips brushed over yours. “What, Bunny?”

You whimpered, unable to trust your voice with an intelligible answer. Billy laughed under his breath, pressing his thigh into your core. “Don’t you want to do something for me right now?”

You nodded, melting into him when he finally kissed you and you whined as he ground his thigh into you a little harder. He grabbed your hips, holding you tight and stopping you from grinding down onto him.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you with hunger in his eyes. “Then turn around.”