#so sorry about him but he really is trying his best

[millers-angel]

single dad!joel miller x babysitter!reader

♡ summary: single dad joel hires a babysitter who takes care of sarah a little too good, but she can take care of him too, in a different way. ୨୧ cw: soft joel (with sarah), smut, unprotected sex, size difference, creampie (reader is not on birthcontrol) ୨୧ wc: 7.6k

"you made it on time," he said as he opened the door.

joel looked... tired.

the man standing in front of you was taller, broad shoulders, big arms, big hands too, but his eyes seemed tired, his hair was a little messy, maybe he’d run a hand through it too many times.

you'd seen him before, but just in pictures... seeing him in person was totally different. it felt intimidating even, if it wasn't for how tired he look.

"come on," he said stepping aside so you could step in.

you nodded, a little nervous at first, but tried to hide it with a smile. the house smelled like baby cologne and milk, the first thing you noticed was all the toys scattered in the living room, a folded-up stroller against the wall.

everything was pretty messy, and so was he.

then you spotted her, a baby girl, barely two, sitting on the couch, holding a stuffed bear and something that made you laugh a bit, sarah had joel’s oversized contractor helmet on her head, covering half of her face.

joel followed your gaze and sighed. "oh, darlin’," he mumbled but he couldn't help to smile at the sight. sarah loves his helmets.

he walked to her and lifted her gently to put her against his hip, taking the helmet off her head. sarah squealed and lifted her arms to reach the helmet again.

"daa," she babbled, clearly demanding joel the helmet back.

joel looked around, as if trying to find something and then he spotted it, crouched to pick it up, between the blocks and stuffed animals was her own tiny plastic toy helmet, the one that actually fits her.

"this is the one, baby girl," he said putting the helmet on her head.

sarah squealed again, kicking her little feet while he held her. joel seemed all serious and intimidating, but with sarah... he softened every part of him, you could see it, as tired as he looks, he tries his best with her.

"well, this is sarah," he said adjusting her.

"hey, sarah," you said making a face and waving your hand to her, getting a giggle from her side.

joel smiled too, "first of all, thanks for coming," he started. "i'm joel miller, uh," he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, cleary exhausted. he cleared his throat, "just… lettin’ you know, sometimes my shifts run long. that okay? i’ll always pay extra, but—"

"it's okay with me, mr. miller," you shrugged. "it's my job for now."

he took a deep breath. "thanks, i'd really like this to be a full-time job, if that's okay with you?" you nodded. "and as i said, sometimes i gotta stay longer at work, but of course i pay for your time."

"that’s fine," you said shrugging. "really, don’t worry about it. i need the money anyway."

"i’m sorry if i sound pushy. it’s just—" he exhaled. "you’re the fifth sitter this month. i’ve been havin’ trouble at work ‘cause… i can’t leave sarah alone, and it’s complicated."

your heart sank, cause he do looks exhausted. "you don’t need to explain. i get it... but if you want me to sign a paper letting you know i won't quit, that's okay." you joked a bit, trying to make things lighter.

but joel didn't laugh, he lowkey felt ashamed, maybe he's being too paranoid. "sorry. don’t mean to come off paranoid or annoying."

"no, you’re not," you said gently. "you’re just worried about her. that makes sense."

he took a deep breath again, while sarah just look to the both of you, blinking, trying to understand maybe. "alright," he looked around. "so, there's food in the kitchen, take anything you want," he nodded. "but if you feel like eating something else, i left cash on the counter."

you nodded. "thanks," you looked at her now. "what about sarah? what does she eat?"

joel looked at sarah, smiling this time. "she likes applesauce, nuggets, mashed potatoes, you know? a bit of everything, though she prefers fruit than vegetables," he rolled his eyes to her, playfully. "but she needs to eat vegetables anyway. and before sleeping, she likes warm milk. she's got her special cup for that, is the one with—"

"bunnies!" sarah squealed. of course she probably had no idea what he was talking about, she just picked on the keywords.

it made you smile. "noted, boss."

"she loves bunnies and cats," he said softly. "she’s a calm baby, but she gets... upset if she doensn't sleep."

"sounds like most of us," you agreed.

he laughed, softening his face, and god, you really, really liked this messy look on him, on his smile. he's really dedicated to her, to sarah, he's there for her, he worries about her, he cares about her, as tired as he is, he don't mind as long as sarah is okay.

then, he looked at the watch on his hand and clicked his tongue. "i'm late, gotta go."

you nodded and reached out for sarah from his arms. she surprisingly, came up with you almost immediately. joel went and grabbed a few things he needed, yes, the helmet included.

he walked to you, to sarah, crouching to her level. "i'll be right back, baby girl."

"dada," she said with her tiny hands over his face.

he kissed her cheek. "i love you. be good for me, yeah?"

sarah babbled something in response, then giggled. her little arms wrapping around his neck before he put her back next to you.

then, joel cleared his throat. "anything happens, anything at all, you call me, or text. i'll answer."

"i will," you nodded, adjusting sarah against your hip. "i'll send pictures of her so you'll be aware she's fine."

joel chuckled. "okay, that sounds more than fine."

he gave one last look at the both of you, softer than he probably meant to let show. "thanks. i’ll be back in a couple hours."

and he left. just you and sarah now. she looked at you with those big curious eyes and tucked her face on your shoulder, probably feeling the absence of her daddy. but you won't let her down on this.

joel didn't come back 'in a couple of hours' that day, of course he didn't. but it was okay, you kept sarah busy, playing, watching tv when it was the right time, coloring—or trying to because sarah just made a mess with the already broken crayons. you'd feed her what she liked, even veggies, but in a fun way, so she wouldn't make a fuss. she took her afternoon nap just as joel said she would. and when it was night, you'd given her the warm milk before sleeping, in her sippy cup with the bunnies, her favorite. the baby fell asleep right there nestled on your ribcage. you'd look at her and felt proud, because you did something right.

from that day on, you were there almost every day. sometimes even on weekends. you took sarah to the park, she enjoyed the swings, she also enjoyed playing on the tiny animals—the ones where toddlers can get up, nothing too high or dangerous, not at all. you sent pictures to joel pretty often, of what sarah was doing, just routine, just to show him she was fine and safe. he just answered with 'thank you', or a thumbs-up emoji.

joel even brought home a small inflatable pool for sarah, for those hot days. sarah was happier than ever splashing in the water, squealing and you sent pictures to joel of her enjoying her pool while he was probably breaking his back at work, but it was all worth it, for her.

you never went back on your word, didn’t quit like the others. you had no plans to. sarah was too sweet. of course, she had her moments, tears when she was tired, little tantrums when she didn’t get what she wanted. but you were always patient with her, you knew she was just a little one. if anything, you both learned each other. she was actually excited when she saw you at the door, toddling fast to wrap your legs and demanded to be held.

and she was learning too, sarah was more talkative everyday, picking new words from you.

sarah adored you. and you adored her back.

however, you’ve noticed a few things. sarah’s mom is not in her life at all, it’s just her and joel and of course it makes you wonder what happened. the man doesn’t have pictures of her with anyone but sarah and his brother, you guess it is because of the similarities on their faces. but not a single trace of a woman. it makes you feel bad for him, because he’s all alone, working all the time, barely has time to breathe and yet he manages to be a great father for sarah.

but it’s sad, though.

you wonder if he still sees someone or maybe keeps in contact with sarah’s mom on the days you’re not there.

joel is not a man of much words. he keeps it simple, always respectful, and being honest, he always looks tired. and now, so are you.

sometimes, he finds you sleeping on the couch when it’s too late at night. you’re all curled up, peacefully sleeping near the monitor in case sarah wakes up. he felt awful, knowing you'd taken care of his little girl and the couch wasn't a place to sleep. he crouched to your level before gently calling your name.

you barely moved. "hey," he whispered.

"mhm?" you hummed, still dazed, then you saw him. "oh, jesus," you blinked and rubbed your eyes. "i'm sorry, mr. miller."

"not at all," he said gently. "next time if you're tired, you can go in my bedroom. the bed is big and comfortable."

you shook your head. "no, mr. miller, i’m fine here."

"please," he insisted.

"i’d feel bad, knowing you’re letting me take your bed while you’re at work."

"and i'd feel bad knowing you're sleeping on this couch when my bedroom is empty upstairs," that made you both chuckle. "please, do it. i mean it."

from that day on, if you got too sleepy, you’d go into joel’s room. at first, it felt awkward, cause as nice as he is, he is still your boss. but you did it anyways. the first time in his room, it was... something. it was all messy, the unmade bed, clothes scattered all over the place, his boots from work, helmets, tools, but also framed pictures of sarah, alongside half-empty water bottles and a small bottle of anxiety medication. you felt bad for him.

there wasn’t a trace of sarah’s mother anywhere.

but you started making his bed, cleaning his place, keeping it nice for him. you knew it wasn't part of your job, but honestly, you didn't mind at all. he pays you well, he doesn't give you a hard time, and of course, if you can help him, you will. cause you know he works hard for his girl, and now you know he deals with more things. the man needs to breathe.

and you're giving him that. he's not blind, he's noticed everything you've done for him, for the house. and despite his words that you really don't need to be doing this, you didn't stop. now, joel has more time to separate his work from his personal life. now he's got more time to sleep.

one night even, joel when joel came home from work, he got a surprise in his room. not only you, but you and sarah, both girls sleeping comfortably on his bed. the little one was tucked on your ribcage, holding to your shirt, and you had her wrapped on your arms, and on his night table, sarah's sippy cup. that put a smile on his face.

you were so patient with her, so gentle. he’d lost count of how many times sarah lit up just hearing your voice.

he didn’t want to wake either of you. he wouldn't and he never does even when it's just you. so he just made his way to the couch.

it wasn’t the only time he found you there.

the night he stepped in his room just to find you lying there, your skirt had ridden up enough. enough to let him see what you had underneath. your panties. soft pink lace panties. he wasn’t a pervert, and god, he respected you. but he was still a man. and right now, all he could see was your butt, your panties, your thighs, he could see you all.

joel wasn't blind. he's aware of what he has in front of him lying on his bed. a beautiful, young girl which butt is perfectly made for his hands to squeeze. he shook his head at the thought. you're just so good with sarah, so good with him, so kind and sweet, always wearing those shorts, these skirts, of course you're unaware of the effect you had on people.

and being honest, joel has had no time for women. always filled up with work, with sarah, until you came. of course this is a job, but still, you're more good than just being sarah's sitter. you're good with him too. and that's why this hits him harder. cause you're too good, in every sense of the word. and now, seeing the soft piece of fabric covering your tiny slit, that made him grow hard inside his pants.

he almost groaned, cause he knows this ain't right. seeing you with these eyes, thinking of you in that way. but he couldn't help to stare and feel himself grow harder to the view.

he didn't do anything about it. he just let you sleep like he always does.

but he wasn't the only one. it happened the other way around too. one night, you'd woken up on his bed, but heard the sound of the tv, it was very low, but you knew he was home then.

still sleepy, you made your way downstairs and the view made your jaw drop a little. joel just came out from the shower, his hair was damp, and so was his body, god, he just had the damn towel around his hips, and without even wanting to, you could... you could see the shape of his dick because of how tight the towel was.

you trailed him all, his broad shoulders, his chest, how hairy he was, had salt and pepper all over his stomach, and even on that trail that leaded to the part that left nothing to the imagination.

you swallowed, getting all flushed at your own thoughts. but god, you needed him, you needed to see him. you know it’s not ethical maybe, cause at the end of the day, he’s still your boss but… you’re too weak when it comes to him.

he could see how nervous you were and it was really sweet. "i’m sorry, didn’t want to wake you up."

you shook your head. "i’m okay," you said forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "i—i, sarah is sleeping, she um—today she ate those bunny-shaped cookies she likes."

joel chuckled. "i think she’s running out of those," he clicked his tongue. "gotta go for more."

you then, spotted bruises, scratches, some worse than others, but pretty much bad anyways. the scratch on the side of his belly was almost bleeding again, so you asked him, "what happened?"

he looked down to it. "work stuff," he sighed. "gotta check that later."

"mr. miller, that seems pretty bad, it can get infected. i think you have something in your room, i saw it."

he nodded. "better do something about it, huh?"

"i can help you with it, if you want." it was genuine, because honestly, it looked pretty bad and as sure as you are this isn't the first time, you want to do it, because you know it must hurt doing it all by himself.

"i don't want to keep you longer than necessary."

"you're not."

he adjusted the towel around his hip. "alright."

then, he guided you back to his room, closing the door. "just lay down," you said softly.

and he did. you went to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer and finding a small kit inside.

he chuckled behind you.

"sorry if that’s intrusive," you said quickly, glancing over your shoulder. "i just… remember to have put it in that drawer the other day."

"you’re really kind, but you don’t have to do that," he replied.

"i don’t mind," you said simply, pulling out the ointment and a roll of gauze. when you turned to face him again, he was watching you, almost eager for you to bent down and heal him.

he seemed so vulnerable there, lying, all injured, bruised and that cut almost bleeding. you swallowed once your eyes found the prominent bulge now the towel is completely settled over him. you had to look somewhere else almost immediately.

you knelt beside the bed, uncapping the ointment and gently applying it over the cut. joel flinched just a little.

"sorry," you murmured, glancing up at him quickly.

"is there anything you can’t do? you seem to do just about everything."

you chuckled softly. "if you want, or if you’re hungry, i could make you dinner."

"no," he said shaking his head, "and i’m serious when i tell you, you don’t have to clean my room, that's not your job."

you shrugged. "i don't mind," you looked up at him. "if i don't do it no one will."

"i’ll get to it when i have time."

you gave him a look. "when you have time, you sleep."

you made him chuckle out loud.

"you’re a good boss," you said with a smile. "i’ve got no complaints, you pay me well, and it’s the least i can do."

"boss, huh? makes me feel older than i am."

you shrugged. "that’s not a bad thing,” you said, and it came out with a different tone that you intended, and after that, either of you said a word.

you kept going, though. until he was patched, until you were sure his cut wasn't going to keep bleeding, and joel followed the movements of your soft hands in every second.

"thanks," he said.

you gave a small smile. "does it hurt a lot still?"

before he could answer, your fingers drifted over his belly, tracing around the part you just healed. maybe it was too low, or maybe was your touch, but you made him hiss, you were too soft, your hands, your touch.

"sorry," you said quickly. "i didn't know it hurt that much."

joel’s mouth curved, and shook his head. "it's fine."

he shifted, sitting up on the edge of the bed, and it was for the worst—for his mind. you were sitting on your knees, looking up to him, and he could only see those pleading eyes. it made him weak. his mind was playing him dirty, thinking about you in this exact same position but doing something else. maybe having something his in that pretty mouth of yours.

but of course, nothing happened.

it was a saturday, but you got ready for work, thinking that joel was supposed to go on the afternoon, so you made your way to his house, knocking on the door once you got there.

he opened the door, but didn't see like he was going to work, he was all messy. "hey… what are you doin’ here?"

you tilted your head. "uh… i thought i was working today?"

before he could answer, you heard someone squealing and running to your way. sarah. she wrapped her little arms around your legs, already handing you her dolls.

joel stepped closer. "today’s my day off. i texted you this morning."

you frowned. "i didn’t get any message."

he frowned too, but before either of you could say something, sarah made a grumble, pulling on your hand, demanding your attention.

"baby," joel crouched down beside her, "she gotta rest today." he tried to pull her gently away, but sarah didn't let go off you, her eyes filling with tears.

you laughed softly, smoothing a hand over her hair. "it’s okay, i’m here."

joel exhaled, clearly defeated, and you heard sarah try to form the word 'play,' her voice breaking while tears ran down her cheeks. your heart melted.

"alright," you said gently, "let’s play a little."

you stepped inside, and joel followed, still trying to explain to his daughter that today she was supposed to be with him only. but sarah’s cries just made it worse hearing that, so you followed, "really, it’s fine."

he rubbed the back of his neck. "you got somethin’ to do today?"

you shook your head.

"then why don’t we go out and get somethin’ to eat?"

you started to protest. "you don’t have to—"

"i mean it," he said quickly. "not for you to watch her. just… take you both out for a bit."

you couldn’t help smiling. and then looked at the little one's teary face, you couldn't say no to this. "alright."

joel packed a small bag for sarah, extra clothes, wipes, her sippy cup, snacks, and the moment she saw him zipping it up, she squealed, knowing he does that cause she's going out. after packing her things, joel sat on the couch with her on his lap to do her hair into two pigtails. you just watched the wholesome scene, his big calloused hands working gentle on his daughter's hair.

"you ready?" he asked.

you nodded, and he guided you outside, holding the door open and walking you to his truck. he opened the door of his truck for you, like gentleman, and then moved to the back door to put sarah on her seat, double-checking the straps.

you waited while he get inside, glancing around, small toys scattered in the back, and a few work tools resting on the floor. it felt… very much like him.

it ended up being a really good afternoon. sarah was all giggles, sitting in her booster seat between the two of you, swinging her little feet under the table. she ate everything on her plate, even the vegetables he put from his plate to hers.

when the waiter came back to clear the plates, he smiled and asked, "anything for dessert?"

sarah’s picked on the keyword as always and said, "ice cweam."

joel chuckled. "one strawberry ice cream for her," he said, knowing it was her favorite.

the waiter nodded, then looked at you. "and for your other daughter?"

you froze, feeling your cheeks burn instantly, but joel just laughed out loud.

"go on," he said between laughs. "get somethin’."

you tried to hide your smile, looking down. "uh… cheesecake, please."

the waiter left but joel was still chuckling. you peeked at him from the corner of your eye, still embarrassed.

for joel, though, the waiter’s comment stayed on his mind. it felt strange. he’d seen you with different eyes before, more than once, and knowing other people might see you as more like his daughter than anything else made him feel... weird. it wasn’t bad exactly, but it left him a little self-conscious. of how old he is, of how young you are, of maybe being a creep for thinking about you in that way.

you broke his thoughts, nudging your plate toward him. "want a bite?"

he chuckled, shaking his head. "nah, i’m good."

"come on," you insisted, sliding the spoon toward him.

"i said i’m—" he started, but you were already scooping up a bite.

"just try it," you said, looking at him with those pleady eyes he can't resist.

he huffed and leaned forward, taking the bite from the spoon. "alright," he said and smiled after, "not bad."

after dessert, you took sarah to the kids’ area, pushing her gently on the swing and helping her to climb the slide. she giggled, asking for 'more'. and joel found himself watching from a distance, not only watching his daughter, but also watching you.

his phone rang then, from work. he answered and after a couple minutes, he walked to you.

"got called in," he said.

"do you have to go right now?" you asked.

"it'll be quick," he nodded. "but i can get you to your house first."

you shifted sarah onto your hip. "no, i can watch her," you offered.

joel shook his head. "nah, i can’t—"

but sarah gripped you even harder, hiding her face in your neck with a tiny whine.

"it’s fine," you said softly, rubbing her back. "she’s okay with me."

he glanced between you both, then sighed. "alright… we’ll all go."

you nodded, but he took sarah to all the way to the truck. she stayed tucked against you the whole way, following the same routine as before.

he got to the site and you all came out, but he was the one holding sarah, who only got more excited seeing all the stuff, and the same helmets joel wears all the time, pointing at them with both hands.

"dada!" she said and joel just smiled, holding her even prouder.

the man who’d called him waved from a distance, and joel headed over, still holding sarah on his hip while they talked. you stayed back, looking around, hearing all the noise, all the big machines, the men sweating, working. it looked hard and now you could see now why joel always looked tired, why his hands were calloused and he's always with bruises.

you caught the sound of sarah’s little laugh, and glanced to them. joel was proudly showing her to his coworkers.

that’s when one of the workers came to you. "first time in a place like this?" he asked, nodding toward the construction.

"yeah," you said softly.

he grinned, and you kept talking, he made you laugh by making jokes about the site. but before the conversation could go deeper, joel looked at the both of you, how you were laughing, but even more, how the man was looking at you, and not only him, a couple more men. of course they'd look to you, wearing the dress, how it lifted just enough with the wind. he knew the men he worked with.

joel walked over, frowning, shifting sarah slightly in his arm. "break’s over," he told the man flatly. "get back to it."

the worker nodded quickly and left, and sarah immediately reached for you.

"sweetheart, stay with me," joel said, but she stretched her little arms toward you anyway, her eyes big and pleading.

you laughed, giving in and lifting her from his arms. "i’ve got her."

joel shook his head but didn’t stop you, just told you to stay close to him. while you played with sarah a few steps away, pointing out things she could see from a safe distance, joel joined a small group of his crew.

they started talking, but it didn’t take long before one of them nodded toward you. "so, uh… who’s that?"

"the babysitter," joel said simply.

another man added, "she's hot."

"you sleepin’ with the babysitter, miller?" a third one joined, making everyone laugh. "i mean, i would do too." he shrugged. "look at her, bet she's all sweet down there too."

"bet she sucks dick really good," everyone except joel laughed. "come on, look at her lips, they must be soft."

joel stiffened. "knock it off. show some respect." his tone left no room for argument, and the men exchanged glances before shifting the conversation back to work.

but joel’s found you again, holding his daughter, feeling even worse knowing he'd thought almost the same. not in that vulgar way, but he knows you more, he... he knows how sweet you are, he'd seen you almost bare, he knows what kind of panties you wear, he knows how soft your lips and hands are.

after a while, joel came back for good now, and sarah reached for him. he took her in his arms immediately, walking toward the truck, but as they passed by one of the machines, it made a loud sound.

sarah got scared, and dug her face on joel's neck, crying.

"hey, hey, it’s okay," joel murmured, walking faster. his hand rubbed slow circles over her back. "it’s just a machine, baby girl. nothin’ to be scared of."

she still cried, hard and joel felt guilty for even bringing her here in the first place.

"you’re alright," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "you’re my brave girl. i got you." he didn’t let go until they were out of the site, almost near the truck.

once at home, sarah seemed calmer but still a little sensitive. joel had told about taking you home, but after a glance to sarah, seeing her all scared, you decided to stick with them a little more, until sarah was okay.

you played with her, as much as she wanted, until she started rubbing her eyes. then, you settled on the couch with her over your lap, joel bringing the bunny sippy cup with warm milk. sarah drank slowly, her eyes closing but still drinking just like when she was a baby, you rocked her, hummed lullabies to her until she was completely asleep.

joel was there, watching the scene with a soft gaze, he loves seeing how soft you are with his girl. "i’ll take her in her room," he said softly, lifting her from your arms.

when he came back, he sat down on the edge of the couch, looking at you. "thank you. i mean it when i say i don’t know what i’d do without you."

you chuckled. "you’re welcome."

"you have to head out now?" he asked after a moment.

“why?”

he cleared his throat. "wonderin’ if you wanted a glass of wine."

your cheeks warmed, but you nodded. "sure."

he gave a small nod and went to the kitchen, returning a minute later with two glasses and the bottle of wine. he sat beside you, handing you one.

"thank you for today," you said, "for lunch and all."

"nah," he shook his head, "thank you. you helped me out more than you know."

"it’s nothing," you smiled. "i really like sarah. i like taking care of her."

"she likes you too," joel said, "more than me, probably."

you laughed. "no, sarah loves her daddy."

he chuckled at that, shaking his head.

"you’re patient with her," you added. "you’re a good dad."

he sighed as if you just told him something it hurt. "i try my best."

you smiled at him over your glass.

after that, the conversation kept going to different things, not only about sarah, or work, just random things. music, places you’d been, joel was telling you stories from when he was young, making you laugh. maybe it was the wine, maybe it was just being comfortable, but you both started loosening up.

before taking another sip, joel glanced at you. "this job doesn’t get in the way of time with your boyfriend, does it?"

you laughed hard, "well, if i had one, sure."

"what? you’re young, real pretty, sweet… i can’t believe you don’t have someone."

you shook your head, smiling into your glass. "nope. nothing like that."

he chuckled, taking a drink of his own. "why?"

"well, i've come to understand that guys are... stupid."

"yeah, guys your age are stupid," he said drinking, you chuckled when he clarified guys your age.

you tilted your head. "what about you? do you only have time for sarah and work, or do you get home late ‘cause you’re seeing some woman?"

he laughed at that, leaning back. "i wish. after sarah, it’s just been her and work for me."

"you should go out more, then," you said with a little shrug.

"yeah?" he asked.

"i’m serious," you nodded. "i can watch sarah if you need me to. you deserve time for yourself, too."

he shook his head with a small laugh. you paused for a second, then made the big quiestion, "is that because of sarah’s mom?"

he didn’t answer right away, just stared to the glass in his hands. "sorry," you said quickly, "that’s probably too personal."

"it’s fine," he said, sighing hard. "she’s out of the picture. decided to move on with her life."

your heart sank, not only because the woman left, but because of how he said it. "i’m sorry," you murmured. "more for her, though… she’s missing out on an incredible little girl and—" you cleared your throat, "—and a man just as good."

joel chuckled at your words, shaking his head slightly. "you think i’m a good man?"

you nodded. "i do. you’re hardworking, you provide for sarah, you’re present, you love her."

he smiled, looking down. "well, that’s just bein’ a dad."

you laughed softly. "and you’re also very handsome. and respectful."

that pulled his gaze back to you, eyebrows raising. "handsome?" you nodded. "well… i’m honored a girl like you would think i’m handsome."

"you are," you said as if it wasn't a big deal. "and even though i don’t know you as a man, outside of being a dad, i’m sure you’re good in that way, too."

"that could be arranged," he said without thinking.

you froze for a second, your cheeks burning red. "sorry, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

you shook your head. "no… not at all. maybe you’re just drunk."

joel’s gaze softened. "no, darlin’, i’m not."

"then you're lying to me!" you said gasping, as if you just caught him on something.

"what?" he said just as confused.

"because you said you texted me this morning telling me you weren't gonna work today, but i ain't got no message, that means you were texting someone else," you shrugged.

his brows knitted together and pulled out his phone, scrolling through the messages, he chuckled once he saw who he sent the message to.

"tommy, he's my brother," he shook his head. "shit, i was supposed to get some things for next week's dinner," he said, talking to himself. "but yeah, i sent it to him." you rolled your eyes, laughing. "made you came for nothing."

"for nothing?" you raised a brow. "you took me out to eat, you showed me your workplace, and now we're drinking wine. i don't think that's nothing."

"guess i’ll just have to pay you for your time now."

"oh, stop," you laughed.

he was already reaching for his wallet when you reached across to grab his hand. "joel, no—if you pay me, i’m gonna feel awful. you already took me out to eat, you’re being this kind, i won't take it."

he shifted in his seat at the same time you leaned forward, the two of you ending up closer than you’d meant to. his eyes trailed your face, eyes landing on your lips, and then he looked away, to the ceiling, rubbing his own eyes.

"and on top of all that," he muttered, "the waiter thought you were my daughter."

he sounds ashamed, dissapointed and you knew it, you knew that comment would stay on his head.

you shook your head, chuckling and cupped his face. "if i was your daughter i couldn't do this," and as soon as the words left your mouth, you leaned to press your lips on his.

how sweet they were! god, and it lasted less than five seconds, but it was enough to make him lose his mind.

his hands found your hips and shifted you totally over his lap, easily, you gaped and he was already trying to meet your lips again. but you were the one who gave in, leaning, kissing him, deeper this time, holding his face, brushing your fingers over his stubble.

"wait," you said mid-kiss. "this isn't—good," you said in a soft voice once his hands slipped to your butt.

"you really wanna stop?" he asked in a deep voice. "you feel uncomfortable?"

you shook your head. "but you're my boss."

he chuckled almost painfully. "don't care," he said digging his head in your neck.

it had been time since joel wasn't like this with someone. there was something beautiful about the way a woman can make him weak, just feeling your scent, kissing your neck, feeling how soft you get in his arms, feeling how you tug at his hair.

but after a moment, you shifted your hands to his, moving them from your hips, to inside your dress, he was impressed that you were the one who did that for him, but he touched you anyways. he brushed his hands over your thighs, on your sides, and most of all, on your ass, almost bare, he could feel the triangle piece of fabric barely covering your butt.

god, you got him hard, aching, and he hadn't even seen you yet, he's just feeling you. in the meantime, you undid the buttons of his flannel, one by one, enjoying how the hairs of his chest peek out, he was eager to get back to your lips, but you placed your palms on his chest.

"wait," you said softly, eyes on his stomach, taking off his shirt, entirely.

you licked your lips and leaned in, looking up to him before pressing your lips on his bare chest. it was just as hard as you imagined, and main of the reasons why joel didn’t want you to take the lead. he’s too weak right now. specially beneath your touch, feeling how your lips swipe all over his chest, followed by your tongue. he couldn’t help but moan once he felt your teeth digging on his skin, sucking just a bit over his neck, enough to maybe leave a hickey.

“jesus,” he said in a gasp.

“in case you’re lying to me, mr. miller,” you said softly, looking right to his eyes. “that woman will know you fucked the babysitter.”

he hissed. pushing your hips down to his trying for you to feel his prominent bulge. and god, you did, you bit your lip and bucked your hips by pure instinct.

“it ain’t no damn woman,” he said almost groaning, digging his face back in your neck.

this time joel wasn’t that soft anymore. he pulled down your dress enough to leave you in bra, finally meeting those pretty tits he’s only imagined and now, he’s gonna mark them.

but first he went for your neck, doing the same you just did to him. sucking your skin but at the same time, he squeezed one of your breasts, making your whimper, not out of pain, but because of how good it felt. the man didn’t get enough of you.

“that it,” he said against the slope of your breast. “might as well take you to my work again,” he said heavily breathing. “so no one has a doubt who’s made you these.”

“that so?” you almost chuckled because you remembered what happened earlier.

“you’re clueless, aren’t you?” he rasped, heavily breathing. “being all sweet, wearing this dress.”

“guess it worked, then.”

“i think you’d look better without it.”

you hummed, and he got rid of your dress slowly, enjoying seeing your bare hips, your thighs, your stomach, the hickeys he just did on your breasts, on your chest and neck. you look even better with these.

but what really got him are those tiny panties you’re wearing. lacy, soft pink panties. “damn, sweetheart,” he groaned, toying the waistband. “you’re all sweet wearing damn thongs.”

you chuckled until his hands unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. you gasped and your first instinct was to cover yourself.

“come on, baby,” he said cupping your hands over your breasts. “don’t be shy with me.”

you chuckled, biting your lip, but letting go from your breasts. he stiffened at the sight of your bare nipples, how sweet and swollen they were.

he took your hand and guided it to his crotch. “you see what you do to me?” he said as soon as you grabbed his dick over his clothes.

you quickly tried to unbuckle his belt, to take off his jeans. he helped you with it, dragging even his boxers off. your jaw dropped a little. you’ve seen it before, yes, but not like this, not whole, not this raw.

it’s not gonna fit.

you flushed hard and brushed the very tip of your finger over the very tip of his dick, your finger getting sticky with precum, making him flinch. he lifted you a little to take off your panties.

“joel—“ you said in a gasp. “i-i don’t think it fits.”

he chuckled in pain. “we’re gonna make it fit,” he rasped. “do you want this?”

you nodded. “do you?”

“more than you can imagine.”

and the next thing you felt, was his tip rubbing your slit, mixing your juices with his. letting them be the lube you need. he didn’t rush anything, he knew you were way smaller than him, that it could hurt if he was too rough. but he was gentle with you—at first.

you felt the tip at your entrance and you slowly seated on him. he let you set a pace, even if you were killing him. you were too tight he was worried this was your first time.

he groaned, “you done this before, angel?”

you nodded. “i told you guys sucks.” he chuckled. “but you’re a man through and through.”

he just thrusted, a little hard but not enough to hurt you. just to give you pleasure. you could feel every inch of his dick stretching you out, he whimpered, cause in fact you’re torturing him, specially with those sweet moans in his ear.

you bucked your hips, as if trying to ride him, but he was trying to do the same. it was complicated at first, until both of you understood each other and got a matching pace.

the couch was squeaking, the living room filled with whimpering, and you both were filled with pleasure. joel loved seeing you bouncing over him, seeing your breasts raising and falling, seeing how sweaty you get, feeling your nails dragging all over his back.

“damn, this what you do to your sitters?” you said between breathy moans.

joel hasn’t touched a woman in so long but that doesn’t mean he didn’t remember how to do it. he enjoys making a woman have an orgasm, he enjoys knowing he’s capable of doing it, that his dick provides that much pleasure. and by any means he wanted to finish inside, he couldn’t risk getting you pregnant, specially not now, not like this.

“you’re so tight for me,” he growled.

but he lost it once you started to kiss him as you swayed your hips back and forth. you know what you’re doing, you know damn well because you can feel him throbbing inside, you can feel him twitching, getting more stiffen beneath you. but the thing is, he wasn’t he only one, you were throbbing just as much, your walls choking him.

and he didn’t stop you. if anything, he just held your hips and followed your pace, leaning to gently shift positions just a bit, to kiss you, while he thrusted, hard, and you knew he was about to come, you could feel it. but you were already in a bliss to stop him from finishing inside.

so just as predicted, you felt him loading you cum. a lot. “joel,” you said in a tiny moan. “fuck.”

you whined, but didn’t move for a couple of seconds, and he didn’t pull out either, god, how good it feels filling a girl with his come, it feels even better knowing how risky it is.

he kissed you one last time before brushing his forehead with yours.

you’re heavily breathing just as him. sweating and your body shaking. he slowly pulled out, making you whine a bit, but god… the view.

your tiny slit was all flushed, swollen, glazing with your juices but also, dripping his cum. he felt proud of it.

but he parted your legs instead, rubbing his thumb over your clit, you winced, but then he slid his fingers to your hole where you leaked his cum.

“clench,” he said softly.

it almost made him hard again, seeing how more cum came out of your hole. he got as much as he could with his fingers, trying to clean you. it wasn’t embarrassing at all. if anything, it felt vulnerable but comforting at the same time. you like the way he touched you.

you licked your lips, and once he finished for good, you put your underwear back on, but he didn’t let you put on your dress, since he pulled you back with him to the couch.

you chuckled and snuggled on his chest, still feeling his cum bubbling inside you.

he was rubbing the pad of his thumb on your back. but then you became a bit self conscious, like, will things get uncomfortable from now on? will this change anything between you? you weren’t dumb, you knew what you just did wasn’t the best since he’s still the man you work for.

but he interrupted your thoughts. “hey,” he said gently, you looked up to him.

“mhm?”

“i’m glad i sent the text to my brother and not you.”

you chuckled, “yeah, honestly, me too.”

he leaned a bit, to meet your lips, and you followed, it was all soft, and that’s the part you enjoyed most.

“my brother and i are goin’ on a little trip next weekend,” he said lowly.

“sounds great,” you nodded. “it’ll be good for you.”

he cleared his throat. “do you think—uh, can you come with us? it’s to the mountains, but i’m sure you’d like it, really comfy cabins, with a fireplace and everything.”

you chuckled. “i mean, if you need me to,” you shrugged and he grinned. “i’m sarah’s sitter after all,” you stared at his smile, his lips once they curved after you said that. "and if you need to, i can take care of you too."

✿₊˚⊹🐇𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[slutty4jk]

KISS ME! | JJK › PART 3

Summary: You and Jungkook have known each other your whole lives. Childhood best friends turned almost something more. He’s charming, popular, and scared of commitment. You’re ambitious, guarded, and tired of being a maybe.

After one kiss changes everything, you realize wanting him isn’t enough if he won’t choose you back. But walking away is easier said than done.

University brings distance, jealousy, and new people. You’re ready to move on. He’s finally starting to realize he can’t. Not when it’s always been you.

pairing: childhoodbestfriend!jungkook x (fem) reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, kinda toxic but delicious, mutual pining, fluff & eventual smut

rating: 18+ (mdni!!)

word count: 6.4k 💌

warnings: emotional whiplash, mutual pining, possessiveness, unresolved tension, brief semi-explicit sex scenes, cheating, ghosting, jealousy, heartbreak, toxic patterns, emotional manipulation, blurred boundaries, self-sabotage, car accident (mild injury), family confrontation, guilt, vulnerability, difficult conversations about infidelity and neglect and kissing... again

A/N: Don't be mad... shit it about to go down, I swear. lmk what you think about this part Happy reading! - Ivy ₍^. .^₎Ⳋ

Taglist: @akirawhore @amarawayne @jahnaviii @crazyovayou @niniythv @dollyunjinz @yungies @caaally @aestheticalime @flaneuseonthestreets @goldenko-97 @lachimolalajeon @buckylov3r @labbbaaa @bts123746 @chxiosworld @qu3t @littlecherri @alessiamargaux @lokislittlemouse-library @enchantingeagleengineer @jeoncasino @minnie-mouser22 @tinytangerineangel @yourlittleslutcums @httpjeonlicious @uaremyserene @intro-bts @glossyxiaoting

please like, reblog, follow & scream into the void for more! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

KISSME!MOODBOARD | KISSME!PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST ⭑.ᐟ

The door pretty much slams into your face, and you stumble back, rubbing your forehead. "Ow," you grumble, frustration rising.

Jungkook peeks his head into the room, seeing you standing there. "Oh, shit, my bad," he says, his voice laced with concern as he opens the door wider. He steps in, closing the door behind him and locking it like he always does.

It’s a habit at this point.

You stop rubbing your forehead, a big red mark standing out. "What do you want?" you snap, unable to mask the anger creeping into your tone. You didn’t mean to sound so hostile, but this dumbass just hit you with a door.

“Sorry. Your big-ass forehead got in the way," he chuckles, clearly trying to lighten the mood. He knows you’re upset.

You scoff, slapping his arm. “Not funny.” You grumble. "Seriously, why are you here?”

"First of all, hi," he says, almost matter-of-factly.

“That’s it? Hi?” There’s so much you want to say, yet nothing else comes out.

"Yeah. You didn’t say hi to me back there," he replies, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"When I got here," he deadpans.

"It’s not like you said hi to me.” Your heart is pounding, and you hate that he’s trying to act normal.

What is he doing here? Why did he follow you to your room when his girlfriend was just downstairs? Your heart couldn’t deal with so much right now; you wanted to hug him, cry, and ask him why he didn’t choose you, but you stood your ground, arms crossed over your chest as if you were protecting yourself. 

"You left before I could.” He countered that it was true, but he still could have said something first. 

"Yeah, but you know what I mean.” He could have said something a long time ago, two months ago, to be exact. He could have been honest with you from the start, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t put much effort into saying anything to you, not when his girlfriend had spoken to you first.

"No, I don’t.” Is he acting stupid, or is he really that clueless?

You let out a frustrated huff, your fists clenching. Seriously? Does he really not get it? "You haven’t messaged me or even reached out to me for what? Almost two months?”

"I... I thought you were busy," he says, guilt bleeding through his voice.

"You seemed busy.” You glare at him, hugging yourself, trying not to let your eyes linger on him too long. He looked too good tonight. Unfairly good. But you weren’t about to admit that.

Your gaze drops to your shoes, the same stupid Mary Janes you wore a year ago when you were in a similar position with him.

That slow, ugly burn of resentment twists in your chest, igniting everything you’d worked so hard to bury.

You’d imagined him showing up alone. Maybe with flowers. Maybe with that boyish smile he used to save just for you.

Maybe he’d pull you aside and say he was sorry.

He scoffs. “You know what? Maybe I was.” He hated when you got like this, when you made him guess what was wrong instead of saying it.

"With your new girlfriend?" You bite, your voice thick with frustration, lips twitching from holding it all in.

"Oh? Is that what this is about?” His tone sharpens. He’s reading you like he always does, like an open book.

"What do you think it’s about?"

"What do you want me to think it’s about?" he presses, his voice low, edged with mockery.

"You’re smart enough to realize," you snap, your arms crossing tighter across your chest.

"I'm flattered—"

"What'd you come here for, Jungkook?" You cut him off coldly. "Why leave your girlfriend downstairs and lock yourself in my room with me? Just to say hi?”

"I—"

"I," you repeat, mocking. "You what?" Your voice cracks open, sharp and exposed. 

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have to.

You just got played. And the worst part? You let it happen.

You were a fool to think he wasn’t talking to you because he was busy; he was just busy with other girls, and he never cared about you. 

"Don’t be like that," he says softly, a frown pulling at his lips. 

"Be like what?" you shoot back.

You saw them. You saw her speak with your parents and your family, fitting too perfectly into a spot that used to feel like yours. It made you sick. You wonder if she knows, if she’d still hold his hand if she did.

He stares at you like he can’t believe you said it out loud, like he’s shocked you're not playing nice.

"You don’t get to act surprised," you add, quieter. "You made it obvious.” 

He doesn’t respond. And the silence says more than he ever could.

*

(THREE MONTHS AGO) 

Jungkook didn’t know why he kept letting it happen.

He told himself it was a one-time thing. A slip, a mistake. But that lie stopped working after the third time… maybe even the first.

It kept happening. For almost a year now.

Every time he saw you, it was like a fuse lit under his skin. You’d look at him a certain way, and he’d lose all sense of reason.

He wanted you like he’d never wanted anything else: wild, stupid, and desperate. The way your body moved under his, how your hands tugged at his hair, and the way his name sounded on your lips.

It was enough to make him forget everything.

That night in your bedroom was no different.

Your legs were wrapped around his hips, pulling him in deeper, your breath catching with each thrust. His hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head, his mouth at your throat, biting softly. Your nails scraped down his back, and he groaned at the sting. You closed your eyes and bit your lips, trying to keep quiet.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin.

You did and it destroyed him. The look in your eyes, like he was everything you didn’t even have to say it. He could feel it in your body, in the way you held him, and in the way you trembled around him. Your lipstick was smeared, cheeks flushed, and lips parted in a silent moan. The little gasps you let out every time his hips met yours drove him insane.

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

So he did. Deep, slow and aching. Your tongues tangled, messy, and desperate, your fingers threading into his hair like you were trying to keep him there forever. His pace stuttered. Fuck. He was close. 

‘I love you.’ It almost slipped out. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue

Instead, he bit his lip and, buried his face into your neck, let it rot with everything else he didn’t know how to say.

“Fuck, Y/N… I’m about to cum,” he groaned, voice hoarse.

“Me too,” you gasped, thighs tightening around him.

“Shhh… Let me take you there.” He kissed you again and rocked into you harder, deeper, chasing that edge.

You cried out his name, your body tightening around him, clenching, soaking, milking every last bit of him until he was shaking.

 “Fuck,” he gasped, pulling out at the last second, letting his cum spill across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

You lay there afterward, chest rising and falling, your hand reaching for his like it meant something and maybe it did.

You were soft and glowing and completely unaware. You didn’t know; you didn’t know he was still seeing other girls, didn’t know that this was killing him, and didn’t know that he didn’t want to stop.

That night replayed in his mind over and over; he’s never felt the want to say ‘I love you’ to any girl, so why was it that way with you? He wasn’t ready for that just yet, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

He wanted to experience different people, or that’s how he liked to put it. He didn’t believe that love lasted forever, at least not in that romantic way, so why should he even try? Once you started to get busy, he started coming up with excuses too. Maybe if he made you believe that you didn’t make enough time for him, he could let you down easily; maybe if you started to hate him, it would be easier for the both of you. 

It was stupid.

Then it happened; he went out with Sara one night. The bathroom was small and humid and smelled faintly of cheap vodka and vanilla body spray. The bass from the party outside thudded through the walls, vibrating the mirror. Sara pressed him up against the sink, her breath hot on his neck, her lipstick already smeared across his jawline.

Jungkook had been sleeping with Sara on and off for about two years; they both knew what they were getting into from the start, but it felt easy with Sara there weren’t many emotions involved besides hers.

Would it be easier to keep her happy than it was to keep you happy?

He thought about it before...he thought about it a lot. 

“What are we, Jungkook?” Sara whispered, bringing him back to reality, fingers grazing the waistband of his jeans. “You can’t keep pretending I’m just some girl you mess around with.” It was like she read his mind.

Maybe he had too much to drink; he couldn’t think clearly. He was letting his emotions take over. He thought about you and how he didn’t want to hurt you. He didn’t want to ruin whatever you two had left. He knew it was wrong from the very beginning to sleep with you, but he did it anyway, and he kept doing it because—

His thoughts moved like molasses. He wanted to answer, wanted to say something honest, but her hands were already unzipping him, pulling him out, stroking him slowly like she knew exactly how to shut him up.

His head thudded against the mirror behind him. He exhaled sharply, eyelids fluttering shut. He wanted to stop her, to say this wasn’t what he needed. Not from her, not here. But his body didn’t know the difference, it responded out of habit, not desire. 

She sank to her knees, murmuring his name like a promise.

He looked down at her red lips, wet eyes, and dyed blonde hair and felt… nothing.

Not the kind of nothing that meant peace. The kind that meant shame.

"I’ve waited two years for you. If this doesn’t mean something to you, then I don’t know what I’ve been doing.” she breathed, mouth brushing the head of his cock. “I want to be your girlfriend.” 

He should have stopped her, he should have pulled away. But instead he let out a breath and said it flatly, numbly, “Fine.” 

Her eyes lit up, like she won something. She smiled, her mouth wrapping around him like a reward. It was nothing. No rush, no heat, just a hollow act he’d let happen.

When it was over, she stood and kissed him sloppily, whispering how much she loved being his, he didn’t even kiss her back. He couldn’t. His stomach was already twisting.

She walked out first, giddy and glowing. He stayed behind, washing his face in cold water, staring at the stranger in the mirror.

The rest of the night was a blur of hands and lips he didn’t want, laughter that felt fake, and Sara’s constant grip on his arm like a chain. He needed air.

By the time he made it outside, the buzz was turning into nausea. He staggered toward his car, hoping the night would just erase itself.

But then he saw it, his car. The place he kissed you for the first time, the same angle, the same night sky. He closed his eyes and saw you, heard your voice, and felt the way your fingers curled around his hoodie, grounding him.

What’s happening? 

He got in his car, he needed to get home before Sara started looking for him. He thought about you on his drive home; his foot pressed on the gas unconsciously as if he wanted to get to you as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t go to your place, not after everything he’s done. He finally pulled into his neighbourhood; he wasn’t paying attention, though. Sudden bright headlights brought him back to reality for a moment before he swerved his car out of the way. 

Then, SCREECH.

CRASH.

His car slammed into a parked vehicle on the side of the road. 

Everything blurred. The sound of twisting metal, a flash of white, the jolt of his head snapping forward. When he opened his eyes, the windshield was shattered, and he could taste blood in his mouth. 

How embarrassing, he thought to himself. He didn’t even bother moving; he stayed put, hoping someone would come to see him.

Flashlights shone on his face. A panicked voice came soon after. “Jungkook?” She almost screamed, “Call 911, call his parents, it’s Jeon Jungkook.” 

He couldn’t think, and he couldn’t speak, all he did was shut his eyes.

The ER lights were cold and bright; his head throbbed. A nurse cleaned the cut above his eyebrow as he sat on a gurney, jaw clenched, heart pounding in a silent rhythm of regret.

The hospital smelled like disinfectant and loneliness.

Jungkook was lying on the hospital bed, head bandaged, arm covered in bruises. He had answered questions from the paramedics, the doctors, the police… all with the same dull voice.

“Had you been drinking tonight, Jeon?”

Yes. “No.”

“Is there anyone you'd like us to call?”

Yes. “No.”

He didn’t want to see anyone. Not even Sara, especially not Sara.

And yet, it was his parents who showed up first. His mother burst in like a storm, face drenched in tears, his father right behind her with a grave expression, as if the world had just collapsed. 

The moment they saw him, they started talking, but their voices blurred into the beeping of the monitor.

“What were you thinking?” his mother sobbed. “You could’ve died, Jungkook! How could you be so irresponsible?!”

He said nothing.

“They called us at three in the morning! My God, your grandmother... we haven’t even told her yet; she’ll have a heart attack!” She went on, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Are you on drugs? Have you been drinking?” His father cut in, his voice sharper. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He lowered his eyes. The words hit like knives, but he had no strength to fight back.

“Tell us the truth, Jungkook. What really happened?”

He opened his mouth, but all that came out was: “Nothing. I got distracted.”

His father let out a bitter laugh. “You got distracted? That’s it? After crashing your car, that’s the face you make, and all you say is ‘I got distracted’?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. Everything hurt: his head, his body, and his soul.

“Do you know how many people die in crashes like that?” His mother spoke again, softer now, but with the same pain in her voice. “You could’ve killed someone.”

And that was the worst part. Because deep down, he wished something had happened to him. Something worse, something that would punish him for everything he had done.

“I want to go home,” he murmured, without looking at them.

“We’re taking your keys,” his father said finally. “The car is a wreck anyway. But even if it wasn’t, you’re done driving. Until you are proven more responsible, do you understand?”

Jungkook didn’t fight it, he was too tired. He nodded slowly. “Yeah… okay.” 

His mom sat beside him on the edge of the hospital bed, hands folded in her lap.

“You haven’t really been talking to us much lately,” she said quietly. “You’ve just felt… distant. Is something going on?”

There was no anger in her voice, just concern. The kind that made his chest tighten.

Jungkook kept his eyes on the floor, jaw tense.

He didn’t know how to explain it how everything felt like static lately. How he’d been walking around in a fog, barely able to string a thought together that didn’t end in guilt.

He knew they’d noticed. How could they not?

He nodded once, barely.

She didn’t push. Just reached over and gently ran her fingers through his hair, like she used to when he was younger like she still saw him as someone worth worrying about.

And somehow, that only made him feel worse.

“I… I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said softly, eyes still fixed on his hands. The words barely scratched the surface… 

 His mom drove him home the next morning.

She didn’t say much. Didn’t put on the radio. Just kept her eyes on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel like looking at him might crack something open.

And Jungkook sat there in the passenger seat, wishing the silence didn’t hurt so much.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say.

But deep down, he knew he missed you, he knew he was wrong. 

And he had no idea how to come back from this.

*

Sara showed up that week, pecking his lips in the hallway; he barely remembered that night with Sara until she brought it up later. 

By then, it felt too late. 

He apologized. Told her it had been a mistake. That he wasn’t ready.

But she made a scene in the parking lot, started crying, and he panicked.

Would it be easier to be with Sara than with you?

Maybe.

There weren’t so many feelings involved; maybe that’s why it felt harder with you.

He apologized, told her he didn’t mean it, and said he was just… joking? 

Her tears instantly stopped. “You shouldn’t make cruel jokes like that again.” she pouted.

Eventually, two months passed.

Sara was always around. Always calling, always kissing him, always talking like they were something real. She didn’t seem to notice how little he responded anymore, how his lips barely moved when she kissed him, or how his hands stayed limp at his sides.

To her, it probably felt like love. To him, it felt like being smothered with something he never asked for.

He’d been with her before. It used to feel easy, meaningless. But now? It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like anything at all.

He hadn’t had the guts to reach out to you. At first, he told himself he couldn’t, not without a car, not with Sara always around. But the truth was, he was scared. Scared of what you’d say. Scared of what it meant that he still missed you, even when he tried not to.

Then you texted him.

Just one message: I miss you ❤️

And he saw it. While Sara was curled into his side, tracing circles on his chest like she belonged there. His heart stopped. His fingers hovered over the screen.

He didn’t know what to say.

So he lied again.

Jungkook: Sorry. I fell asleep. 

*

Your birthday was coming up.

His mom mentioned it offhand something about a backyard cookout your mother had planned and how they were invited, like always. And just like that, his chest tightened.

He thought about it for days.

Would you be mad if he showed up? Would you even want to see him?

Part of him knew he didn’t deserve to. But the other part, the louder one, couldn’t stand the thought of not being there. Not on your birthday. He’d shown up every year since you were kids. Wouldn’t it hurt more if he didn’t?

So when he finally decided, he told his mom he’d go.

He didn’t tell Sara.

He couldn’t show up empty-handed. That much felt non-negotiable. He paced his room for hours, tossing ideas in his head. What could he bring you? What could he give that wouldn’t feel hollow? Something small, maybe, but real. Something that said, I still care. Even from here. Even after everything.

Then it hit him. The gift.

He ordered it the same night, quietly, before Sara could catch wind. She’d lose it if she knew. She never asked about you directly, but she knew. She knew there was something between you two, something she could never quite touch.

And that scared her.

The following week, he met up with the guys at the park for a game of basketball. He hadn’t invited Sara, but she showed up anyway, a pack of iced tea bottles in hand, a tote bag on her shoulder, and that too-bright smile on her face.

“Brought you something,” she said, offering him one of the drinks. “Figured you’d be dying out here.”

Jungkook blinked, then took it with a quiet “Thanks.”

She sat on the bench, legs crossed, sipping her drink between cheers. Her voice cut through the buzz of the court, bright, high, and unmissable. And for a second, Jungkook found it… kind of endearing.

No girl had ever done that for him before. No one had come just to watch him play, to clap when he scored, or to smile like it actually mattered. When he missed a shot, she scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue, playful and dramatic. He let out a breath of a laugh. She could be sweet. When she wanted to be.

After the game, she walked over and looped her arm around his. “You did good,” she said, kissing his cheek before he could dodge it.

He gave her a short hug and a quick peck on the lips, mostly for show.

He stood by the sidewalk, waiting. His mom had said she’d come get him, not that he had much of a choice these days.

“Sara, don’t,” he muttered when she glued herself to his side like static cling. “I told you. I don’t like PDA.”

Or maybe… he just didn’t like her.

“I’m your girlfriend. What’s the point if I can’t even touch you in public?” She whined, kissing his cheek again.

He sighed but didn’t push.

His mom pulled up and rolled down the window. “Jungkook,” she called, eyeing the girl attached to him. “Who’s this?”

Sara didn’t miss a beat. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Jeon! I’m Kim Sara, Jungkook’s girlfriend,” she said with a too-sweet smile.

“Girlfriend?” His mom raised her brow but smiled politely. “Nice to meet you. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

Sara’s jaw twitched just slightly. “Oh, well… it’s still new. We’ve been dating for two months now.”

Jungkook gave his mom a tight, awkward smile.

 There was a moment of silence before his mother decided to ruin his weekend with one question. 

“Did he invite you to his friend’s birthday party this weekend? It’s just a cookout. I can let her mother know Jungkook’s bringing a plus one.”

Sara’s grip on his arm tightened just a little. She looked up at him, a gleam of something sharp in her eyes.

“He didn’t say anything,” she said through a clenched smile. “But I’d love to go.” 

And that was that.

Jungkook sat in the passenger seat of his mom’s car, watching his life spiral out of control one passive decision at a time.

*

(PRESENT DAY)

What did you expect? An apology? Miracles? Something that said you mattered?

He shifts, uncomfortable. He finally decides to say something. "It’s not like that.”

"Then what is it like?" Your voice is rising now, shaking with something between rage and heartbreak. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you got a girlfriend, stopped talking to me, and now you’re trying to act like it’s no big deal.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting to the floor. "It wasn’t that simple.”

You take a step toward him. "It was. It was exactly that simple. You just didn’t care enough to say anything.”

He winces. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

And for a second, you almost feel bad.

Almost.

But then you remember the nights you cried alone. The hours you spent staring at your phone, wondering what you did wrong. Wondering why you weren’t enough.

"You didn’t just stop talking to me. You replaced me. Like I was nothing.”

His silence is deafening.

"You knew what this was. What we have," you say. Then correct yourself. "Had."

“You really threw all that away for her?” You can’t help but ask.

"We weren’t together," he says, too quickly.

"Right," you whisper. "But it still felt like it."

You look away, because looking at him makes your chest ache. Like your ribs are closing in. Like every breath you take around him costs too much.

He steps closer. "Y/N... just because it felt like it doesn’t mean it was real."

You slap his hands away.

Your voice trembles. "Then what the hell were we doing? Was it just a game to you?"

"No," he says. But it’s soft, barely audible. And it sounds like shame.

You take another breath, and it feels like swallowing glass. "You made me believe in something. You let me think there was something here. And then you just... vanished."

"I didn’t mean to," he murmurs.

"But you did. You did it anyway. That’s what matters."

His face falls. There it is, the crack. 

"Well, get out of my room then!" you huff, pushing the words out through clenched teeth.

"But I came here to—" 

"Came here for what? To tell me you’ve never really liked me? It was just a game, wasn’t it?” Tears well up in your eyes, and you feel like you're about to break apart. 

"No." He steps closer, voice quieter now, almost careful. "I just… wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” His gaze lingers on yours for a second too long. "You know it’s always been my favourite time of year. Ever since we were kids. Celebrating you has always mattered to me.” He admits 

"Okay? Thanks," you shrug, grabbing the door handle. 

The room feels suffocating now, the weight of the conversation too much for you to bear. He’s been showing the complete opposite the whole time.

 "Hey! Wait! I got you this," he says quickly, pulling out a small box wrapped in pink heart-covered paper. ”Open it." 

You pause for a moment, stunned by the gift, but you still take it from him, whispering a small, cautious "Thank you" as you slowly unwrap it. 

Inside is a delicate gold necklace: a single rose made entirely of soft pink jewels. Your breath catches. You blink, staring at it. You’d talked about this necklace for months, about how much you loved the design, how expensive it was, and how perfect it would look with your favourite outfits. But you never thought you’d actually have it.

Certainly not from him, to say the least. "You remembered," you whisper, voice smaller than you meant it to be. 

For a second, the anger you’ve been holding onto starts to loosen, replaced by something softer. Something closer to being seen, all you ever wanted.

 "Of course I did," he says quietly, stepping a little closer. "I know you’ve had your eye on it for a while. I saw it on your vision board…back when we made them together, remember? You went on and on about the gems, how bad you wanted it because it would go with, like, half your closet," he chuckles gently, a memory clearly replaying in his head. 

Your chest tightens, and it’s not anger this time. It’s something warmer. More fragile. 

"I just felt like getting you a gift. You deserve it," he adds, voice dipping low with something sincere. Then he pulls you into a hug, and despite everything, you melt into him.

The tension in your body slips away for just a moment. It’s safe here it’s familiar. "Happy birthday," he murmurs against your hair. "You look beautiful tonight.” He inhales the familiar scent of your perfume, intimate moments you two had spent in your room rushing back to him. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his arms still around your waist. His eyes search yours, gentle, quiet, and knowing. 

You swallow. "Thank you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. There’s silence between you both, your eyes locked.

“I’m sorry I brought her here.” He whispers, You don’t say anything, you just stare at him. Would it be stupid to believe him? 

Finally, he takes the leap, kissing you fast and hard.

You freeze. For a heartbeat, you forget how to breathe. You should pull away you know you should but it’s like your body betrays you before your mind can catch up.

God, you missed him.

You didn’t realize just how much until right now. Until his lips are on yours, and the silence between you snaps like a rubber band. No Sara. No party. Just him. Just this.

And it’s wrong, every part of you knows it.

But you kiss him back anyway. Because for a moment, just one, you're tired of pretending it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter. That he didn’t leave you aching for weeks, staring at your phone like it held answers.

His hands start to wander, slipping lower to your bum—

“Stop,” you gasp, breaking the kiss, breath catching in your throat.

You push him, not hard, but enough. He doesn’t let go. His grip tightens like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his hold.

“Jungkook.” Firmer this time.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice raw. “I know. I know I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have followed you.”

“Then why did you?”

There’s a pause. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, you think he might lie. But he doesn’t.

“I don’t know,” he says. His voice is low, cracked around the edges. “You think I don’t know I fucked up? I do. I just… I couldn’t help it. I had to see you.”

You shake your head. The anger flares again, burning right through the softness in your chest. “That’s not fair. You don’t get to show up and act like this. Not after everything.”

He doesn’t answer. Just lifts his hand, cupping your face like he’s holding something fragile.

“I missed you,” he says. Quiet, with shame.  Like it hurts to say out loud.

When he leans in to kiss you again, you turn your head, and his lips brush your cheek.

“Your girlfriend is downstairs,” you whisper. “What are you doing?”

Silence.

You see it flash across his face, Sara. The mistake he kept making, just to avoid facing the truth with you.

Still, he inches closer. His hands find your waist again, slow, desperate. His voice drops, rough and hungry:

“When has that ever stopped me?” The words settle like a bruise.

That sentence cuts something open.

You stiffen. And for a second, you see him not the boy you loved, but the one who let you cry alone, who kept you hidden while showing someone else off.

“Don’t,” you murmur.

“Hm?” He tilts your chin up again. “Besides, I don’t like her the way I like you.” His tone turns syrupy, dangerous, practiced, he leans in for another kiss…

and you kiss him back...again

Not because it’s right, not because you’ve forgiven him. But because you care too much. Because you’ve wanted this for so long it almost hurt. And deep down, no matter how much it broke you, a part of you always hoped he’d come back.

Some part of you still hopes he’ll choose you. for a moment, you let yourself believe it could mean something.

Still, deep down, you already know how this ends.

And you’ll remember that the second you pull away.

[kxsagi]

Boyfriend bllk boys meeting wife!reader from the future 🤔

“𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫”

a/n: not sure if i did this right, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! 

ALSO I AM SO SORRY THAT I HAVE NOT UPLOADED ANY WRITING WORKS FOR THE PAST WEEK, I’VE BEEN SO BUSY AND ONLY REPLYING TO ASKS IN MY INBOX, BUT I’M FINISHING UP THE LAST TEN REQUESTS

title is a play on a lyric from about you by the 1975 THIS SONG IS HEAVENLY

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

itoshi rin

he's suspicious as hell. like... "you’re what? my wife? from the future? did bachira put you up to this?" 

it takes exactly 3 seconds after you call him “baby” and casually mention his proposal speech word-for-word (you memorized it, duh) for him to stop functioning. 

his ears go red. his neck goes red. he malfunctions like a tsundere android overheating. 

you tell him he likes cats in the future and he glares at you like you’re leaking state secrets. 

“i don’t like cats.” “you do. you cried when our cat had kittens.” “i didn’t cry. it was allergies. for sure.” 

he acts all grumbly and irritable, but can’t stop secretly staring at your ring finger. 

when you disappear back to your timeline, he trains harder than ever, lowkey panicked like: i can’t mess this up. she’s real. she’s mine. i need to become the man she marries. 

isagi yoichi

isagi’s whole brain bluescreens. he’s trying to run calculations in his head like he’s doing tactical analysis of a game, but nothing makes sense. 

“wait, you’re… my wife? like… future wife? holy sh– can i hug you? do we hug? what’s the protocol here?” 

he gets adorably flustered and asks for details like: “when’s our wedding? do i cry? do you cry? is bachira the best man?? WAIT, how many kids?? DO WE HAVE A DOG?” 

you show him your wedding ring and he starts giggling like an excited little kid, then gets quiet and soft and looks at you like you hung the stars. 

“i must be really lucky in the future if i get to be with you.” 

you disappear and he literally stands there for 10 minutes just holding his chest like he’s trying to calm down his heart. 

his next journal entry has your name circled like twenty times. 

itoshi sae

“... that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” he says when you walk up like hey future husband ~ 

but he doesn’t walk away. in fact, he looks very intensely into your eyes like he’s scanning you for a lie detector test. 

you mention his proposal line – "you’re the only person who’s ever made madrid feel like home" – and he visibly flinches. “... how’d you know that.” 

he’ll act aloof and shrug it off like “whatever” but you see the moment he drops his guard. 

he mutters a lot of sarcastic things like “gosh, i must be obsessed with you or something,” while you’re around but secretly? he’s in awe. 

he walks away, hands in his pockets, but the tips of his ears are so red they might catch fire. 

and when he’s alone? he rereads every single message you ever sent him in the current timeline. suddenly every little interaction with you becomes precious. 

nagi seishiro

“huh? that sounds like a hassle,” he yawns when you say you’re from the future. 

but then you pull out his old hoodie from the future and he perks up. 

“wait. that’s mine.” “yup. i stole it. legally. i’m your wife.” 

suddenly he’s sitting up straight like “... how many games have i won in the future?” 

you tell him he’s rich, married, and still addicted to video games. he nods like “yeah that tracks.” 

he gets very clingy with you – he lies down with his head in your lap, keeps playing with your ring, asks if you nap together in the future. 

when you say yes, he whispers, “... sounds nice.” 

after you vanish, he mopes around the house, staring at your picture on his phone like a cat left alone for the day. 

and then starts sleeping in the exact spot he met you, hoping the glitch happens again. 

mikage reo

“hi honey~” you say, and he chokes on his water. 

he literally spirals. 

“WHAT? YOU– WIFE? ME?! wait, wait, wait– are you scamming me? is this a prank show???” 

the second you casually mention the earrings he bought you on your third anniversary in rome, he shuts up and just stares in awe. 

“i take you to rome?? holy shi… future me has game???” 

his whole world gets rearranged. he treats you like royalty the entire time, even offers to buy you something now as a “pre-wedding gift.” 

he looks like he’s about to propose on the spot even though he’s like 19 at the time and still lives with nagi. 

once you're gone, he has a motivational speech in the mirror like: “okay. she’s real. she’s out there. focus. train. look hot.” 

immediately creates a secret pinterest board called "our wedding 💍" 

kaiser michael

“oh no. no no no. if this is a prank, ness, i swear–” 

he thinks it’s a trap at first because how the hell did a literal angel from the future fall in love with him? 

you tease him like, “you begged me to marry you, btw. cried a little.” “i did not cry– wait, did i? be honest.” 

he goes full kaiser mode trying to impress you. flips his hair 20x, talks in his best low flirty voice, poses like he’s on a cologne ad. 

then you casually call him by his real name, michael, in a soft voice and he shuts up instantly. 

something about hearing it from you like that unravels him. 

he says: “you’re dangerous. if you don’t leave, i’ll fall in love with you twice.” 

when you're gone, he stares at his reflection like “you dumb bastard, don’t screw this up.” 

shidou ryusei

he’s ecstatic. “FUTURE WIFE?! hell yeah, i always knew some time-traveling baddie would be into me.” 

he immediately asks freaky questions. “how’s the sex? do i still got it? is our honeymoon freaky?” 

you tell him you married him because he rescued a kitten and cried over it. 

“... YOU LIE. i’m a menace.” “nope. you bottle-fed it. you named her shrimp.” 

suddenly he’s covering his face like “what the hell is wrong with future me i’m gonna die of embarrassment.” 

he calms down for a second and says quietly: “... do i make you happy? in the future?” 

and you go, “the happiest,” and his smile falters for a second. like your words hit. 

once you’re gone, he kicks the wall like a teenage boy with a crush. “i’m gonna marry her. even if i gotta fistfight time itself.” 

karasu tabito

“well well well. future me has taste,” he smirks, leaning against the wall. 

he flirts hard at first, then you call him your husband and he goes: “wait… i proposed?? me?? i didn’t chicken out???” 

you show him the note he left in your wedding vows and he’s speechless for the first time in his life. 

“… that’s so sappy. that’s– wait, do i really call you my home?” 

he tries to play it cool, but he's clearly overwhelmed. keeps stealing glances at your face like he’s trying to memorize you. 

you laugh at his jokes and he goes soft. like… too soft. he’s blushing and stammering and nervously biting his lip. 

“you better not be lying to me. i’ll spend my whole life chasing a ghost if you are.” 

after you're gone, he doesn’t say anything to anyone, just starts training like a man possessed. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bruisedboys]

idk if this is too detailed for a request so feel free to just send thoughts on this if not! but currently thinking about clark and reader sneaking away at a work party and him being all cutedy and flirty🤭

hi pretty!! thank you so much for your request, I’ll be honest I’m not sure if I did it justice but I gave it my best shot, hope this is okay x

clark kent x fem!reader, 0.7k words (not proofread again! sorry!)

“Honey. Where are you taking me?”

Clark makes honey sound like actual honey, all languid and smooth, dripping in tooth-aching sweetness. His hand is big and warm in yours, and you’re tugging him down the empty corridors as if he’s not made up of however many pounds of solid muscle. He could plant one foot and it’d be over for you, but he doesn’t.

“It’s a secret,” you say. You’re mildly aware that you’re a bit drunk, but you feel like this — giddy and lovesick — the majority of the time you’re around Clark anyway, so it doesn’t make much difference.

Clark huffs softly behind you. “They’re gonna be wondering where we are.”

He sounds more amused than concerned, and you know he doesn’t really care what your coworkers are thinking of your disappearance from the party. Most of them have guessed by now that you and Clark are together, and this’ll just solidify it to the rest.

A few moments later you find what you’re looking for — an unlocked door — and push it open, tugging Clark in behind you.

“What are we doing in here?” Clark asks, skeptical. He glances around and his brow furrows in confusion. “Whose office is this?

You ignore his question. “Do you like my dress?”

You twirl a bit for him, letting your short skirt swish around your thighs, hoping you look pretty enough to seduce him.

Clark blinks at you. “Sure,” he pushes his glasses up his nose and gives you a once over. “You look pretty. I already told you that, didn’t I?”

He did, about a hundred times when he picked you up and on the drive here.

“Yes, but how much do you like it?” You press, looking up at him from under your lashes.

Clark blinks some more. “I don’t see what this has to do with us being in somebody’s office.”

Poor oblivious boy, you think. You give up on the doll eyes and skirt swishing, and instead grab his tie, flattening your palm to his firm chest.

“Oh, Clark,” you say. “I’m trying to seduce you, handsome. Will you just kiss me already?”

Clark blinks at you a bit, looking a bit like a confused puppy. A moment later, realisation dawns on his face.

“Oh,” he says. Heat seems to crawl up his neck, the tips of his ears reddening. “That’s why you bought me in here?”

“Why else?” You push your hand up his chest, over the slope of his shoulder and into his hair. “You look so handsome.”

Clark laughs like he can’t believe you, “So you stole me away to seduce me?”

You nod primly. “Yeah,” you say, defensive. “Did it work?”

Clark grins at you, his dimples poking into his cheeks, his pretty eyes creasing at the corners. He fits his hand to your waist and pulls you closer. His hands are big and warm, like always. Finally, you think.

“Sure thing, pretty,” he says, and part of you knows he’s lying through his teeth, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You grin, pushing your free hand around his waist.

“So you’re gonna kiss me now?” You ask, tilting your chin up.

Clark gives you a fond look. “You’re drunk,” he says softly.

“Just one?” You plead, softer.

Clark looks for a moment like he might say no. He studies you, nothing but adoration in his eyes, before sighing.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says, fondness colouring his words, his smile shot with sunshine. “One kiss. Okay?”

Pleased, you nod and shut your eyes, tilting your chin up for him. You wait, patient but brimming with giddiness, until Clark kisses you gently, his thumb rubbing circles into your waist. He’s never been one to refuse you, but his kiss is softer than you’d have hoped for.

When he pulls away, you chase his mouth and Clark laughs at you.

“Baby,” he says, fond and amused as he presses a finger to your mouth to stop you. “I said one.”

“One isn’t enough,” you whine against his finger.

Clark just laughs, wrapping you up in his arms, your cheek pressed to his firm chest.

“Well, you’re lucky I’m your boyfriend,” he says, scrubbing a fond hand up your back and down again. “You can have as many kisses as you like tomorrow.”

[malfoys-demigod]

Johnny Storm Headcannons

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Johnny and his shy girlfriend!

a/n: it has been a wild minute since i wrote.. as usual! but i really wanna join in the johnny storm love right now! what better way with a headcannon!

OKAY... Johnny Storm with his shy girlfriend!

He Notices Everything

He always clocks when she tucks her hair behind her ear, bites her lip nervously, or avoids eye contact when people compliment her. He finds it adorable and ridiculously endearing.

“You do that thing again,” he’ll murmur while brushing a thumb over her cheek, smirking. “The lip thing. God, you’re gonna kill me.”

He's Loud for Her

In public, he’ll boldly declare, “That’s my girl!” when she does literally anything — like winning a trivia question, successfully ordering food, or even just entering the room.

But when she gets flustered, he immediately leans down and whispers, “Sorry, baby. But you're just so cute like that.”

Soft for Her, Always

Johnny? Mr. Human Torch? Brash, cocky Johnny Storm?

Turns into complete mush when she’s sleepy and curls up next to him. Runs his fingers through her hair like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Protective but Not Overbearing

He never forces her to be social but always keeps a gentle hand at the small of her back at crowded events.

He’ll sense when she’s overwhelmed and whisk her away with a wink: “Rescue mission complete, princess.”

Genuine Praise, No Ego

Johnny hypes her up constantly, but not in the fake way.

“You think you're shy, but you don’t see yourself the way I do. You light up the room without even trying. That’s way more powerful than anything I can do.”

He’s So Soft in Private

He talks about her like she’s the best-kept secret of his life. In interviews, if someone asks about his love life, he just smiles a little and says, “She’s quiet. But she’s my favorite sound.”

Over-the-Top Romantic Gestures

He’ll fly into her window (literally) just to bring her her favorite snack or take her star-gazing at 3 a.m. because “the sky looked like you tonight and I couldn’t sleep.”

Publicly Cool, Privately a Disaster

To everyone else, Johnny’s smooth and untouchable.

But behind closed doors? He’s texting her “baby pls send selfies I miss your face 😭😭” and asking if he looked okay in his suit 30 times before an event.

He’s Smitten, and It’s Obvious

He blushes more than she does when she kisses his cheek.

He brags about her all the time: “Yeah, my girlfriend’s basically a genius. She’s shy, but don’t be fooled — she could destroy me with a sentence.”

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Children Get Older.

Father figure!Hotch x BAU!reader

main masterlist

Summary: A case suddenly escalates into a national emergency, demanding the team’s full attention. But what truly turns heads, especially your boss’s, is the fact that you and Spencer showed up at the exact same time…both impeccably dressed.

Words: 3,9k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of crime and all the typical stuff from the show. father and rebellious daughter type relationship. the reader has a romantic thing with spencer. temporarily located in the first season. so bittersweet. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Based by this request.

Note: This reader is really my favorite because everything is SO bittersweet but profound (or maybe I just have daddy issues).

The sound of your heels against the cold tile echoed, like they didn’t quite belong here. Like you didn’t. Not in the way you usually did. You had never entered the BAU like this before, not at midnight, not with your coat still hanging open from the rush, not with perfume clinging faintly to your wrists instead of gunpowder and antiseptic soap.

Your dress was simple, but nothing about it felt subtle here. It was the color of deep wine or dusk, something rich and a little out of place under the sterile overhead lights. The hem brushed just below your knees, swaying with every step, and the faint shimmer of your stockings caught the fluorescents, slicing light into motion like glass. Your heels clicked too loudly. Your hair was still pinned up from earlier in the evening, soft tendrils falling loose around your ears in the kind of way that didn’t happen after ten hours in the field. You hadn’t meant to draw attention. But looking like someone with a life—someone alive—had become, suddenly, the loudest thing about you.

You looked like you’d come from somewhere warm. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere untouched by death, statistics, and blood-spattered timelines. You looked like you’d been smiling an hour ago.

And beside you, Spencer Reid didn’t look like Spencer Reid.

He looked like a stranger. Or worse, like someone carved out of another time entirely. His charcoal-gray suit was sharply cut and perfectly tailored, the lapels pressed so crisp they caught the light when he moved. The tie was navy, barely patterned, and knotted neatly. His hair had been combed back, almost too carefully, and though a few soft strands had fallen forward in the hours since dinner, the effort lingered. There was no cardigan. No messenger bag. No stain from whatever he’d been eating in the car. Just clean lines and a quiet kind of elegance that made you blink. That made you wonder if this was how he’d always looked, beneath the layers of stress and coffee and unspoken grief.

His cheeks were still flushed from the wind outside, or maybe from something else, and there was the faintest sheen of sweat at his temple, the kind that only comes from trying too hard not to look nervous. His hand had hovered at the small of your back when you stepped out of the taxi. He didn’t touch you. Not really. But it was close enough to count. Close enough to remember.

You shouldn’t have looked so coordinated. Your outfits were almost absurdly in sync, like two halves of a photograph you didn’t remember posing for.

You shouldn’t have arrived together.

And yet, here you were.

Morgan looked up first. His eyebrows lifted in a slow arc, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something between amusement and surprise.

“Well, damn,” he muttered under his breath, straightening from where he leaned against the edge of the table. “Did we interrupt a red carpet?”

You gave him a quick smile, tight and too rehearsed, but it was the best you could manage. Your pulse had already started to race. The lights felt too harsh overhead, your coat suddenly too warm. You were acutely aware of the echo of Spencer’s footsteps behind you. Of the way your coat didn’t quite cover the sheen of your dress, the soft gleam of your stockings. The faint scent of velvet seats and perfume still clung to you both like memory.

Then your boss looked up.

He didn’t speak right away. He just stared.

And somehow, that was worse.

His gaze was steady, clinical. The kind of look that catalogued everything, quietly, ruthlessly. You saw the moment it all clicked for him: the matching formality of your clothes, the way your heels clicked in sync with Reid’s shoes, the slight sheen still on your cheeks, and the exactness of your timing.

“You’re late,” he said, voice even but clipped at the edges.

“Traffic,” you answered quickly, sliding into your usual seat with more care than usual, trying not to grimace as the heels pressed awkwardly into your feet. “We came straight here.”

We.

The word hung in the air like smoke. You regretted it instantly.

Spencer spoke, his voice calm but a little too careful. “I didn’t check my phone until the curtain dropped. We left as soon as I saw the alert.”

Curtain.

There was no pretending after that.

Morgan raised a brow, his smile deepening with something bordering on mischief. He leaned toward Elle with a low nudge. “You two were together?”

The silence that followed felt immense.

It wasn’t shame, not exactly. You weren’t embarrassed that you’d been on a date with Spencer. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was how it might look. How easily it could be twisted into something frivolous, something that would undermine every hour you’d bled for this job. You weren’t naïve. You’d seen how fast reputations could unravel in this building. Especially yours.

But then, blessedly, like a shift in air pressure, JJ’s voice cut in.

“Abduction in D.C.,” she said, her tone brisk and grounding. “It escalated. Press picked it up before we did. We’re dealing with a national alert now. Local PD’s maxed out.”

The air in the room snapped back into focus.

You opened your mouth to offer—“I’ll go with Reid”—but Hotch didn’t even let the words land.

“No.”

Just that. Calm. Final.

“You’re riding with me.”

The words dropped like a stone in water.

The room went still.

You blinked. “Of course.”

Your voice sounded thinner than you meant it to. You didn’t look at Spencer, but you felt his glance, quick and quiet and full of something that might’ve been concern. Might’ve been guilt. Might’ve been nothing at all. But Hotch had already turned his back to the room, gesturing toward the board, the abduction photos clicking into place under the projector like it was just another night.

And maybe it was.

The briefing dissolved into motion. Chairs scraped back. Files passed from hand to hand. Radios crackled with incoming dispatches, and JJ was already at the computer, fingers flying, coordinating with local law enforcement like it was muscle memory. Hotch stood at the head of the table, halfway through assigning tasks, his voice clipped, focused, and all business. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, merciless and sterile, like they could see right through your dress.

You peeled off your coat slowly, trying not to draw attention. Draped it neatly over the back of your chair, smoothed down the skirt of your dress with a palm that trembled just slightly. As if that might make you blend in again. As if you hadn’t walked in here smelling like perfume and velvet and memory.

But attention was already circling. Like blood in the water.

Morgan leaned closer across the table, his grin stretching wide, just shy of playful and all kinds of dangerous.

“So,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for Spencer to hear. “Curtain dropped, huh? Is that a euphemism I should start using?”

You didn’t even look up from your file. You didn’t need to. Your ears were already burning, and the papers in your hands might as well have been blank.

“Grow up, Morgan,” you muttered.

Beside you, Spencer’s shoulders tensed, not dramatically, but enough for you to feel it. That subtle shift in the air when someone’s spine straightens. You didn’t dare glance at him.

But Morgan chuckled, undeterred. “Just saying, you two clean up real nice. Coordinated and everything. Matching cheekbones, matching guilt. What was it—opera? Ballet?” He looked directly at Spencer now. “Don’t tell me you actually rented a tux.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “The Phantom of the Opera.” His voice was perfectly calm. Almost professorial.

You risked a glance at him. He wasn’t flustered, just answering like he was reciting a trivia fact. One hand tucked into his lap, the other holding his file a little too tightly.

Morgan’s grin widened like a kid on Christmas morning. “Damn. You were on a date.”

You turned to him sharply, ready to shut it down, but Elle beat you to it.

“Back off.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean across the room like a scalpel. Everyone nearby flinched, just a little.

Morgan blinked, caught off guard. “Whoa—what?”

“She’s allowed to have a night out,” Elle said coolly, glancing at you without any trace of judgment. “We all are. You show up in leather jackets and sunglasses half the time, and no one bats an eye.”

“That’s style, baby,” Morgan said with a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “It’s different.”

Elle rolled her eyes. “It’s posturing.”

You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile, even as your heart was pounding. You were still clutching your folder like it might keep you grounded. But inside? You felt twelve years old. Like someone had walked into your middle school dance and announced your crush to the whole gym.

Morgan lifted his hands in surrender, though his grin hadn’t faded. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it go. For now.”

But not before he turned and tossed one last jab in Spencer’s direction. “Better be one hell of a date, boy genius.”

Spencer blinked, tilting his head like he was analyzing the question. “Statistically, it was a highly above-average evening.”

That made Morgan laugh. Elle sighed.

You, on the other hand, wanted to slide under the table and live there forever. Your face felt hot. Your chest was tight, like you couldn’t quite take a full breath. Your shoes pinched in all the wrong places, and suddenly you remembered that you still had lipstick on, not much, but enough to make you feel like you were playing dress-up in a world where no one else had bothered to pretend.

Then Elle leaned toward you, dropping her voice low enough to keep it private.

“Ignore him,” she said. “He’s just jealous you got asked out by someone who doesn’t think with his biceps.”

You let out a small, involuntary snort.

“I wasn’t exactly asked,” you mumbled. “It kind of just…happened.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Still counts.”

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch, the smallest flicker of a smile beginning to settle.

But before the moment could soften into comfort, Hotch’s voice returned, low, sharp, and undeniably focused.

“Let’s drive. It’s not far.”

Everyone snapped back into motion.

“Morgan, JJ, you’re with local PD at the first crime scene,” Hotch continued, already sliding folders across the table. “Reid, Elle, I want you on victimology. Lock in the timeline before we land. Gideon’s already at the scene.”

Then his eyes found you. Not accusing, but…measuring. Always.

“You’re riding with me. Don’t be late again.”

There it was. Flat as pavement. A warning. A reminder.

You straightened a little too fast. “Yes, sir.”

Then he turned.

And—god help you—you rolled your eyes the second he gave you his back.

Not dramatically. Not even on purpose. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind you used to give teachers in high school when they singled you out for whispering during announcements. The kind that came with being a little too honest, a little too tender, and a little too much of a tall child still learning how to carry herself in a room full of giants.

Spencer saw it. Of course he did. And when your eyes met briefly across the table, his lips twitched. Barely. Like he was fighting the same laugh you were.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The silence inside the SUV wasn’t just silence; it was pressure. It curled at the base of your neck, settled behind your eyes, and pressed down on your ribs like a weight. Every sound was amplified: the steady hush of the tires rolling over wet asphalt, the dull whine of the defroster, and the uneven rhythm of the windshield wipers dragging slow arcs across glass. Even your own breathing felt too loud in your ears.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, coat folded across your lap like something ceremonial, like armor you didn’t get to wear properly. Your fingers threaded tightly through the sleeves, twisting the fabric in anxious spirals, holding yourself together because no one else would. Your knees were close together. Your back was too straight. You looked like a little girl on her first ride-along, and you hated that you felt like one.

Hotch hadn’t said a single word since pulling out of the lot.

He hadn’t looked at you. Not once.

The shadows in the cabin moved in waves, broken only by the glow of passing streetlights strobing across his face, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the tension wound tight across his brow, and the way his hands sat on the wheel: firm, controlled, and white-knuckled.

You risked a glance sideways. His grip on the steering wheel hadn’t shifted once. The leather creaked faintly under the pressure. His suit jacket pulled taut over his shoulders every time he made the smallest correction in the lane. His mouth was set in a line that might have been neutral to anyone else, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the tightness around the corners. The anger sitting just behind the professionalism.

You cleared your throat. Soft. Careful.

“It wasn’t what you all think.”

He didn’t answer. Just let the words hang there, like they weren’t even worth acknowledging.

You turned toward the window again. The city blurred past in streaks of soft red and sharp blue, car lights caught in the fog, storefronts half-glimpsed like memories you weren’t ready to touch.

You tried again.

“We didn’t mean to be late. We came straight from the theater. We didn’t even—”

“I didn’t ask,” he said, his voice flat and clipped.

That landed like ice in your stomach.

The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t even angry. They were worse: detached.

Like you’d become an item on a list. Something to be managed.

You felt the sting rise in your chest, like something just behind your ribs trying to escape. You didn’t let it. You never did.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, quietly:

“You didn’t have to separate us like that.”

Now he glanced at you. Briefly. The kind of glance that could slice paper.

“I didn’t separate you,” he said. “I assigned you to ride with me.”

You laughed under your breath. It wasn’t amusement. It was the brittle sound of someone who’d finally learned the game.

“Right. Because that just makes so much sense.”

Hotch didn’t bite.

Instead, he let the weight of silence return, and then, calmly, “Optics matter.”

You turned your head fully toward him now. Your jaw clenched.

“I’ve done this job longer than most agents my age. I’ve been shot at. I’ve cracked cases your senior agents couldn’t even see. And still, I walk into a room with a man, and suddenly it’s a question of optics?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not a frown. Just pressure.

“This job doesn’t allow for blurred lines. Not when a child’s life is at stake. Not when the press is circling. Not when local PD already thinks we’re arrogant.”

You leaned forward slightly, voice lower now, sharper.

“Then say that’s what this is about. Don’t pretend this is about professionalism.”

He didn’t flinch. He rarely did.

But he did say, after a beat, “I think you’re too close.”

There it was. The hammer behind the silence.

You looked away again. The pain in your throat bloomed quietly, an old ache. A familiar one.

Too close. Too emotional. Too much.

You didn’t bother defending yourself anymore. You just stared out at the rain-slicked streets and said, “You always say that when you don’t know what to do with me.”

The GPS chirped: Turn left in 500 feet.

The SUV slowed. The rain outside thickened, a quiet percussion against the roof. Up ahead, the scene had already unfolded: police cars, flashing lights, and yellow tape strung like veins through the neighborhood.

As Hotch slowed to a crawl near the curb, his voice broke the silence again. Lower. More careful.

“You’re not incompetent.”

You turned to him, surprised.

“You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with.”

That…did something to you.

It hit you differently, not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Not performative. Not a lecture. Just truth. Quiet and earned.

You didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure you trusted your voice.

Then he added, almost like an afterthought:

“But you still walk into rooms like I’m waiting to catch you messing up.”

You froze.

Because that was true. You did. You always had. Even now, in velvet and heels and perfume and competence, you were still waiting to be told you didn’t belong.

Your hand hovered at the door handle. You didn’t move yet.

“You’re still treating me like I’m a kid,” you said softly. “Still assuming I don’t know how to separate my heart from my head.”

Hotch looked at you again, steady.

“I don’t think you’re a child. But I think you care deeply, and you’re still so young. Sometimes that looks a lot like risk.”

You nodded. Just once. Like a truce.

Then you pushed the door open.

Rain touched your skin in cool kisses. The street was alive with sound: radios crackling, officers calling out, and puddles splashing under boots. You moved through it like someone waking up from a heavy dream.

You didn’t look back.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The case board, like everything else in that dim-lit war room, carried the weight of grief in glossy paper and red string. Photos of the victim’s cul-de-sac were thumbtacked in precise lines, each one overlapping the next like a patchwork of unanswered questions. The little girl’s school portrait was slightly crooked at the center of it all, smiling, gap-toothed, in pink overalls that didn’t know tragedy yet. Coffee-stained maps, crime scene close-ups, and scatterings of Post-it notes curled at the corners, breathing like paper lungs with every breeze from the overhead vents.

But for the first time in hours, no one was looking at it.

Jason Gideon sat perched on the edge of the table, thumbing through a file with the same surgical boredom he often reserved for bureaucratic idiocy or stale bagels in the break room. He didn’t lift his eyes as he spoke.

“You should let Haley talk to Jack about romantic things.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was sharp.

Hotch lowered his coffee mug a fraction, his expression tightening. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not built for it, Aaron,” Gideon replied, finally glancing up. “You’ve got the romantic instincts of a broken vending machine.”

Hotch set the mug down, deliberately. Not slammed, but placed. Firm enough to make the porcelain clink against the tabletop. His spine straightened just slightly, his jaw settling into something defensive. The silence stretched. And then—

“They’re not kids,” Gideon went on, voice even, bored in that precise, surgical way only he could master. “They’re adults. Brilliant ones. Emotionally strange, yes. Bad at eye contact. Worse at asking for what they want. But adults.”

And then he stopped.

Because the elevator dinged.

And there you were.

The rain hadn’t touched you much, just enough to mist your coat and add a sheen to your cheeks. Your trench coat was belted tight, but the skirt of your dress peeked out in whispered hints: navy tulle and sequins catching light like small galaxies orbiting your ankles. Your heels clicked softly on the tile, deliberate but light, like you hadn’t quite landed back on Earth yet. And beside you, Spencer Reid looked like someone from a teen romance movie.

He stood beside you in quiet proximity, his fingers tucked awkwardly into his pockets, like they didn’t know where else to go. His cheeks were flushed in that unmistakable Reid shade—half embarrassment, half awe—and he was trying so, so hard not to look at you too much. Failing, but trying.

Your boss’s eyes narrowed just slightly. He didn’t need to hear anything to know. The signs were all there. The angle of your shoulders, relaxed in a way they never were on case days. The way you leaned toward Spencer, not out of necessity but comfort. The way his eyes darted between your face and the case board like he was trying to remember he had a job. You were backlit by crime scene photos and exhaustion, and yet somehow, you still looked like something out of a dream. Still half-sparkle, half-storm.

“I gave him those tickets,” Gideon said, voice dry, like he was confessing to leaving the milk out overnight.

Hotch blinked, caught off guard. “You what?”

“I had two. Thought he could use a night off. I didn’t think he’d grow a spine and ask her.”

“You didn’t think she’d say yes,” Hotch corrected.

Gideon tilted his head. “I underestimated her ability to understand that it was a date and that they shouldn't invite the rest of the team.”

Now you and Reid stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the board, murmuring over the floor plan of the victim’s bedroom. Your heads tilted inward as if the rest of the room didn’t exist. Your hand rose to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and he, watching the motion, forgot to pretend he wasn’t staring.

God, he seemed enchanted by you.

Hotch’s voice was low now. “He’s young.”

“He’s twenty-four,” Gideon said. “And she’s twenty-six.”

“Exactly.”

“And how old were you when you married Haley?” he asked, voice sharper now.

He didn’t reply.

“Twenty-five,” Gideon filled in anyway. “She was twenty-four. Neither of you had ever seen a dead body before your honeymoon.”

“That’s not the same,” Hotch muttered.

“No,” Gideon agreed. “It’s not. They’re smarter. More damaged. But smarter.”

Hotch crossed his arms. His eyes hadn’t left you. “There are rules.”

“There are exceptions,” Gideon corrected. “And discretion.”

“She leads with her gut,” Hotch said stiffly. “She makes decisions based on instinct, not logic. And she’s—” He hesitated. The word lingered in his throat like a stone. “She’s soft.”

That was the one that stuck.

Gideon turned to him fully, gaze hard and unsparing. “Too soft for what? Empathy? A genius and a night of not talking about death? Or is it just too soft for you, Aaron?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

Because now, across the room, Spencer was laughing at something you’d whispered. Not loudly. But in that rare, cracked-open way he reserved for very specific moments. He bent toward you without meaning to, and you reached up without thinking, fixing his crooked tie with two quick fingers.

The air between you changed then. Tensed, warmed, softened. Something passed between your eyes. Something whole and quiet. Something no one in the room had permission to name.

“They’re opposites,” Hotch said finally.

“And that’s why it works,” Gideon said, calm as ever. “She acts. He calculates. He sees patterns. She breaks them.”

He said nothing.

He just stood there, watching.

Arms folded. Jaw set. Like a father at the edge of a dance floor he didn’t want to admit was safe.

And beside him, Gideon shook his head softly.

“You trust them in a hostage negotiation,” he said, almost amused, “but not in a cab together?”

Still, Hotch said nothing.

But his eyes didn’t leave you.

Not when you brushed a wrinkle from Reid’s shoulder.

Not when he smiled at you like it was involuntary.

Not when you looked like you already belonged to each other, like whatever had happened between the curtain and the taxi door hadn’t ended when The Phantom of the Opera did.

Because maybe you had grown up.

And maybe Aaron hadn’t noticed until now.

[my-castles-crumbling]

water - @wolfstarmicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 614

They hadn’t told anyone yet.

Not because they were ashamed. No, Remus was ecstatic, actually. He wanted to scream from the bloody rooftops that somehow, someway, he’d managed to kiss Sirius Black in some place outside of his dreams.

More because…they wanted to get used to it. To figure out how they were, now. To understand, before they explained to others. They wanted to do this right, and for that, Remus was thankful.

So as the four boys walked down to dinner, he had to resist the urge to grab Sirius’s hand. To kiss the lips that he now knew for a fact were just as soft as they looked. To slam Sirius against the wall and kiss the breath out of him, even if he really, really wanted to. 

Sighing, he sank into a seat next to Sirius in the Great Hall, both thrilled and distraught by the fact that the other boy could have such an effect on him just by being right there.

But that was the thing, right? Somehow, magically, Remus seemed to have an effect on Sirius, too. Or, at least, he had, when they’d been snogging last night. The way Sirius’s eyes had widened, the way his breath had hitched…it had been like the most beautiful music Remus had ever heard, composed specifically for his ears.

He wondered, idly, if he could make it happen again. Smirking around his potatoes, he inched his hand to the side.

You see, he might have had a reputation for being the best-behaved of the four, but that didn’t mean he was innocent, by any means.

Sirius and James were prattling on about something, all big hand gestures and loud shouts, so Remus had plenty of cover. He moved slowly, eyes fixed on his plate, forcing himself not to smirk, until–

Sirius’s breath hitched just a little. As he spoke, he stuttered for just a moment when Remus rested a hand on his knee, enough to hint that he felt it, but not enough to be suspicious.

Remus bit his lip. 

Gods, how was someone like Sirius so affected by him?

He could feel Sirius’s knee quivering as he moved, even as the shorter boy continued to speak, and he considered stopping there. But something in Sirius’s posture, in the way he leaned just slightly into Remus, made him keep going.

He slid his hand up. Just a bit.

“...and I–fuck–” Sirius stuttered, fork slipping from his hand.

James and Peter stared. Remus gave him a look.

“Sorry. Lost my train of thought,” the shorter boy said with a grin, picking up the silverware with a slightly-trembling hand. Underneath the table, he grasped Remus’s hand for half a second, pushing it tighter against his leg, before placing both wrists on the table again.

Oh Merlin.

He stayed there for a moment, tracing fingers over the thigh he’d only allowed himself to dream about touching, marvelling inwardly at the way the muscles flexed and tensed beneath his touch. Sirius was affected by this. Well and truly. He…it was…

Remus looked out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if he could go further.

A knee knocked his.

He slid his hand up more, squeezing the flesh of Sirius’s inner thigh, resisting the urge to groan.

All of a sudden, Sirius choked, his hacking cough drawing the attention of everyone within a two-meter radius.

“Merlin, mate!” James gaped, handing him some water. “You okay?”

“N-no,” Sirius said, cheeks bright red as he regained his breath. “I…think I need a walk. Remus, go with me, yeah?”

And, beaming, Remus allowed himself to be tugged by a nearly-running Sirius out of the Hall.

[she-is-juniper]

sharp edges and warm hands - chapter one

word count (chapter one): 6.7k (more chapters to come) pairing: golden retriever bf!clark x black cat gf!reader synopsis (series): Your new next door neighbor and coworker Clark Kent is a ball of fucking sunshine. You are not. He’s noisy, he’s clingy, he tries too hard. You pretend to hate it but eventually, you have to admit it… he’s kind of the best. Although you can't help but wonder if he's keeping secrets from you. rating (chapter one): M (mature), explicit smut to come in later chapters ♡ content (chapter one): sunshine x grumpy trope, coworkers, next door neighbors, slow burn, fluff, clark is soooo soft and romantic eee author's note: My first Superman/superhero fic and I’m the fakest DC fan known to womankind. I had a lotta fun writing this and I hope you have fun reading (˶‘ ᵕ ‘˶) The story kind of resolves here so you could technically take this as a fluffy oneshot BUT I have plans to publish at least 3 more (verrrry smutty) chapters! if you like it and want to see more, please send me an ask to let me know and i'll gladly add you to a taglist! ((And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks/follow me if you want to see more of my writing!))

✧⋆.˚⟡ ˖ chapter one ˖ ⟡˚.⋆✧

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. 

The repetitive knocking is coming from the wall. From the only wall you share with your next door neighbor. 

It’s not a surprise that this shabby midtown apartment has walls as thin as your patience for its shitty occupants. What surprises you, though, is who you find on the other side of the neighbor’s door when your patience finally wears out. 

The infuriating sounds are new. As in, you hadn’t heard a peep from this particular neighbor before today. And now it’s as if they’ve brought a whole damn circus into the building. Loud, annoying punk music that was popular a decade ago, playing from bass-heavy speakers. Off-key singing from a male voice. Incessant barking from a dog. And now?

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Fuck me. You groan in frustration and heave yourself onto your feet. Dodging half-unpacked boxes as you make my way out of your new apartment, into the hallway, and up to the wooden front door of the noisy neighbor. The neighbor you have yet to meet. In fact, you hadn’t realized when you first moved in a week ago that you even had a next door neighbor, things were so quiet. Not so lucky now. 

You knock. Behind the door, his damn dog starts barking. No one answers. You try again—and nothing. You’re midway through a tirade of angry rapping when the door finally swings open.

It’s an absolute wall of a man. Your eyes travel up his legs and torso to his face. The first thing you notice is his face. Clean-shaven, chiseled features, thick-framed glasses that somehow look both too clunky for him and yet perfectly suited for his face. 

And that he’s smiling at you.

It’s an all-star, earth-shattering smile that nearly knocks the wind out of you, except for the disconcerting fact that the man somehow doesn’t seem surprised at all to see you banging on his door.

“You must be a new neighbor.” His voice is deep, warm, interested.

You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m about to break my lease and move out if you don’t keep it down.”

The man’s dark brows stitch together before realization floods his annoyingly handsome features. “You moved into 3-C,” he remarks. A statement, not a question. 

”Yup.” You narrow your eyes at him.

His face contorts. “Golly, I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t realize they finally got someone to rent that unit out. It’s been vacant for months, so I hadn’t thought to keep the noise down.” He turns to face the barking dog behind him, says, “Krypto, no barking. Inside voice.”

The dog, like many dogs, pays him no heed and continues to bark and whine. The man rolls his eyes and steps into the hallway with you, closing the door. Had he said golly?

“Really, I’m so sorry about the noise. Krypto just likes to bark at strangers. And the TV. And out the window, sometimes.”

“The barking’s not really the worst of it,” you tell him. You jerk your chin toward the wall you two apparently share. “It’s the thumping. Repeated. Constant. All day today. It’s driving me crazy.” 

His face lights with sheepish realization.  “Oh. Yeah. That. That’s just—“

You cut him off with a raised hand. “I don’t even want to know what it is.” Probably his headboard or something. Gag. “Just… make it stop. It's scaring my cat.” And pissing me off.

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and says simply, “Understood. Yes ma’am. No more noise.”

“Great.” You turn and begin storming back to your own apartment when he gets your attention again. 

“For the record,” he calls out. “It was just a tennis ball. Nothing else, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It works. You turn to face him, giving him your full attention again. Is he… blushing? 

“The… tennis ball?” you repeat.

He gestures loosely. “I toss it against the wall for Krypto to chase. He gets antsy if I don’t burn off some energy before bed.”

Ah. The dog. Still doesn’t explain why the thumping was happening twice a second. How fast was this dog?

“Your dog’s name is Crypto? As in, the currency?”

He presses his lips together in what seems like a repressed smile. “Different meaning,” he says simply. 

“Okay, well, have you considered, I don’t know, walking your dog, or going to the park, instead of keeping your neighbors up at”—you glance at your watch—“eleven-oh-five-pm?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair. “We do. Go for walks, I mean. And—he’s technically not. My dog, I mean.”

The aforementioned dog peeks his white head around the man’s legs. The man smiles sheepishly. 

“It's more of a foster situation,” he explains.

This stranger, his handsome face, his antics, his way of speaking... He intrigues you, but in an attempt not to show it, you frown at him and say curtly, “Whatever the situation is, just… keep it down, okay?”

He holds his hands up placatingly. Large hands. “I hear you loud and clear. No more noise.” He salutes. It’s not in a mocking way, but in a completely, utterly dorky way.

It’s annoying. It’s endearing.

You huff, nod your head. Problem solved. You got what you wanted by telling him off. So why didn’t you want to leave?

“Oh, and another thing…” you add. “The music.”

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You heard that, too?”

“Oh yeah. Hard not to. And the singing.”

“Impressed?” he smirks.

“If you mean, impressed by how off-key it was, then yes.”

“Well, it wasn’t meant to be on-key. I was harmonizing.”

“...No, you weren’t.”

“...You’re right, I wasn’t.”

You repress the smile that threatens to come to the surface with a scowl. “You know they make these little knobs or dials that control the volume on your speakers, right? Maybe you should learn to use them.”

He’s unfazed. “I’ll have to check that out. Thanks for the tip.” There’s zero malice in his tone, just lighthearted playfulness. 

“Great.” Without another word, you head back to your own apartment.

“Have a good night,” he calls out. You wave him off in response.

Just before you close your door, you barely hear him say under his breath, “I didn’t get her name.”

~~~

The next morning, you leave early. It’s your first day of work. The Daily Planet, associate copy editor. A big step up from your last job. On your way out your front door, you nearly stumble on something. It’s a small box with a lid tied with twine. And a note. You read it first, noticing the small, neat handwriting. 

Sorry again about the noise. Figured I owed you a peace offering (and caffeine, for keeping you up). Hope this makes up for it. 

– Clark (and Krypto, who says ‘woof’)

So his name is Clark. Inside the box is a bag of single-origin coffee beans from a local roaster. You don’t even like coffee. But the whole thing is so… sweet. You can’t help but smile this time, to yourself.

Sweet gesture from such a shitty neighbor.

~~~ 

Your first day. Once you meet your new supervisor and get settled at your new desk, you don’t get much more interaction than that. Everyone seems extra busy today—or maybe it’s like this all the time. Someone’s barking out assignments from a conference room, and nearly everyone in the bullpen is furiously typing or frantically scribbling notes. You keep overhearing something about another Superman sighting in the sky last week. The strange, alien hero had emerged into the public eye a few years prior. Whoever he was, it was just one of Metropolis' many enigmas.

You put your headphones on, keep your head down, get to work editing your first headline. You hadn’t been wanting any extra attention brought to you or anything on your first day. Hadn’t even really expected outright friendliness from your new colleagues—this was Metropolis, after all. So the work flow and pace here seemed right up your alley. 

Someone came stumbling in late. Balancing a coffee, a scone, a briefcase, a stack of manila folders, his glasses slipping down his nose—

You gape. It’s your goddamn next door neighbor. 

It doesn’t take long for him to discover you that day, either. He approaches your desk, eyes glued to his laptop, and says without looking up, “Perry says to send all I have on the LexCorp piece to the new copy editor, which is—” He finally looks up, sees it’s you. Surprise lights his face, then delight. “It’s you!”

You stare at him over the edge of your computer monitor. “Unfortunately.”

He beams, unbothered. “Wow, small world. Neighbors and coworkers.”

“Guess so.” Just my luck.

He places his coffee mug on the table beside your keyboard. If he sees you glaring at it, he ignores it. “I apologize again about the noise yesterday.”

“Noises, plural,” you correct, bringing your gaze back to your computer screen. Pretending to type. Hoping he’ll take the hint.

He doesn’t. “Noises,” he affirms. “It’s just been a while since I’ve shared a wall with anyone. You won’t hear a peep from now on, promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“What’s your name?” he asks. You tell him, and he repeats it, smiling as though the name tasted like honey in his mouth. “Well, welcome to The Daily Planet. I’ve been told you have a reputation of being very, uh…”

“Cutthroat?” you guess. “Merciless?” It’s what your previous coworkers called you. You don't take bullshit when it comes to syntax and adhering to AP style.

“I was going to say meticulous, but good to know.”

“That, too.”

“I believe it.” When you simply nod and don’t reply, he adds, “Did you get the box I left?”

“Oh. Yeah, I did. Uh, thanks for that… You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Honestly, to you, it seems like the most. He really shouldn't have gotten you anything. You move your cursor around the screen, pretending to work. He sips his coffee, sets it down again, doesn’t leave. You scowl up at him, and he just smiles.

You bite. “Are you always this… cheery?” And overbearing?

At least he’s not half bad to look at. Wrinkled shirt collar and scone crumbs on the lapel and all. 

“No, I’d say I’m usually cheerier,” he says. As your glare intensifies, his softens. “Not all of us can be the mysterious, if-looks-could-kill type,.

“You should be grateful it hasn’t yet.” A small twitch at the corner of your mouth belies the venom in your words. He notices and it makes him smile, too. “Did you want anything else, or are you just here to waste more of my time?”

He watches you for a beat longer than necessary. And then clears his throat, looking at his laptop. “Right, yeah, the article. Want me to forward you the doc? Or do you want physical copies?”

“Forward. If you bring me anything printed, I will shred them out of spite.”

“Got it. Forwarding now.” 

~~~

The rest of your first day passes without much incident. A steady onslaught of articles and captions and grammar issues that need editing to keep you happily busy. You meet some other coworkers during your lunch break. You avoid some not-so-obvious staring from Clark Kent as you pass his desk on your way to make yourself another tea at the coffee station. You’re efficient, so you leave work on time, yet still before everyone else. 

When you finally get home after hitting the gym, going on a solo sushi date, a walk in the local park, you notice something else had been placed on your door mat. A small paper gift bag, and another note. Not this again. Inside the bag is a tin of loose leaf chamomile and a stainless infuser. The note reads:

Noticed you drink tea instead of coffee at work. I got this as a gift last Christmas but don’t care much for tea… Maybe it’d get better use from you? —C

That evening, while reading the latest book of your favorite series and sipping a cup of chamomile with your cat, Ember, curled on your lap, you think to yourself that maybe this Clark Kent really isn’t that bad.

 

~~~

After a few weeks, you come to the conclusion that Clark Kent has three habits that particularly irked you. 

First, he’s usually late. And some measure of disheveled. Which is really more of his problem than anyone else’s… but it becomes your problem when it means he was late submitting copy. Which means, in turn, you’re late to edit his work. And you hate turning things in late.

Second, though the copy he submits is typically brilliant, he often does not do any of his own editing. As in, run-on sentences, misplaced commas, even sometimes entire sections that are just basically op-eds. As though he had just word-vomited onto the page at the scene of the story and sent it without even doing a single pass himself. You frequently return his work with a myriad of emotionally detached edits and corrections… “Unclear.” “Redundant.” “Rewrite for basic logic.” “Cut. Adds nothing.” Sometimes just a question mark.

To his credit, Clark takes all your edits like a champ. He also doesn’t seem to mind the fact that you’re openly irked by his lack of first pass edits. In fact, he doesn’t seem to mind you in the slightest.

Which brings you to the third point. He tends to stare. At you. A lot. Usually without realizing it. And every time you catch it, you just glare back at him until he looks away, usually with a dimply little smile on his face.

Okay, maybe it isn’t a lot of staring. Maybe it’s only every once and a while. Like when you sit across the conference room from him. Or when you’re grabbing a tea refill at the coffee station.

Maybe you’ve only been aware of it because you’d been staring at him first.

But that’s beside the point.

On one sunny day, you’re eating lunch outside. You sometimes sat with Steve or Jimmy during your lunch breaks, but today, they were too busy bickering about who was going to cover a press conference with MPD this evening. So today, you buy your lunch from the little café attached to the building and sit by yourself outside in the courtyard, where you find a perfect little nook on a bench.

You’re turning the page in your book when a voice breaks your concentration. “I should have known you’d find my spot.”

Clark Kent. He smiles down at you, holding a couple of leftover containers. You squint up at him.

He moves in front of the sun, blocking it with his shadow for you. My hero, you think sarcastically.

“Your spot?” you intone.

He nods, his curls hanging loose on his forehead. “I like to sit in the sun during my breaks. It’s… healing.”

No wonder you never saw him at lunch with the others. Turns out, even Clark Kent liked being alone sometimes. 

“People like you shouldn’t need the sun,” you joke, deadpan. “You’re... sunny enough as is.”

You’d meant it to be backhanded, but he says, “Why, thank you.”

“You don’t understand. It’s blinding.”

At that, he holds a finger up and gestures for you to wait. He withdraws a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket. Before you can say anything, he places the sunglasses on your face.

“Better?” he asks.

A giggle emerges before you can stop it. You quickly mold your smile into a frown. “I’m not giving these back.”

“Keep ‘em. They look good on you.”

Warmth spreads to your cheeks. “Do you, uh, want to sit?” you offered, deflecting.

He nods, and you scoot over, giving him room on the bench. You go back to your own lunch but get distracted by the smell of maple syrup wafting from his meal.

“Did you bring… pancakes?” you ask him. You look over at his container. Yep, sure enough. Pancakes and eggs, with two links of sausage.

“I made too much for dinner last night.”

“Breakfast for dinner?”

“It’s so good.”

“That’s despicable.”

“It’s the best meal of the day. Why not have it for every meal?” he says around a bite. Then he holds a forkful out to you. “Want to try?”

You want to say no. But you take the bait. The pancake, albeit leftover, is divine. Clark watches your expression as you chew.

“You like it?”

“It’s… not bad.”

“It’s my ma’s recipe.”

“Oh, well, in that case.” With the smallest of smiles, you snatch his fork and steal another bite. He lets you.

“Well, what did you bring for lunch, then?” he asks you.

You gesture halfheartedly to your sad chicken caesar wrap. “I didn’t bring lunch.”

Clark eyes it woefully. “Do you… not cook?”

“No, I do.” You love cooking. “My stove is broken. And my oven.”

He tsks. “Ah. Yeah. Those standard issue appliances. I had to replace mine after I moved in, too.”

“I tried contacting our landlord, but…”

“I could try to fix them for you.”

You stare. Mostly in reverence at the mere offer. “I—no, that’s okay.”

“Let me at least try. I’m pretty handy.”

His eyes look so much like a puppy dog’s that you sigh and give in. “I’ll let you come over tonight to try,” you say, “but only if you submit your copy before three o’clock.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says dutifully.

“And you have to read through it on your own first. If I see another sentence splice, Kent, I swear to god…”

He nods placatingly. “You got it. I’ll come over after work sometime.”

~~~

After spending lunch together, you and Clark exchanged phone numbers. Just to coordinate a time for him to drop by to fix your kitchen appliances that evening. That’s all. 

He’d arrived at 6pm. Your cat, Ember, took one look at the stranger in her house, hissed dutifully, and ran to a hiding spot. Clark had just laughed and compared her to you, and you weren’t even offended.

He'd looked around, complimented your place even though you had barely started unpacking all your boxes. You’d showed him your broken stove and oven. He’d taken one look at it, claimed, “I can fix that,” and got to work.

And that’s where he’s been the past half hour. Crouched behind your stove, his hands full of wires, his brows furrowed in concentration. And he’s cursing. 

Well, not really cursing. More like muttering half-obscene nonsense under his breath as he attempts to reattach the wires, saying things like “what the hay” and “son of a gun.” And, on rare occasion, a “damn” would slip out.

Having him in your apartment is both disconcerting and soothing. You hadn’t had company over yet since you moved in, and you hardly expected your first guest would be the annoying next door neighbor. But here he is, fixing your appliances—not only for free, but seemingly just out of sheer kindness. 

He’d given you full permission to go off and do your own thing while he worked. So you’d curled up on the couch with a book. A book you’ve now long forgotten about, opting instead to watch him struggle in the kitchen. It’s far more entertaining.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you call out to him. 

“Yes. Well, I watched a YouTube video.”

“Oh, great, yeah, that totally makes you qualified to do this.” Your curiosity gets the best of you. You close your book and pad over to your kitchen, peering at him and his work. “I won’t be upset if you give up, you know, Kent.” You certainly had given up on it yourself.

“I can fix it,” he says back, determined. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You resist the urge to push them back up for him. 

“You better not electrocute yourself and die. I’ll have too much time on my hands at work without your grammar problems to fix all day.”

“My grammar isn’t that bad,” he waves you off.

“It’ll only get worse if you fry your brain trying to fix my stupid stove.”

“I’m not getting electrocuted. Trust me.”

He says it with such certainty that you halfway believe him. “Okay, but just so you know, I’m, like, five minutes away from ordering pizza delivery for dinner tonight instead of cooking.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

Eventually, he does fix the oven and stove. You don’t see it happen—you’d popped next door to his apartment to grab a toolbox he’d asked you for. You may have spent a few moments longer than necessary studying the inside of his apartment. It was… unexpected. The layout, the décor, the overall tidiness of it. More notably, the lack of a dog.

“Where’d your dog go?” you ask him when you return with the toolbox. Only to find that he no longer needed it. Seeing as he was currently using the stove to make a grilled cheese. “Oh damn.”

“I got it working,” he says in triumph. “I hope you don’t mind me using some of your ingredients.” He places buttered bread on one of your skillets, and it sizzles. So the stove is working.

“How did you…?” It was nowhere near in working order when you’d popped next door. Or maybe you’d been wrong.

He answers your previous question instead. “Oh, Krypto went back with my cousin. I was just fostering, remember?”

“You mean, dog sitting?”

“Wasn’t sure when she’d be getting back.”

Hmm. For someone so chatty all the time, he sure could be cryptic.

But it didn’t matter. All of your qualms and gripes and other misgivings about Clark Kent dissipate, even if momentarily, the moment you sink your teeth into the grilled cheese he made you. It’s melty, crispy, buttery, perfect. You want to tell him it’s the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had, but you’re not about to give him the satisfaction.

“What do you think?” he asks you, smiling to himself as he takes a bite.

“I’m thinking, maybe you’re good at at least one thing.”

He folds his arms across the top of your kitchen table. “I’m good at plenty of things.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

It’s how you two banter now. Easy, familiar. You two still barely know each other, but he knows you well enough now to understand that the small smirk that tugs on your mouth means you’re kidding. And he always smiles back, unabashed, unguarded. Like he actually enjoys your sharp edges. He seems unbothered by your sense of humor, and you like that about him.

“Hey, Kent.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the sandwich. And for the stove and oven. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me a thing, sunshine.”

Interesting nickname. Your cat chooses that moment to emerge from her hiding spot. She graces Clark with a single look of pure disdain before jumping onto your lap and curling up contentedly.

He looks at the both of you. “You know, I’m glad we met,” he says matter-of-factly, out of the blue.

You glance up at him across the table. The warmth in his expression catches you off guard. It’s disarming, in a sincere, boyish kind of way.

“I’m not opposed to you either, I guess,” you mutter.

“Wow, high praise.”

“You’ll survive.”

~~~ 

Things change between the two of you after that day. Not in big ways, but subtly, incrementally.

Like when one day, you catch him leaving his apartment at the exact same time you do, and you poke fun at him for finally leaving on time for work. And so you both head downstairs together, take the bus together, walk in to work together. And the next day, he does it again. And eventually, he starts leaving work around the same time as you, too.

You pretend to be annoyed by it. But then one morning, he’s running a few minutes behind, and you wait for him—even though it means you’ll be late yourself. When he finally emerges from his front door and spots you waiting for him by the elevator, he grins, pushes back his mop of freshly showered hair, and says, “I knew you liked leaving for work together.”

To which you respond, “Hurry up, or you’re going to make me regret waiting.”

He starts leaving you notes at work. Like cheeky comments on docs he submits for you to edit that say things like, “Go easy on me, sunshine,” or, “I know you’re going to tell me to delete this part, but I like it a lot, so can we leave it in pretty please?”

You roll your eyes at them every time, but you secretly look forward to reading them whenever he submits copy.

One day, you catch his eye and notice he’d been staring at you from his desk across the newsroom. He quickly averts his gaze, then sheepishly looks back up. Glances away again. 

You confront him during a mutual coffee/tea break. “You better stop staring at me like that,” you say as you stir your mug.

“Me? I wasn’t staring. I don’t stare.”

“You were. And you do.”

“Nah, I wasn’t staring. I just looked a couple of times.”

Even as he talks, he looks right at you. His sparkling eyes are irresistibly charming. Your skin grows hot wherever he glances, as if bathed by warm sunlight.

“Stop it. It’s distracting.”

“So you’re distracted by me?” he jeers. “Which part is the most distracting? Is it how handsome I am, or is it my charm?”

“More like complete lack of subtlety. And humility. And because your tie is uneven.”

“How observant of you,” he smirks.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You know, it’s fine by me if you don’t like me.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t.”

He sips his coffee and raises an eyebrow playfully. He knows your dry humor at his point. “Right, well, I was hoping you at least didn’t hate me.”

You don’t respond. You just tug his tie straight before walking off.

~~~

As the summer turns into fall and you continue to get more and more settled into life in Metropolis, the two of you start texting each other more frequently. It starts out as average neighborly texts…

You: the mailman put something in my box addressed to you again

You: i put it on your doormat

Clark: Thanks! :)

Or...

Clark: Heyyy I know it’s late but do you have like a half cup of milk I could steal?

You: sure

You: why

Clark: I poured cereal but I only had like a few drops of milk :(

You: why are you eating cereal at midnight

Clark: I was craving it

Clark: What’s a guy gotta do to eat cereal for dinner in peace around here? 🤣

You: your obsession with breakfast food never fails to baffle me

Clark: If you knew what was good, you’d never question my meal choices again 🤔

You: i have milk but youll have to be ok with it being oatmilk

Clark: …Okay never mind… I’ll just starve…

You: ????

Clark: You can keep your imposter milk but thanks anyway

You: dont be such a baby

Clark: I’d rather eat cereal with water

You: ok now thats just a crime

You: hold on im coming over with leftover lasagna for u

Clark: 😍

And sometimes, you and Clark would text each other during work, like during conference meetings...

You: Perry looks so pissed off rn

Clark: Haha he does… he just gave Jimmy a death stare just for breathing

You: no bc olsen did do that weird nose whistle thing again

Clark: That nose whistle haunts me…

You: i’m gonna record it next time and use it as my text tone for you

Clark: You’re sick

You: 😈

You: do you see how much perry’s sweating?!

Clark: It’s all the anger and rage. It’s gotta come out somehow.

You: i’m scared he’s gonna throw the clicker across the room like a grenade

You glance up at Clark across the room, and he meets your gaze. He mimics a small explosion with his hands and mouths, “Boom.” And that sets the both of you off in a burst of half-suppressed giggling in the middle of the meeting, that Clark tries to write off as coughing as you hide your smile behind your mug of tea.

~~~

On some days, things aren’t quite so lighthearted. Like on particularly busy days, or when the news is not so good. On days like those, you’re usually hunched over at your desk, headphones on, dark to the world for eight hours until you finally emerge from your own little pocket universe of copy editing, exhausted and drained. 

And Clark usually looks particularly beat on those types of days. More beat than any of the other reporters. Sometimes, he shows up extra late, or doesn’t even show up to the office at all. As curious as you are about his whereabouts, you don’t pry.

You begin to learn that Clark, as it turns out, is not always sunshine and rainbows, like you’d thought. 

It’s a breezy early fall evening when the two of you leave work together one day. Clark had been acting strangely sullen all day, even short-tempered. You’d seen him snap at the other reporters more than once. The copy he’d submitted was strangely terse, near to perfection in its grammar and syntax, almost too matter-of-fact. And he’d barely spoken to you at all, even on your mutual commute home.

“Alright,” you level with him on the bus. “What’s your problem, Kent?”

“What? Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“You don’t get to be the one acting like this. That’s my job. I take it very seriously.”

He barely cracks a smile but continues to stare gloomily out the bus window at the falling leaves. That’s when you know something serious is up with him. 

You aren’t sure what to do, what to say. You’re no good at things like this. You sit in silence beside him for a while. Then you opt for a casual lean, letting your shoulder press against his. Which feels kind of awkward at first, but you’re getting the strange urge to break the touch barrier between you and him.

It works. After a moment of leaning, he sighs, relaxes, leans in closer to you, still staring out the window. His shoulder is big and solid against your own.

He finally speaks: “Do you ever feel like you’re the only one who cares about something that really matters?”

“I—” you stammer, considering. “Maybe?”

“Like…” He ponders his words. The crease between his dark brows becomes more prominent. “Like yesterday, when there were lives at stake at the harbor, but all Perry wanted to push out for today’s news were stories about the fire being staged, or the political motives behind the rescue, and all the think pieces on who was to gain financially from it.” His fists clench in his lap. “It makes me so angry.”

Clark Kent, angry? Your mind reels, about multiple factors to his words. “You’re talking about Superman saving those people from the burning building at the harbor yesterday?”

He nodded curtly, his fists still in tight balls. You frown at them, wondering why he might be so upset about what had happened in the news with the mysterious humanoid alien superhero who often saved the city from various supernatural plights. 

“You’re right,” you agree simply. “It was shitty of Perry to even consider publishing that trash.” Taking a leap of faith, you place your hand atop one of his fists. Feel it soften somewhat beneath your palm. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt his hand, and it’s warm, big, slightly calloused.

“You… agree with me?”

You nod. “Usually I don’t, on principle, but this time, yeah." He cracks a small smile at that, which you mirror. "I think The Planet’s way out of line for publishing anything speculative. Half of the shit I edited today was based on mere, unfounded, opinion, not facts. I’ve never returned so many docs with so many edits.”

Slowly, but surely, like watching water begin to boil, Clark’s demeanor begins to change. “They don’t call you ‘The Guillotine’ for nothing, do they?” he remarks, breaking into a small, toothy smile that has your heart skipping.

Then you realize what he’d said. “They call me the what?”

Clark laughs and you nearly laugh too. He and you start going over what everyone’s nicknames for each other are at the paper. And by the end of your commute home, by some means, you and Clark had started to hold hands.

~~~

One Saturday night, you’re slipping on your pajamas when you get a text:

Clark: WYD tonight?! It’s a full moon

You’d just returned from a little night on the town with some new girlfriends you’d made. Some from work, like Lois Lane and Lane Cat Grant, and some new friends you’d met mutually. You hadn’t expected to have as much fun as you had, but you’re pretty tired now. And still tipsy.

Not too tired to be curious about Clark, though. You wonder why the moon phase matters.

You: abt to go to bed

You: are you abt to turn into a werewolf or something

He replies relatively quickly:

Clark: Nah, I mean, at least I don’t think so. Not as far as I’m aware, LOL

Clark: Come up to the roof before you sleep! You won’t regret it 😇

So you do. The fastest way to access the roof from your apartment is by means of the fire escape, a rickety, rusty contraption built on the outside of your balcony. You brave the danger and emerge onto the roof.

Sure enough, the night sky is blanketed in blue light from a full, yellow moon. Basking in the muted light on the edge of the roof is Clark. He looks ethereal, freshly shaven, wearing sweats and a hoodie, his eyes twinkling as he spots you. You think to yourself he’s never looked better. 

You join him at the roof’s edge. He smiles as you approach, that cute, awkward, toothy, dimply smile. 

“Thanks for joining me, sunshine,” he says.

You nod, folding your arms. He;s been calling you that goofy nickname for a while, now. You don’t hate it. “Mhmm. You’re lucky I even responded.”

“Busy, were you?”

“Earlier I was. You know Cat and Lois from work?” When he nods, you say, “We went out barhopping.”

Clark reared. “You went out with Cat and Lois?”

“Yeah. We’re friends. Don’t act so surprised I have friends, Kent.”

“Yeah, but no offense, but you three are like polar opposites.”

You snort. “If there's three of us, we can't be polar opposites. That's not how magnetic poles work."

"Oh my gosh, and you call me a dork?" he laughs with you, rustling your hair. "Well... was it fun?"

"It was."

"I didn't take you for a going-out type of girl."

"Why? And what's wrong with that?" You mock-glare at him.

He puts his hands up, mock-defensively. "I just mean. You should invite me next time. Sounds like fun."

You can't imagine Clark Kent going out dancing. Or maybe, yes, you could. "Your male energy would ruin my vibe."

He shrugs. "Fair enough. Speaking of your vibe,” he says, reaching behind him to pull out two travel mugs. “Hot cocoas.”

“My vibe is hot cocoa?”

“No, your vibe is probably more, like, a glass of dry red wine with a side of disdain. But all I had was hot cocoa.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you graciously accept. “Thanks, Kent.”

You don’t expect it, but you end up spending hours up there on the roof with Clark that night. Talking about everything under the sun—or, rather, the moon. The books you’re reading, the movies he likes. Your family, his family. Your career, his career. It’s the most open you’ve ever found yourself with him. And it’s the most open he’s ever been with you. 

Clark is in the middle of telling you about Kansas corn—a topic that you would have expected to be boring (and did in fact joke about this to him) but is turning out to be rather intriguing—when a flash in the sky catches your eye.

“A shooting star!” you explain, grasping for his hand. You both watch the meteor trail across the sky before it explodes in an array of fiery colors. “Wow.”

Clark stares at you. “That might be the most excited I’ve ever seen you get.”

“I get excited,” you defend yourself. 

“Never like that, though.” He grins. “It suits you.”

You both become aware at the same time that he’s still holding your hand. Or maybe it’s that you’re still holding his. In any case, your hand is grasped in his, and you aren’t pulling away. He’s still smiling at you. If it were anyone else, you would have already pulled away. But you're frozen.

“Dance with me, sunshine,” Clark says. It catches you off-guard, which is the only reason why you let him pull you by the hands into the middle of the rooftop area.

Your scowl, though originating more out of alarm and discomfort than out of dislike, does not deter him. He plants one of your hands on his shoulder, places one of his own on your lower back, and begins to rock back and forth.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“This is so fun,” he counters.

“It’s so cheesy.”

“So what?” He looks up at the moon. “So is the moon. The Big Cheese and all. Embrace it, sunshine.”

“There’s not even any music.”

You regret saying it instantly when he begins humming a horribly out-of-tune rendition of Harvest Moon. You groan and give him shit for it. He loves it. You love it too.

“I’m no good at this,” you tell him after a while, when the dancing becomes less goofy and more serious, when the giggles dissipate into intimate silence, when he begins to draw your body incrementally closer to his. 

“You’re just fine at it,” he says, leading you into a twirl that makes you full-on smile. But the smile fades again as you look into his eyes.

“I don’t mean the dancing,” you say, in almost a whisper. “I mean… I just mean…”

He doesn’t prod you to answer, just squeezes your hand, waits patiently. You sigh and try again.

“You’re just really good, Clark.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a good person, and—and I know I’m not a bad person, I just—you and me, we’re so different. You always see the good in people, and in life, and… it’s just a lot harder for me.”

He peers down at you, his expression unbelievably soft. And he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I think you’re good, too. And lovely. I don’t think you see yourself the way I see you.”

You can feel yourself tense up. “You have a goodness to you that I don’t have, Clark.”

“Okay, well, what if I don’t want to be good?” he responds with a wry smirk. There’s a hidden meaning, a roguish suggestion in his words that makes your stomach flip in a good way.

You smirk back and gently shove his shoulder. “You couldn’t stop it if you tried.” You sigh. “I just… I don’t know how to do this with someone like you.”

“What do you mean?” he asks softly.

“I just… ruin things. Or I freeze. Or I leave.”

He ponders this. “Those aren’t such bad things.”

“What?!” Those are three pretty bad things. 

“I’m pretty patient,” he boasts. “I’ll happily wait for you until you un-freeze. And if you run away, I’m pretty fast, so I’ll just chase you.”

You smile, shaking your head. “This isn’t me joking, Kent.”

Clark steps closer, so close that you can smell his woodsy, soapy scent, can feel the warmth radiating from his chest. “I’m not joking either, sunshine,” he murmurs.

You can’t help but grab his shirt, then, and lean up into him, pressing your lips to his.

Just a peck.

Then you step away, gauging his reaction.

He blinks in surprise, his handsome mouth fallen open, and then something possesses him and he kisses you back, harder. He glides his hands from your shoulders to your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. His mouth is warmth and softness and hardness all combined.

You can feel him smile through the kiss, and you pull away, your heart swelling at the sight of his dimples, the crinkles of his eyes. His blue eyes are exceedingly bright in the moonlight. You wonder if your own eyes are as bright as his.

Breathless, he says, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you yelled at me about the tennis ball.”

“This is a bad idea,” you say, but your shaky breath and exhilarated smile bely this attempt at indifference.

Clark kisses you again, kisses both corners of your mouth. “Probably. But you’re the one who kissed me first.”

“You’re going to be even more annoying now,” you comment as his lips trail down your cheek to the edge of your jaw.

You can hear the sound of contentment he makes as he smiles into your neck, breathes you in. “Definitely.”

As he kisses that place just under your ear, a single chill runs down your spine, curling your toes in the best way. Clark brings his hands up your back and to either side of your face. He beams at you, his own personal sun, while he caresses your cheeks with both his thumbs. Smoothing away all your sharp edges with his warm hands. 

˖ ⟡˚.⋆✧˖ ⟡˚.⋆✧˖ ⟡˚.⋆✧

click for chapter 2 (will be coming out on Saturday, August 9th at 1PM PST!)

A/N: Helloooo! Eeee I'm kicking my feet and giggling! I really hope you like this fic!! I will be publishing each chapter on saturdays! So chapter 2 (smuttyyyyy!) will be published next Saturday, August 9th at 1pm PST -- get hypeeeeed!!!!!

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about me || masterlist | AO3 || ask me anything! Superman taglist will be linked here Disclaimers: I do not claim to own Superman, DC, or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape. Do not copy, reproduce, or claim my work as your own on Tumblr, AO3, Wattpad, or any other website. You do not have permission to use my works in AI generators or in any way related to artificial intelligence. You may not use my work to sell or pass off as your own creation. 

[mcu-binge]

Blind Date || Clark Kent x Reader ||

Pairing : Clark Kent x Reader Word count : ~1800

Summary : Your friend Jimmy sets you up on a blind date with one of his coworker.

Tags/warnings : dorky!clark, shy!Clark, shy!reader, fluff, blind date.

A/N : the gif is him celebrating the next day at work

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

I’m going to kill Jimmy.

Not literally, obviously. But if this date is a disaster if this man turns out to be some weird crypto bro or, worse, a guy who “dabbles in stand-up comedy” I’m going to delete Jimmy Olsen from my phone and pretend I never knew him.

I shift nervously on my heels, standing in front of the cozy Metropolis café Jimmy picked out. It’s early evening, warm enough for just a cardigan, and the sky is blushing with the last bit of sun. My palms are damp. I swipe them discreetly down my jeans.

“He’s tall,” Jimmy had said. “A little awkward, but very, very nice.”

That was it. No photo. No last name. Just… “very nice.” What does that even mean?

“Uh—excuse me,” a deep voice says.

I turn.

“Are you… here for the uh… blind date?”

And yeah. He’s tall. He’s also—God—he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt. With glasses that are kind of fogged. His dark hair is a little messy, like he tried to comb it and gave up halfway. He’s handsome, but in that earnest, "volunteers at the library and brings his own thermos" kind of way.

And he’s nervous. I can tell because his smile wobbles when I don’t answer right away. I want to answer my mouth won’t make a sound so I nod.

“I’m Clark,” he adds quickly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Clark Kent. Jimmy set this up, I think? Unless you’re also here for a completely different blind date, in which case I’m really sorry and I’ll go sit in a corner and rethink my life choices.”

I blink. Then laugh soft and surprised.

“No, no, I’m—uh—Jimmy’s friend, too. I’m the… date. I mean, your date.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

He chuckles, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Okay. That’s a relief. Should we… go inside?”

We do. The hostess leads us to a small booth in the back, dimly lit, quiet. I’m already regretting the cardigan; I’m overheating from nerves alone. He tries to slide into the booth but bumps the edge with his knee hard enough to wince and shake the table dramatically.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine. Just doing my best not to fall apart physically in front of a beautiful woman. You know. Standard first date goals.”

“Clark,” I say, laughing, “are you sure you’re ok that looked really bad.”

“I’ll be fine.” He assures with a smile. “Trying to be a man about it.” I blush and look down at my menu. There’s an awkward beat. Then he clears his throat. “So. Blind dates.”

I smile. “The stuff of romantic comedies. Or horror movies.”

He laughs, like a real belly-laugh that makes him look away, embarrassed.

“You’re right. It’s kind of absurd when you think about it. Two strangers trusting their mutual friend enough to risk a night of small talk and possibly food poisoning.”

I nod. “Exactly. And Jimmy gave me zero details. Just told me you’re tall and nice.”

He winces. “That’s… not inaccurate. He told me you were kind. And pretty. And that you liked books.”

My face flushes. I glance at the table.

“Well, at least he didn’t lie,” Clark adds softly, fiddling with the corner of his napkin.

I look up and see his cheeks are pink.

After the food arrives, some kind of fancy grilled cheese and tomato soup I barely remember ordering. The conversation starts to loosen.

It’s Clark who cracks it open.

“So… books.” He tilts his head a little. “Jimmy said you liked them, but he didn’t say what kind. And I—I’m not great at this part, so I’m just gonna throw myself under the bus and admit I still have The Hobbit and The Secret Garden on my bookshelf.”

I laugh around my spoon. “That’s adorable.”

“I mean, I also read newspapers,” he adds quickly, like that redeems him. “But I guess I like stories that feel… comforting. Small, even when the worlds are big.”

I nod slowly. “That’s exactly it. I reread Jane Eyre almost every winter. There’s just something about the quiet resilience in that book. It’s not flashy, it’s not loud—it’s just steady.”

Clark’s eyes light up, like I just said the secret password. “Yes. That’s the word. Steady. Like, you can feel the weight of it in the background.”

“And it makes you feel less alone,” I murmur.

He’s quiet for a beat, then smiles. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

We eat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then he asks, “What else are you into? Besides dark Victorian heroines and hot cheese sandwiches?”

I laugh again softly, surprised. “Okay, that was smooth.”

“I’m trying,” he says bashfully. “I googled ‘how to be charming on a date’ an hour before this.”

“Did it tell you to admit that?”

“No, I think that part was under the ‘avoid at all costs’ section.”

I grin, resting my chin in my hand. “Alright. Interests. Let’s get it out of the way. I love old movies, but only the dramatic, overly long kind. Black-and-white, piano swelling, someone’s always dying of heartbreak.”

He groans like I’ve hit a nerve. “Yes! Finally, someone who gets it. Everyone always tells me I’m a grandpa for liking Casablanca.”

“Clark,” I deadpan, “I own the Criterion edition.”

He leans back like I’ve just revealed I’m royalty. “Okay, I’m impressed. Do you… cry at the end of it too?”

“I cry at the beginning of it.”

“I cry when the plane takes off.”

“I cry when the piano starts.”

“I cry when Rick doesn’t cry.”

We’re both laughing now full, unguarded laughter and I swear the rest of the room melts away. Something warm settles in my chest. Like I’m not faking it. Like I’m not waiting for this date to be over. Like maybe Jimmy actually knew what he was doing.

“What about music?” I ask once we catch our breath. “Please don’t say you’re a secret DJ.”

Clark grimaces. “Do people actually say that?”

“More than you’d think.”

“No, I’m more of a… vinyl guy.”

“Vinyl guy,” I repeat, stunned. “That’s very attractive.”

“It is?” His eyes go wide behind his fogged glasses. “I mean. Yeah. Obviously. Vinyl is the sexiest of all musical formats.”

“That’s not what I said.” I tease.

“But you implied it.” He adds with a cocky smirk. “I have a whole crate I’ve been dragging with me since college. Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, some Springsteen, a little Ella Fitzgerald, The Mighty Crabjoys. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” I echo. “Clark, that’s like… swoon-worthy except maybe the last one.”

He turns bright red. Like, blush to the roots of his hair red.

“I—uh—thanks,” he says, suddenly very interested in his soup again. “I don’t know. I guess I just like things that feel… old but alive.”

That line hits me in the gut.

“Me too,” I whisper. “I was so nervous I’d say something dumb,” I admit, smiling behind my glass of water. “Or that you’d be like, aggressively normal. Like… the kind of guy who ranks chicken nuggets on a spreadsheet.”

Clark snorts into his drink. “I actually do use spreadsheets. But mostly for… grocery lists. Or budget stuff.”

“Groceries?”

He nods solemnly. “I once had a breakdown in the produce aisle over the price of strawberries.”

I’m giggling now.

It’s slow. It’s dorky. It’s incredibly sweet.

And by the time we’re sharing dessert, some ridiculous molten lava cake neither of us technically ordered. I realize I don’t want the night to end.

“Jimmy’s going to gloat,” I murmur, licking a bit of chocolate from my spoon.

Clark hums in agreement. “He’s going to be unbearable.”

“I still might kill him.”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

We both smile. And his hand, tentative and warm, brushes the back of mine on the table.

I think, this could be something. Maybe even something very, very nice.

We leave the café with warm bellies and dessert still lingering on our lips. The air has cooled just enough to make me tug my cardigan closer. Clark immediately shrugs off his jacket.

“Oh, no…it’s fine,” I say, waving him off.

He holds it out anyway. “Please. You’ll make me feel useful.”

I hesitate, then slide my arms into it. It smells like laundry detergent and something warm and simple. Maybe cedar.

“So what’s a guilty pleasure?” I ask.

“I can retell you any Star Wars movie verbatim.” He admits with his head down.

“Every single one?” I ask in horror and awe.

“Yeah, they’re my favorites, have you seen them?”

“Can’t say I have but I’ve heard good things.”

“They’re amazing we definitely have you sit you down for them. Maybe a marathon, I know the perfect order to watch them in,” he geeked out making me smile.

“We definitely have to,” I say and my cheeks feel like they’re burning up.

The street is quiet, lit by flickering lampposts and the occasional window glow. Clark walks beside me, a respectful distance away, but close enough that our arms brush now and then. Every time they do, I swear he stops breathing for half a second.

“So,” I say, casting him a glance. “Did tonight meet your spreadsheet expectations?”

He grins. “Surpassed them. I might need to make a new column just for… ‘unexpectedly wonderful.’”

I snort. “Wow. That’s dangerously corny.”

“I warned you,” he shrugs. “Tall, awkward, but very, very nice.”

“Jimmy actually undersold it,” I say before I can think better of it.

Clark’s steps falter. “Wait—really?”

I nod, hugging myself a little tighter. “You’re… different. In a good way. Like, if someone made a list of all the things I didn’t realize I wanted, and then stuck them in a black T-shirt and glasses.”

He goes quiet. Then, softly: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

We stop at the corner where my street begins. My building is just a few doors down. I can see the front light glowing over the stoop.

“Well,” I say, suddenly shy again. “This is me.”

He nods. “Right.”

Neither of us moves.

“I had a really nice time,” I offer.

“Me too.”

More silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that feels like maybe something important is happening and you don’t want to rush it. I glance up at him. His eyes are gentle behind his glasses, and his jaw ticks just slightly, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops. “Would it be okay if I kissed you goodnight?”

My heart thumps once, hard.

I nod.

He takes one tiny step closer. Reaches up like he’s not sure what to do with his hands, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm against my skin.

Then ever so softly, hesitantly he leans in. The kiss is sweet. Careful. A little unsure, but real. Not practiced. Not showy. Just honest. Like him. When we part, we’re both smiling.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, “when can I see you again?”

“How about tomorrow?” I say, bold before I can second-guess it. “We can discuss the strawberry budget crisis or you can recite the first star wars movie.”

His eyes crinkle with delight. “It’s a date.”

I start up the steps, still wrapped in his jacket, then pause halfway.

“Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

He blushes so hard I can see it from ten feet away.

“I really like you too.”

I laugh, then disappear inside.

And I swear, I swear, I hear him whisper a very breathless, very dorky “Yes!” behind me.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟏𝟎]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.3k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, light mentions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. meeting your first love again sure gets awkward!!! also first consecutive turnfire update in who knows how long lol, yippee!! reblogs/interactions highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗡'𝗧 𝗣𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗠𝗬 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗘

Kinich doesn’t win the Pilgrimage, and at first, you’re relieved.

It leaves him safe from the Nightwarden Wars, at least for now. It’s one less sleepless night for you, as selfish as that line of thinking might be. 

Kachina makes it, and though you’ve only interacted with her once, it makes you worried. Being born and raised in the nation of Pyro, you’re fully aware of the expectations for those with Ancient Names—participating in the Wars would be an honor for any of those warriors. But she is still a child nonetheless, and that thought leaves you wishing to take her place.

Truthfully, you hadn’t really paid attention to the group stage, operating on the assumption that Kinich would make it through, and still reeling from your prior interaction. His friends had caught up to him at the end of your last conversation, calling him away and leaving everything rather unfinished.

But really, you’d been grateful for their intervention. Even now, you’re still not sure what you would’ve said to him.

To me, you’re not just anyone. You never could be.

His words continue to echo in your mind, a memory you just can’t shake. You don’t know what to make of them, and it only makes you spiral further.

Luckily, the individual stage had been exciting enough to keep your mind away from the confusion and despair. 

There’s a certain exhilaration in observing Natlan’s best warriors. There’s no better way to learn than to watch them, and you know many others feel the same—it’s one of the reasons the Pilgrimage is so popular.

But Kinich enters his first match, and all of your previous joy instantly dissipates with the wind.

His opponent is good, that much is true, but they’re not better than him, not by a long shot. And yet, Kinich is losing.

He’s making mistakes that he never would’ve made, even back when he was younger. His stance is unsteady. Every swing is off-balance. At certain points, it seems like he can hardly lift his claymore at all.

Your eyes narrow, trying to zero in on whatever might be hindering him to this extent, and yet you just can’t put your finger on it. You’re too far away, and the roaring crowd is ringing in your ears.

You wince as he takes a final hit, hitting the ground with an audible thud.

So he loses. And then he loses again. And again.

And every time, you can’t help but notice that his eyes flicker to the audience. Searching, maybe.

It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense, you think as you make your way out of the Stadium, bumping shoulders with other audience members. They’re still excited, the electricity of battle neverending in their veins.

Kinich is strong. That has never changed, from the moment you met him until the moment you left him. He’s capable of much more than he showed today. 

But why would he hold back?

There’s only one way to find out.

Briefly, a recognizable shock of white hair stands out from the crowd, and before you can stop yourself, you’re pushing through the throng of people, getting jostled around before you just manage to grab Mualani by the shoulder. Her eyes widen as she turns, surprised that you would approach her.

“Oh, hi!”

You nod, breathless. “Sorry, have you seen Kinich?”

She doesn’t seem upset that you’d stopped her to ask about him. Instead, she presses a finger to her lips, thoughtful. 

“Hm, last I saw him he was heading out of the Stadium. Not sure where he was planning on going, sorry!”

Heading out of the Stadium.

There’s any number of places that he could go, but you doubt he’s gone far, at least for now.

“Thanks,” you tell Mualani, and she smiles. 

“You’re welcome.” Her lip snags her teeth, and she briefly glances around before continuing, “I think he’d be happy to see you right now.”

It makes you want to laugh. She’s probably just trying to make you feel better about the previous awkwardness—he hadn’t even been happy to see you the first time. If anything, you probably look hopelessly desperate to be searching for him right now. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel hopeful at her words, like maybe she knows something that you don’t.

You smile back. “Let’s hope so.”

/

Arms stretched high above your head, you realize you feel far more comfortable outside the Stadium than you do in the bustling crowds. The Pilgrimage is exciting for sure, and certain people might thrive in that energetic environment, but you tend to find the whole affair slightly draining.

I’ll take a long trip after this, you think. Maybe I’ll take a few commissions on the way.

Sparse trees dot the shallow stream, foliage still full-bodied at this time of year. You take your time peering up at each one, half-expecting Kinich to be hiding in one of them. It was a habit of his back when you were younger, rooted in the fact that he just couldn’t resist grappling everywhere he went.

You still remember the miniscule details about him, even if you don’t completely recognize the new man he’s become. 

A good distance ahead, a group of Hydro Slimes have assembled on the sand. You frown; they’re not particularly dangerous, at least for someone like you, but there’s too many people at the Stadium today to risk leaving them be. If they were caught unaware, someone could get hurt.

You dispense of them with relative ease—after all, wielding your Pyro Vision has become like second nature to you now. You’re adept with a bow and arrow now, too, and you certainly feel confident enough to hold your own. 

You only wish Kinich could see that.

You clear out one group, and then another, and by third you realize that you still haven’t seen a single sign of your friend.

“Where is this guy?” you mumble to yourself, brushing your clothes off. The sun is growing hotter with each passing second, and you vaguely consider going home and leaving your search incomplete. If Kinich doesn’t want you to find him, he’ll probably stay hidden.

A voice suddenly rings out from above. “Looking for me?”

Your heart jumps in surprise, and the gasp that you suck in is stuttering and uneven—it makes you cough wetly, patting desperately at your chest. As you stumble, a stray stone catches on your foot, sending you tumbling into the stream.

Kinich leaps down from the tree he was sitting in, hitting the ground running as he makes his way over to you. The water that he kicks up stings at your eyes, but you can’t seem to focus on that over the squeeze of your lungs.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling you to your feet with eyes full of concern. A contrast to the cool water, his fingers are warm as they slot with yours.

You’re fine. It wasn’t that hard of a fall, you note as you stretch each of your limbs. 

But you really couldn’t be any more embarrassed if you tried. All your clothes are soaked through, and your scraped palms are blooming with crimson. You probably look like a mess.

“I’m fine,” you say, shoving him away gently. He looks unconvinced, pulling a small towel from his pocket.

“The river did more of a number on you than those slimes did.”

Carefully, he presses the towel to your face, wiping off your cheeks and forehead first. It’s an unexpected act; you stiffen up completely, and suddenly, staring at your feet seems much more appealing.

“You were just watching?” you mumble.

Although the towel is rather rough, he’s handling it so gently over your skin that you can barely feel it at all.

Kinich shrugs. “Why not? You’re strong, you had it handled.”

A flutter like a flock of birds takes off in your chest, and you have to force yourself to keep still while he finishes drying you off. As he tucks the towel back into his pocket, you take the moment to look at him again.

Truthfully, you’d always found him handsome. But he’s grown even further into his features now, to the extent that staring at him for more than a few seconds leaves you feeling flustered. You’re just about to look away when he captures your face in his grip.

With both hands, he thumbs over your chin, tilting your head up slightly so he can look into your reddening eyes. The proximity makes your skin warm, too pleasant to be normal.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe, words shaking with every syllable. Kinich hums, turning your face again so his gaze can sweep over every inch.

“Just checking,” he murmurs in reply.

His touch is so soft and grazing that you almost forget the reason you were searching for him in the first place. Shaking your head has Kinich releasing you from his grasp, stepping neatly away from you.

“I was looking for you,” you splutter, staring down at your reflection in the water. 

A half-smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Looking for me? Why?”

Mualani was right; he’s happy that you sought him out. But it doesn’t make things any clearer. If he wanted to see you, why did he pretend like he didn’t know you? Why does he act so hot-and-cold?

You start with the question that had motivated your trip here.

“What happened out there?” you probe. “At the Pilgrimage?”

It’s a touchy subject. Under your gaze, Kinich’s reflection shifts, his expression slowly hardening.

“I lost. It happens,” he replies, shrugging.

With a wince, he settles against the trunk of the tree nearby, fingers absentmindedly grasping at the grass. The action makes you frown as you sit down next to him. “You’re injured, aren’t you?” you accuse, eyes narrowed. He looks surprised at your question, and you scoff. “Anyone who has seen you fight before could tell you weren’t at your best.”

His eyes narrow as he stares down at the ground, like he’s thinking deeply about his response.

Then, without a word, he pulls up his right pant leg.

His entire ankle is bruised and swollen, and it looks fresh; you hiss in a breath at the sight. With a wound that severe, you’re surprised he can walk at all. After a moment, Kinich readjusts his clothes, hiding the injury again.

You sigh. It must’ve happened during the group competition while you weren’t watching.

“It’s no big deal,” he says quickly, tone laced with false nonchalance. “My heart wasn’t in it.”

His answer makes your expression sour. It doesn’t sound like him at all—he’s likely the most passionate person you know, despite the indifference in his disposition. You’re not sure why he’s acting like someone he’s not, especially in front of you. 

“I don’t believe that,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “You don’t do things that you don’t care about.”

You regret it as soon as you say it. It’s a deeply personal thing to say to someone you haven’t truly known in years. Even now, you’re still struggling to differentiate between the Kinich from then and the Kinich of now.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself, suddenly self-conscious, “I just meant—“

“You’re right,” he interrupts. He’s pulling up the grass now, uprooting a handful of blades and letting them go in the wind. “I was…distracted.”

The spark of hope that flares in your chest seems premature. Any number of things could’ve been on his mind, but you prefer to think it was your presence that had made the difference.

That feeling slowly morphs into irritation, because he’d gotten injured in the process. 

“You should be more careful, before you seriously hurt yourself or someone else.”

It comes out more acidic than you intended. You sound so bitter that you’re sure Kinich will take offense, but he merely shakes his head.

“Sorry. That just…wasn’t how I imagined our reunion to go.”

You can’t help the question that rushes to the tip of your tongue.

How did you imagine it, then? Did you think about it every day the way I did?

You swallow down your impatience, and instead you mumble an ‘it’s okay’. It’s not, nothing really is, not when you feel this uneasy next to the only person who has ever made you feel whole again.

The skin of your knee is slightly roughened from your fall, so you stroke at it inattentively, trying to find something to do with your fidgeting hands. Kinich catches the action out of the corner of his eye, frowning.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can bandage it for you.”

The childish thought makes you chuckle. Back when you still lived together, he was so strict about bandaging all your wounds, large and small. Truthfully, you were always better at it, but you preferred to placate him.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Kin. You can stop treating me like one.”

When you turn your head, still giggling, the stare that meets yours is wordlessly meaningful. Kinich blinks, long lashes fluttering a mere few inches from yours. 

“Neither am I.”

You swallow thickly. “Right.”

The revelation leaves you overwhelmingly aware of your proximity, of the way your fingertips are brushing at your sides, of the way your gaze is drawn to his lips. You shut your eyes preemptively, trying not to make your thoughts too obvious.

You’d be lying if you said you’d never had a romantic thought about Kinich—your previous kiss made that much relatively obvious. But you don’t think the best time to pursue something is the day after meeting him again.

Activating your Pyro Vision, warmth soaks into your wounded knee, the small cuts slowly closing until the skin is smoothed over again. Kinich looks on, surprised. You take pride in that.

“Like I said,” you sigh, “I’m not a kid anymore.”

He doesn’t fight you as you tug at the right leg of his pants, exposing his purpling ankle to the fresh air once again. Even when you place your hand gently over his injury, he doesn’t speak. 

So you heal him. And he lets you.

At the first brush of heat, Kinich’s eyes flutter shut, head falling back to rest against the tree. He looks at peace for once. It makes you deceptively happy, even if only for a moment.

His injury is more severe, so it takes a little longer, but you relish in the silence. It’s just you and him again, like old times. The birds chirp and the leaves whistle in the wind. You can almost see the river cutting through the forest next to that small house at the foot of the mountain.

Kinich hums in content. It makes you smile.

After a few more minutes of quiet, you think of the bags under his eyes again. Even now, he looks tired, like something is draining him.

“Are you worried about the Abyss?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Eyes flying open, he flinches like you’ve just delivered an electric shock. 

“What?”

You hadn’t expected such a reaction. After all, it would only be natural for him to worry about his friend going to the Wars, knowing how arduous it could be. You tilt your head at him, frowning.

“I mean, Kachina is strong. But she’s young. It makes me a little worried about her. The Wars and the Abyss are no joke.”

Anyone born and raised in Natlan would know the dangers and the constant fight between your people and the Abyss. The attacks only grow more and more frequent by the year, which only makes the Wars more important.

Kinich deflates. “Oh, Kachina. She’ll be okay, I’m sure. I know she’s been training really hard.”

Your frown deepens. 

If his reaction wasn’t about Kachina, what was it about?

“You’ve been acting weird,” you say, brows furrowing. “Is something the matter?”

Tension builds in every inch of Kinich’s body. He can’t meet your eyes—he’s being avoidant again. 

In lieu of a response, he pushes himself to his feet, brushing off his pants. At the very least, he can stand with ease; clearly, his injury isn’t bothering him anymore.

“Nothing at all.”

His voice wavers. You latch onto it immediately, because you’re the only one who would.

“You’re lying. What’s going on?”

His back stiffens, hands tightening until they’re white-knuckled again. Not another word leaves his lips.

Your heart feels like it’s being crushed.

It’s like every time you try to dig a little deeper, he shuts down. Like he’s allowing you to be near him, but only at arm’s length. 

“Alright,” you say, rising to your feet. Kinich glances back to watch you. You find that you don’t particularly care about that, at least not at the moment. “I’ll head out on my own then. Good luck with everything.”

You’re angry, and it shows in your tone no matter how much you try to mask it.

He’s running from something. He was back then, and he is now. You just don’t know what else you can say to make him see that. 

Maybe you were right to leave the first time. Maybe you should’ve stayed gone.

Something icy coils in your chest, leaving your heart cold.

The wind shifts. 

It’s that same feeling again, a flutter against your skin, a warmth like returning home after years and years.

Kinich calls your name, the yearning evident in a word said after so long. You’ve never heard his voice so soft and hesitant.

It feels like yesterday all over again. You wonder when this cycle will end for both of you—endlessly chasing each other and never quite meeting in the middle. Then, you wonder if you’d even want to stop chasing after him.

You pause mid-step. He swallows audibly. 

“If I told you that there are things I can’t tell you right now, would you trust me?”

Graying clouds fall over the sun, snuffing out the daylight above. The vulnerability lacing every word of his plea sobers you.

Things he can’t tell me right now?

There’s always been things Kinich couldn’t tell you, or maybe things he just didn’t want to tell you, but it’s never been like this. It’s like there’s physical pain in the way he holds back, unable to reach you.

Is he keeping me away from him? Or is he keeping himself away from me?

Your brain hurts, trying to make sense of the dissonance these different versions of him have created in your head, mixing and swirling and overlapping until you can’t tell one from the other.

But there’s the ones that you will always remember.

The Kinich who called out to you, ruined flower in hand. The Kinich who caught you and pulled you over the cliff. The Kinich who held you when you cried and quietly nursed you back to health. The Kinich who kissed you, tears dissipating on your tongue.

The one you fell in love with over and over and over again.

You’re not sure if the man standing in front of you is that same Kinich. Evidently, he doesn’t plan on telling you anything, divulging the details of his past that lead him to today’s secrecy. 

You’ve been burned before. Trusting someone so blindly always leads to regret. 

But he’s still Kinich, your heart cries out in answer. It’s practically the only thing you know about him at this point.

And despite yourself, you cling to those memories.

You lift your head to meet his gaze head-on, and his eyes glint in the light. For the first time in years, you feel like you’re seeing the real him. 

It’s what you’ve always known.

For you, there’s no such thing as regret when it comes to him. So, there’s no other answer except:

“I would.”

[demonlorddiva]

Things the Obey Me! Brothers would post on their instagram stories (but I’m realistic)

Drinking wine and feeling fun and flirty and funny were being silly tonight ✨

Lucifer

Upcoming rad events ie: sporting events, shows, pop ups, all the things

Anything happening with rad. If there’s construction, closed off areas, closures everyone who goes to school knows to follow him for the up to date news

If he posts videos he DEF has a millennial pause before speaking I’m so sorry HAHA and he hates when you bring it up 

He does have a private story. Diavolo told him to create one so Lucifer could post more personal things without showing the whole world

And of course you are added

Those posts are mostly funny pictures of his brothers, or the messes he created.

Posts you all the time too. You never notice when he’s doing it till you look at his story later, he knows your best angles without even trying ✨

Mammon

Lets be real it’s either flexing or trying to convince his followers to get in on a dropshipping scheme LMAOOOOO

THIRST TRAPS

He’s just feeling himself

God forbid a demon wants to catch a vibe 🙄✋

Post you a LOT

Wants other demons to know that he’s with you all the time, and knows your best angles better than anybody else

Be it your cute outfit you posed for, or him filming you giving your hot take on the latest trend, he STAYS keeping you on his story

Levi

Mainly flexing his high scores. Gotta let the people know who’s on top 💪

If he’s really into a certain anime he will post his deep dive perspectives and ships about it for sure

If it’s irl pics he never wants to put his face in it. Usually just pictures of the latest figure or tech he got

He’s nervous at first to put you on his story. Like, what if you’re embarrassed if people know your hanging out with him?

It starts off subtle, a pic of two controllers or just your hands working on a new cosplay

But when you start tagging HIM? And asking why he doesn’t tag you all gloves are off! He’s posting every time you hang out, even posting a pic he took of you that he sheepishly asked to do. He thought you looked so good today 💕

Satan

Mainly cat pics and videos ngl

But he takes the BEST ONES

And definitely reposts some pics and videos of cats too

Gives book recommendations. Nothing fancy just a pic of the cover saying “nice read”

I think he would post nature pictures as well like pretty flowers and stuff

Candid photo master he stays taking pics of you reading a good book or drinking tea at a cafe with him

Maybe even a video of your hand holding his as you walk down the street 💕 EEEEEK

Asmo

That boy STAYS posting on his story 24/7

I mean he is booked and BUSY posting sponsored videos, opening or packages, and keeping up with the latest trends!

And selfies, ALL THE SELFIES

ALL THE THIRST TRAPS

If he can get you in a video, by diavolo he will

If he can get you to do a video trend he’s having you do 10 with him and it takes FOREVER

But if your not into that sometimes he’s just pulling out the camera to film you and tell all his followers how good you look

“Doesnt MC look darling today?? Come on honey, give them a spin! That outfit is amazing! And your hair? To die for!”

Belphegor

Sorry to say y’all man doesn’t post too much

I mean when you spend your whole day sleeping when do you have time to post?

It’s mainly pics from rad or around the house, or the occasional selfie

He does post when beels at games tho cheering him on and giving play by plays

He doesn’t post much, until he met you.

He wants people to know he’s with you, that he loves you

Def takes pics of you guys cuddling in bed right before a nap 🥰

Beel

Definitely a lot of team sporting event content

Him in the locker room with the other demons hyping each other up, the first place trophy they won, the next game they will play, all the things

Post workout progress pics, or videos of him deadlifting a bajillion pounds

Food pics. End of sentence

If your into working out, he posts videos of you running too! Saying “my baby got up to this weight! So proud of you! 🥰” while showing you weightlifting

If your not, he always posts you when your eating out together, smiling with a delicious meal saying “two great snacks together”

Weeeee got a little sappy got a lil crazy hope you like it! What’s your favorite color? Let me know! Also no proofreading on this I’m going sicko mode HAHHAAHA

[juliaswritingbubble]

"Love you"

summary: where Y/N is visiting Spencer in prison and when he finally gets out confessions are made It took Prentiss and Rossi to convince me to visit Spencer. He has been imprisoned for over two months now, and I always had a good excuse to not see him. Even when everybody always told me, he was asking about me and I really should go see him. I drove to Millburn at least three times, but I couldn't make myself go in.

I know seeing him locked up, maybe beaten up, hurt, his hazel eyes filled with sorrow and a distinct glimmer of hope that I can't fulfill or ignite more—it will be the hardest thing I have ever done.

But I'm standing here now. Inside the prison, giving them my credentials and locking away my gun. My heart is racing, my palms are sweaty, and I try to calm down my breath. I straighten my shirt; it's bright red and tight-fitted. I also took out my black dress pants, boots, and a blazer—all black. I took my time to look decent and pretty. I did my makeup carefully and curled my hair and styled it.

“Visitor for inmate Reid, booth 6, over here,” the guard calls me, and I take a seat. In front of me is a mid-high divider; to the left and right are Plexiglas dividers. I fumble with my hands, twisting my ring, adjusting my hair, and when the inmates walk in, I push up my glasses when his eyes find mine and his face relaxes and a faint smile appears on his lips.

Spencer takes a seat across from me and I so desperately want to hug him or at least touch him, but we are not allowed to.

“Hi,” he says quietly, observing my facial expression and avoiding his gaze. I'm afraid I will break if I look too closely at him.

“Hey,” I answer equally quiet and take a deep breath.

“It’s so good to see you. I thought you forgot about me.” He chuckles, and I try to smile halfheartedly.

“I didn’t. I just…I…” I stammer and pick my nails. His voice is so soft and understanding when he says:

“I know. It's hard…for everybody. But I'm so happy you are here now. How is my mom? I heard you visit her as often as possible.” Now I look up into his eyes. He is leaning over as close as he can without getting called out.

I smell soap, but it's different than usual; he usually smells of coffee, sandalwood, or sometimes detergent, but never of cheap soap. Our eyes meet, and I can't look away. Neither can he. Despite my fear of looking into his eyes, I can't see hurt or sorrow. Just love and that he deeply cares for me.

“I miss you, and I am so sorry I can’t do more for you right now. We are trying everything we can… I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and his eyes soften even more.

“I’ll survive. I know you are doing your best out there. I trust you, and I trust the team with my life. Just please… Visit more often… It eases me to see and talk to you. I miss you so much.” I nod in agreement and shoot him an honest smile.

“Okay, will do. About your mom, she is fine. I saw her yesterday, went for a walk, and ate ice cream at your favorite spot. She asks about you a lot; we agreed on telling her you are on a vacation at the beach. You don't need to worry about her; we got her.” I answer his previous question. He smiles at me and nods, relieved.

“Thank you, how are you?” I shrug my shoulders.

“I’m okay. It’s you I’m worried about, Spence.” His face twitches when he hears his nickname.

“Tell me about your activities; you always do so much outside of work. I miss you telling me about it after the weekend.” Usually I meet my friends or visit them, doing fun stuff at the beach or hiking the mountains, going to concerts. But since he is here… I didn't do anything; I was just trying to work on the case like everybody else, but I know I can't tell him that, so I make some things up. I tell him about a hike I supposedly did with some friends and about a team gathering at Rossi's that actually never happened. He smiles and listens carefully, happy to have something else to think about than his situation.

“Visiting hour is over; inmates line up,” the guard yells, and I kind of panic. This can't be it! It was way too short. Spencer gets up, looking down at me. Now I notice how thin he got; I mean, he was always lean, but he has lost some weight. His cheeks are sunken, and his hair is long and combed back, disheveled. His hands are cuffed with a chain, which is connected to his feet. It clinks as he moves.

“It was good seeing you… so good… Don't worry, I'm going to be fine. Love you,” he whispers and walks out of the room. My eyes follow him closely, watching him disappear through the glass door, my eyes filling with tears I held back the whole time. I cover my face with my hands, sobbing and not seeing him turning around and watching me with sorrow. I try to still process him saying “Love you.”

When I get back to my car, I break completely. I sit there at least 20 minutes, crying for my friend, who is hurting inside these damn walls.

A few weeks later we finally manage to get him out and clear his name. When we get the notice, that he is ready to get picked up, we all get in the cars. I take his go bag from his locker so he has some clothes to change into. I'm so excited to get him outside of this hell. I have visited him in the last weeks a couple of times; we didn't talk so much; mostly I just comforted him by being there.

When we arrive at the prison, we send in JJ as his longest and closest friend to get him. It takes nearly an hour before we see her blonde head appear in the door of the facility. All of us are waiting eagerly for them to get out of the gate. Spence is wearing his usual attire: a button-down shirt, tie, cardigan, and slacks, and his Chucks. He looks nearly normal; despite his weight loss and longer hair, he even shaved.

Penelope is the first one to hug him; he nods at something she says to him, and I look at JJ's red-rimmed eyes. She definitely cried. Rossi hugs Spencer like a dad, and he buries his head on his shoulder.

Before anyone else can get ahold of him, I step closer. We smile at each other, stopping for a second, remembering how bad we both wanted to hug each time in prison. He pulls me into his chest, my arms wrapping around his waist. We clutch one another like drowning sailors clutch to a lifebuoy.

“God, I missed this,” he whispers, and I smile, pressing my face into his shoulder. “Me too.” He rubs my back and kisses my cheek.

We step away from each other, and I look into his eyes for a split second, seeing them swimming with tears. He chuckles embarrassedly and wipes his eyes. The rest of the team hugs him as well, then we decide to get him back to his home so he can see his mom.

At the BAU he asks me if I could get him home, and I nod—of course. We say our goodbyes; Prentiss advises him to take some time off for his mom and himself. He gets into my car, and I start driving through the city.

“This is surreal. Being out here again when I thought I wouldn’t see the light of day again,” he murmurs, watching people walking the streets, laughing, rushing home. I pat his thigh, and he is turning his head to face me.

“I told you, we were going to get you out.” He grabs my hand and holds it for the rest of the drive. When I stop in front of his apartment building, he stares at it in disbelief, still holding my hand.

I open my door, slowly retreating my hand from his, and get out of my car. He does the same and grabs his bag from the backseat.

“Do you want to come with me? I’m actually a bit scared,” he admits, and I’m unsure. I don’t want to intrude on his reunion with his mom, but he genuinely seems scared.

“Sure, I can come for a few minutes.” He looks relieved, and I follow him upstairs to his apartment. He unlocks the door and enters his apartment, with me directly behind him.

“Spencer!” I hear his mom, and I am so relieved she remembers him right now. They hug tightly, and I smile at the sight of him finally hugging his mom again.

“Y/N, good to see you again,” she says over his shoulder to me, and I smile at her.

“You too, Mrs. Reid.” They loosen their grip on each other, and his mom starts telling him everything she did, and he laughs. The first time since we picked him up, he laughs from his heart. I tear up when I hear the familiar sound.

“Do you want some tea?” he asks me, smiling. I shake my head.

“No thank you, I’ve got to go actually… You two need some time alone.” He steps closer, grabbing my hands. His eyes are soft; he doesn't want me to go, but he understands that I just want them to have time to catch up.

“Thank you…for everything,” he says, but I shake my head.

“Of course, Spencer. You are my friend; I would do anything for you… we all would.”

“I know…likewise. But seeing you sitting in that booth kept me sane and going. You were my anchor…you are.” I turn bright red and look at our hands, holding each other. His thumbs caressing the back of my hands.

“I’m glad I could give you some hope. Now spend your time with your mom, and if you want, we can grab some coffee in the next couple days.” He smiles and nods.

“I’d like that.” I hug him once again and wish both of them a good night before I step out, leaving him with his mom.

The next day I get a call from him around midday.

“Hey, how was your night?” I ask him as soon as I pick up.

“It was good; my mom and I talked a lot. And I slept like a baby in my own bed; it's still surreal. But I wanted to ask…if…you suggested coffee yesterday, right?” “Yeah, sure. Where do you want to meet?” “Actually… I ehm… I would like to turn coffee into dinner, if you don’t mind.” I sit up from my couch. He wants to take me to dinner?

“Eh…sure. Did you ask the others too?” “N-No, I thought I’d just take you out… just us catching up. I mean, I could ask the others, of course, if you're uncomfortable going with me alone. That's really no prob—“ I cut him off.

“No, no. I'm not uncomfortable… just surprised. I’d love to have dinner with you.” “Great! I… I’ll pick you up at 7.30.” He hangs up, sounding so excited for later. I giggle and start getting ready immediately. I'm so nervous about going to dinner with Spencer.

I change my outfit at least three times, putting on makeup and doing my hair. I put it in a low bun, put in my contacts, and carefully pick jewelry. I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror. The dress is simple but pretty. It's dark red, tight-fitted, and just looks great. I'm happy with myself.

A knock on the door signals that I have to go. I open the door; Spencer is standing there, smiling. He looks…just great. His hair is still a bit unruly, but his eyes are warm and soft, his smile is comforting, and I can smell his familiar scent that I missed so much. No longer cheap prison soap. He wears a black tuxedo, a white button-up shirt, and a dark red tie. Matching with my dress. I laugh and point at it.

“Matching, huh? You look so handsome.” His cheeks flush, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Hi… You look pretty, too. Just stunning.” I smile at him, slip into my shoes, and grab my purse. He offers me his arm and leads me to his old-timer, which I absolutely love.

He reserved a table at a cute little restaurant in Washington, where he led me inside.

“Hello, a table for two. The name is Reid,” he says to the waitress, and she leads us to a small table in the corner, where Spence pulls out the chair for me.

“Thank you,” I say and take a seat. He unbuttons his blazer and sits across from me.

“I’m so happy you agreed to go to dinner with me,” he says and rests his hands on the table. I grab them and smile at him while I look him straight in the eyes.

“Of course, Spencer. I love spending time with you, and I missed you so much.” He smiles widely and nods.

“I missed you too, you know that.” The waitress takes our orders, and while we get our drinks and cheers to each other, chatting about everything and anything, we get lost in our own little bubble.

It's light and a little flirty; we both enjoy our food and the wine. I feel him looking at me for longer periods of time. He even sometimes touches my hands, and I love seeing him laugh. I love seeing his eyes squeezing, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, and the small smile lines on his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks, flustered, and rubs his face with his hand. I chuckle and shake my head lightly. “Nothing, I just…like watching you laugh.” His cheeks flush, and he looks down at his hands.

“Actually, Spence… I have a question.” I take all of my courage to start with this when the waitress asks us if we want anything else. I shake my head, and Spence asks for the check.

He pays for both of us without hesitation and walks me out of the restaurant. It's a bit chilly, and he immediately takes off his blazer and wraps it around my shoulders. His smell hits me hard. I feel kind of dizzy and loved, taken care of. My heart is pounding when he looks into my eyes, his hands still on my arms.

“Thank you,” I whisper and take everything in. His smell, his closeness, and his hands on my arms.

“You’re welcome. You wanted to ask me something inside?” I nod.

“When I visited you for the first time, you remember that?” He smiles at me, squeezing my arms lightly.

“Of course. You wore a red shirt and black pants, your makeup was flawless, like today, and the one thing that took my breath completely away when you sat opposite to me in that damn prison…was your smell. I never knew someone could miss someone's smell as much as I missed yours. This visit saved me; how could I ever forget it?” His eyes are so soft and so close. He remembers everything. Of course he does.

“Yeah, that day…when you had to go…you said something to me.” He nods and slowly cups my cheek with his hand, caressing the soft skin with his thumb.

“It was good seeing you… so good… Don't worry, I'm going to be fine. Love you,” he repeats his exact words.

“Yes…why?” He knows what I mean.

“Because I do.” The explanation is so simple yet it makes so much sense at the same time. His eyes switch to my lips, my cheek still pressed against his soft hand. I can't really answer him; I just look at his beautiful face in awe. He licks his lips and steps closer.

“May I…” His voice is raspy, and I just nod. Yes, please. Kiss me, finally.

He moves slowly at first, almost reverent, like he’s afraid I might vanish—like this is a dream he’s had too many times to trust that it’s real now. But then his hands lift, trembling just slightly, and he cups my face in his palms. His fingers splay along my jaw, thumbs brushing the soft skin beneath my cheekbones. They’re warm. Grounding. Like he needs to touch me just to be sure I’m real.

He leans in, and my breath catches.

I rise onto my toes, my hands finding the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric like I can hold him there—not just for this moment, but for every moment that’s still to come.

When our lips meet, it’s nothing like I imagined in all those lonely nights—it’s more. His lips are soft but certain, moving with a slowness that speaks of years of restraint, breaking over me like waves that have finally reached the shore. His breath catches when I kiss him back—really kiss him—and it feels like every moment we’ve held back is pouring into this one.

Every glance, every unspoken confession, every time I stood too close or pulled away too fast—it’s all here, in the way his mouth moves with mine, in the way he finally lets himself feel it.

He makes a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and then his hand slides into my hair, cradling the base of my skull. He deepens the kiss, and I tilt my head slightly, parting my lips just enough to taste him—to taste everything we’ve denied ourselves for so long.

His lips are warm, almost trembling, and the longer we stay like this—connected, breathing into each other—the more I feel his breath mixing with mine, his heartbeat thudding fast against my chest. His curls brush my forehead as he leans into me, close enough that I feel like I’m melting into him.

I never want to let go.

When we finally part, it’s not a full step back—just a breath, just enough to look at each other. His eyes are glassy, wide with something like wonder, like awe. He looks at me like I’m the first thing he’s ever really seen.

“That… was worth every minute of waiting,” he says, voice rough with emotion.

I’m still on my toes, still holding onto his shirt like I might fall if I let go. My lips tingle. My heart is racing. And somewhere deep inside me, something releases — something that’s been held tight for far too long.

I smile and let my fingers slide up to trace along his jaw. “It was worth everything.”

Masterlist

[hadaldemon]

Just asking, would shadow milk ACTUALLY protect us if we ever got bullied ?? 'Cauz, I almost bullied at school everyday so.... I wonder if you could draw it... and comfort us please ?....

(drawings included)

tw/cw: mentions of bullying

oh... I'm so sorry, that's so awful. In school no less! I really wonder sometimes what happens in a bully's mind to have the impulse to do what they do... Geez... I sincerely don't know what to say... that can be so messy and so hard to solve but I really hope you are okay besides that.

There must be a teacher or someone that have already noticed if that happens daily. I know it doesn't always work but I think it's worth a try to tell what's happening to a teacher?

I think Shadow Milk wouldn't be very good at comforting, but he would really try! He would start with what he knows to do best: distracting and silly magical party tricks, trying to cheer you up and keep your mind from wandering and reliving those awful experiences now that you're safe with him.

But maybe that doesn't work...

In that case he would envelop you in a cocoon-like-hug, bury your head in his fluffy ruffles and hold you for as long as you need and more. (look, it may look silly but bear with me)

Although, let's not forget he is a villain... a sadistic and manipulative one.

I believe his form of protection, as twisted as it sounds, would be orchestrating everything from the shadows, turning the whole school into his playground.

You may know he is around, maybe not, but either way you won't have to worry about them anymore. He is gonna make sure to choreograph the whole place so them wouldn't be able to reach you by any means: distractions, illusions, distortion of space and time, authoritarian figures getting in their way, his own minions intercepting them, he himself confronting them, etc. He is not sparing any trick.

At first, I think he would infiltrate the school as a teacher, despite not wanting to get back to that role. To be a disciplinarian figure conveniently and strategically placed so they wouldn't be able to do anything to you, get them expelled and, maybe, ruin their opportunities for the future. Although, I think that would be a way too quick and clean to get rid of them for him.

Maybe it would suit him better to infiltrate the school as a student, you know, to get down to their level just to mock them as he easily gets the upper hand about the whole thing so fast. How ironic it would be to start spreading nasty rumors, suggest such young minds and flip the whole situation against them so they get bullied instead? Such a poetic eye-for-an-eye.

Either way, his ways are not very righteous, he won't be merciful and I don't condone them but they are effective and I can guarantee that, at the end, you won't have to worry about them anymore.

---

Sorry if this is not what you expected and turned this into a bit of a drabble, I couldn't come up with anything else. I hope this cheers you up at least a bit.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

hii idk if you do requests but colud you possibly write a George russell x reader where they are best friends that drunkenly hook up (if you dont do smut you can just start with them waking up or smth whatever youre comfortable with) and then she gets pregnant and they get together and its very fluffy thank youuu

Thanks for this request! The more smut I write the more I feel confident about it. I’m in a good mood today so I’m spoiling you a little. 🤭

Enjoy it! 🩵

Victory looks good on you

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: You’re George’s best friend for decades, you’re everywhere he is, trying so hard not to fall for him. But one night changes it all.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, really irresponsible behaviour from both of you, curse words, brief spanking, longing, heartbreak, unexpected pregnancy, heartwarming moments tugging on your heartstrings

Word count: 2.4k

—

“Are you his girlfriend?”

“Just a close friend, best friend actually.” You smiled politely to the reporters, George’s hand on your lower back guiding you through the crowd of the hungry press in the paddock.

It was your first time at Hungaroring, sun was high burning your skin but you felt none of it as you were beside George. Everything felt great when you were accompanying him through the races, traveling the world thanks to him.

Many speculated that you’re dating him, squeezing him out of his money, but no. You were friends since kindergarten, supporting him since he started karting to the first signature with Williams.

“Are you okay?” George asked with worry in his voice, when you entered the garage, walking into his race room. You nodded with a soft smile, placing your purse to the massage table.

“Yeah, I just don’t like how they think that I’m some kind of golddigger.” you rolled your eyes jokingly which made George laugh as he took off his shirt. Sure, he was like a god’s canvas, his abs sharp, it was mouthwatering. But you gave yourself a promise to not fall for him because that would destroy everything.

He put on his fireproofs along with his race suit, walking towards you, kissing your forehead. “But we both know the best, hm?”

Aleix entered the room, taking a step back with a surprised yelp. “Sorry! Am I interrupting something?”

George stepped back from you with a soft laugh. “No, mate, we’re just talking.”

–

That day everything went by fast. The chaos of the race and then his win. You couldn’t believe it while you stood under the podium shedding the tears of pride. Many interviews later, he was finally back by your side, hugging you tight, lifting you up in the air, his significant grin plastered on his face. “I made it, darling.”

You laughed with him, excitement pumping through your veins. “Put me down, George.”

“We need to celebrate.” he was determined, getting his racing suit off to put on his usual clothes. You stood there, biting into your lip, adoring his body.

“You’re staring.” he chuckled, tying his shoes.

“Oh. Just– Victory looks good on you.” you cleared your throat with a playful smile, hiding your blush.

George patted your jaw softly, smiling, reaching for his bag behind you. “You just love to flatter me, huh?”

“It’s true, G.” you chuckled.

“So, now we’re gonna get to the hotel, spend the night in and in the morning we get to Monaco and then we’re off for our holidays at sea. I can’t wait to show you my yacht, you’ll be surprised how great it is.” he was talking fast by the adrenaline rushing through him and you nodded simply, following him out of the room to his car where Aleix was already waiting.

“We need to celebrate it!” Aleix exclaimed but George shook his head, it made you confused because he insisted on it before himself.

“I’m gonna celebrate only with my best friend. I guess I’ll fall asleep soon as my head falls on my pillow.” George laughed, getting into the passenger’s seat and you to the driver’s side, because he had a lot of champagne on and off the podium.

You smiled to yourself, noticing the smug smile on Aleix lips in the rear mirror.

You arrived at the hotel, staff there welcoming George as the race winner, gifting him with luxurious dinner and sweets. Finally you arrived at the hotel room you shared and he let out a deep sigh ever since his foot stepped inside. “I’m so exhausted.”

Placing your blazer on the nearby chair you sat beside his slumped body on the bed. “I know. You should get a shower and sleep it off. You deserve it.”

George lifted his gaze at you, taking in your features and how soft you were. His hand reached to tangle his finger around the loose strand of your hair. You were both quiet. The tension rising. His hand getting more into your hair he pulled you closer to his face, his eyes fluttering a bit, his lips parted. “I want to kiss you.”

You felt like you could burst into the flames at those words. Was it a dream? No.

“Then kiss me, George. Kiss me like a winner.” A mere whisper was all it took for him to finally seal your lips in the tender kiss.

His lips still tasted like fine champagne from dinner, his mouth warm with need. Your tongues fighting against each other, your bodies moved to the centre of the bed to be even more close, to feel every inch of you.

“I wanted to do this for a long time.” he breathed out in your mouth, he couldn't get enough of you, like a man starving.

Your answer was a soft whimper, when his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of your neck, his hand wandering under your skirt. “So soft, so eager for me.”

You felt your mind spinning at his words, anything rational was out of the window, you only cared about the present moment.

Many moments later, you laid on your back with a pillow under your bum - his idea of feeling him the best, he was feral about filling you with his achingly hard cock. “You’re my trophy for today. God, you’re so beautiful. Fuck–” slowly and carefully he entered your insanely wet folds, your eyes widening at the stretch.

“Holy shit, George–” it made him chuckle, he fed off from how sexy you looked so weak underneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, he was now fully in, his balls pressing against your ass.

“So tight, baby. Holy hell, I knew you'd be so sweet. Your peachy pussy so welcoming…” his hips moved heavenly, hitting all the right spots inside you. Gripping the sheets, you gasped in moans, hard to catch a breath at the intensity of his thrusts. He was insanely impaling you with his length, adrenaline coursing through him like crazy. Sweat forming on his forehead, slapping your thighs to make you moan more.

“Good girl. Taking me so well.” he grunted feeling how you clenched around him in desperate need. You reached for him to pull him down to you, kissing him again. “You taste like a sin, George.” you were breathless.

“I won’t last long, baby. You’re squeezing me like hell.” he chuckled against your lips, not stopping to kiss your cervix with his tip.

“Just go on, please come.” you whined, his thumb finding your sensitive clit, circling around it, loving how it made you even more insane.

“You’re gonna come first, hm? Let me feel your orgasmic energy, love.” his voice low, like an animal chasing his prey. It didn’t take long and you were screaming his name, your body squirming with pleasure.

With a few pathetic moans he nearly came at the first convulsion of your walls, he made it through another thrusts, and one last push he was filling you with his delicate seed. His own body shaking from the exhaustion of the day combined with this athletic performance, he collapsed next to you. You were panting hard, turning your head to look at him with a huge and satisfied smile. George caught your smile and he ran a hand over your cheek. “Adorable.”

–

That night was amazing but the weeks after not so much. George was a little bit distant, not talking at all and you quickly understood that it may have not meant that much as you thought. You spent the holidays on his yacht with his family, his chatty manner towards you changed, and it was really strange, even his parents questioned it. But you brushed it off, saying that he needs to relax from the busy half of the season.

–

You were back home at Monaco at the end of August, thinking about not coming to the next race with him. Feeling hurt and vulnerable, you cried for three days straight since you got back. George didn't even bother to text you, to invite you over like he usually did. And you were so weak to ask the questions.

That week you started to feel weaker than before, looking into your period tracker to be sure that it’s just your PMS hitting you. Leaning into the pillow, fighting your fatigue, you nearly jumped out of your own skin when the app showed you “One week late”.

Sitting up immediately, you started to wander in your thoughts. Heart beating in your chest, you suddenly felt the urge to throw up, so you ran to the bathroom to heave into the toilet.

“This can't be…”

–

George was packing for the next race, looking at his phone once in a while, waiting for your message about attending the flight with him. That night completely changed his behaviour, he partly hated himself for it, but he was scared. Scared of his feelings towards you. And maybe a little ashamed, because he used you for his own pleasure even though you enjoyed it. The door bell got him out of the reel of thoughts, he walked to the door, confused about who it might be, praying that it could be you.

And his prayer was answered.

You stood there, in the loose clothes, face flushed from the fresh tears. He frowned with worry. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did you cry?”

“We have a problem, George. A very serious one.” you managed to choke out of your tightened throat. He gestured for you to come in, guiding you to the living room. Once you were sitting, you snatched the pink stick from the pocket of your sweatpants.

George raised his brows in curiosity. “What is it?”

“I’m pregnant.” you said bluntly, tears spilling out of your eyes again. Shock shot through his body, paralysing him at the spot.

“What?” was only thing he could say.

“I’m carrying your child.” you were annoyed by repeating it.

“Are you– sure that it's mine?” he sounded stupid.

“What do you think of me? That I’m jumping on several guys to have sex? You’re the only one who fucked me in a long while.” your voice raised and he flinched a bit.

“Sorry– I just– Fuck. How is it possible?” He tried to recollect the memory of that night step by step.

You wanted to slap him. “We didn’t even think about using protection. We were so stupid. I should’ve stopped you. But I was so drunk on you. And… you were so distant afterwards, that I completely forgot that I was just in my ovulation window.”

George moved a little closer to you, carefully not to overstep. “I’m sorry… About everything. I should’ve talked to you. To say my issues out loud. You’re a great person, always so supportive, caring about me and my family. I enjoy your presence, I grew close to you. I thought it’s just a friendship but– that night– I fell for you, hard.”

You lifted your gaze from the pregnancy test to his face in disbelief. “You– what?”

“I acted like a total jerk. I don’t deserve your attention. But I’d do anything to make it right.” He looked sad, his face so desperate.

“I want to keep that baby, George. With or without you.” You blurted out and he didn't even flinch, responding immediately. “Fine, I want to have it too. I want to be a dad. If it means to be with you. I want everything with you. If you’re willing to give me a chance.”

Thinking for a second, you truthfully didn't want anything else than him. “It won’t be easy, but I will give you a chance.”

–

The fast heartbeat sound filled the examination room, you squeezing George’s hand as he stood next to your lying figure while the nurse went over the swell of your belly with an ultrasound to capture a glimpse of your baby.

And there it was, a healthy and growing fetus. You didn’t notice at first but George wiped your tears, you were overwhelmed by the sight of your growing love on the display. “That’s our baby, George.” you turned your head to look at him, his own blue eyes tearing up a little.

He didn’t expect the simple ultrasound check up to be this emotional. But it was now real. They’re gonna be parents.

“It’s so cute.” he choked out, it made you laugh through your tears and the broadcast from your uterus just contorted a little which scared you. “What’s happening?” the moment of happiness interrupted by worry.

The nurse just chuckled softly, still holding the ultrasound wand on your belly. “While you laughed, your muscles convulsed with your inter organs and it shook with the fetus. It’s completely normal. It just does not happen on a daily basis here.”

George started to laugh, the emotions taking the toll on him. “Oh my…”

You mirrored his action, laughing again. “Our baby is fine. It’s healthy.”

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and rest his own against it looking into your eyes. “You’re both fine. Healthy and loved. And that matters the most.”

–

George Russell finally confirms the rumors of dating his friend!

HOT! GEORGE RUSSELL SPOTTED IN PADDOCK WITH HIS PREGNANT GIRLFRIEND!

George won the final race of the season, stopping his car in the parc fermé, crowd chanting happily for him. You stood there along with his team, smiling widely, tears welling in your eyes. He didn’t care about anything else, only about having you in his arms. Putting off his helmet, he ran towards you, hugging you and lifting you up to get you from behind the sidelines. You giggled at this gesture, the whole world watching how affectionate George was. Finally he put you down, stealing a long kiss from your lips and then he got down on his knees to kiss your small but showing belly.

“Today I won it for you. For the both of you. You’re my whole world. My everything.” he said only for you to hear it, which made you smile.

He stood for his word. He really made everything he had in his power to show you how much he cared about you and how much he loved you. How much he wanted to be a father, it hasn't crossed his mind before.

But he wouldn’t change a thing. Because you were the person closest to divinity, his safe haven, the one who knows him for almost eternity.

And that couldn’t triumph even being a world champion.

—

Please don't use my writings without my permission! Pictures found of Pinterest.

—

Tags: @chilling-seavey @withering-daylight

[whenigetscared]

ur wrtingn is so good pls write more daeho. i’m crying i miss him so much :((

bf!daeho x fem!reader hcs!!!

a/n: i have more daeho in the works rn but im really busy with school so i probably won’t finish those until this course ends. bare wit me babe. no promises but there is more. also not proofread because i get really scared so im sorry about any mistakes

song: in a good way - faye webster

𖦹°‧ you met daeho through a mutual friend and then to make things funnier, as you kept getting to know each other— you found out his older sister briefly dated your older brother!!! what!! no wonder he looked so familiar. small world.

𖦹°‧ he was so shy the first few times you guys actually hung out, you having to make most of the conversation because he was too busy trying to find a way to make it seem like he wasn't already deeply in love with the way you're so passionate about whatever you're talking about or how when you smile— you're all teeth and it's so sweet and entrancing.

𖦹°‧ he doesn't stop thinking about you ever. daeho always calls you when he knows you're about to go to sleep— wanting to hear your beautiful sleepy voice lulling him to sleep too. like genuinely the biggest yearner ever.

𖦹°‧ it takes him a while to actually admit his feelings towards but you already knew what the boy was feeling. he'd call you love ffs, of course you already knew.

𖦹°‧ the first few months of your relationship, daeho was really scared that you'd see him as weak if he even showed some kind of vulnerability. he'd try to make himself be as manly as possible but even you knew it was just a front he was trying to put on. when you finally got him to open up about his relationship with his father, you realized that the stuff his father had said and done to him really stuck with him. you'd reassure him and tell him that he is safe with you and he doesn't have to play pretend with you.

𖦹°‧ he is the sweetest ever, like genuinely the sweetest. you've been with other men before daeho but most of them were nothing but a warm body. daeho made you feel like no one else mattered.

𖦹°‧ when you first saw him shirtless, ooooohhh my goooddd dont fucking joke... you genuinely had to hold yourself back from pouncing on him to rub yourself all over him like a cat in heat. like obviously, you expected a little bit of meat and muscle on him but not like that!! he wears clothes that cover him all up, like even during the summer.

𖦹°‧ the biggest best freaking munch ever in both ways. 1. when you’re having dinner, you have to tell him that the food isn’t going to run away from him and that he has to let himself breathe and enjoy whatever it is you guys are eating but my god does he know how to fuck up a plate. quite literally stuffs his cheeks like a cute little squirrel. 2. will literally eat you out for hours. i’m talking like sloppy as fuck and like 6 orgasms in— all from him eating you out.

𖦹°‧ when it comes to munching on your pussy, there is nothing else that motivates him more than the feel of you tugging on his hair and the feel of your thighs closing in on his head. he’s in the sniper position too and he will literally start humping the bed to relieve some pressure on his aching cock.

𖦹°‧ is for sure an ipad baby. there i said it. when he finds out you have an ipad for your college work or just to have, he is not letting that thing go. you have specific games on there for him; wordscapes, blockblast, fruit merge, ball color sort, he’s a sucker for puzzle games. every time he comes over to yours, he greets you with a quick kiss and asks where its at. its become such a habit that you start charging it for him every time you know he’s going to be coming over and spending the night. daeho quite literally became so addicted to the tablet that he even started eating with it. honestly, going back to that whole stuffing his mouth while he eats— it definitely helps with him taking it slow now.

𖦹°‧ you guys rarely argue but when you do, its over the stupidest things ever. forgot to charge the ipad?? don’t even talk to him. he didn’t like your instagram post?? he can forget about you cuddling him tonight. chicken came before the egg?? yeah you’re crazy. he’ll be in the middle of his argument when you’re suddenly lifting your shirt up and flashing him your tits— that makes him quiet up real quick.

𖦹°‧ speaking of! he loooovesssss sucking on your tits. big or small he is on them like a baby. his favorite when when he lays on your lap with a tit in his mouth and his cock in your hand, jerking him off.

𖦹°‧ i think he is the best freaking candid photo taker ever. like genuinely there is not one bad photo he’s ever taken of you despite the moments where you thought you didn’t even look that good. you’re surprised at how freakishly good he is, there is no way he isn’t a professional.

𖦹°‧ he brings you up a loootttt with his sisters. they are genuinely surprised that he found someone that makes him so happy and giddy because he used to be all about just “focusing on himself.” when you do finally meet them, your ex-almost sister in law immediately recognizes you and starts talking about how now you’ll for real be sisters in law (wink wink) she’ll even ask about your brother a little…asking if he’s still single…

𖦹°‧ super freaking millennial. he thinks that making jokes about needing his coffee in the morning and making stupid faces is still funny. sit down grandpa its okay…

𖦹°‧ biggest fucking tease ever. when he knows you can’t spend the night at his because you have work the next morning, he sends you a picture of him shirtless with his sleep pants resting low on his hips and his happy trail peeking out with a “have a good night baby, text me when you’re awake ☺️.” he looks so fucking yummy and you’re so fucking angry that you can’t have him right now like you’re genuinely going to hurt someone.

𖦹°‧ is a freaking sucker for dry humping. like can we talk about it??? obviously, he loves the feel of your warm gummy walls and how you grip him like a vice but before you guys even got to that point— it was all dry humping. the first time, he came embarrassingly fast in his pants at the feel of your clothed pussy moving against his hardened clothed cock. you had been sitting on his lap— holding his face and molding your lips with his in a sloppy haze when you felt his hands reach down to grope at the globes of your ass to move you against his bulge. the friction creating perfect pleasure in your pussy and his shaft.

𖦹°‧ daeho is the kind of person that is so good at having real face to face conversations with but sucks at texting. you think you’ve pissed him off when you text him because he literally doesn’t reply quickly and if he does, its short. you’ll ask him if he’s mad at you because his tone sounded a little off in those texts and he’ll just be like ??? what are you talking about. he thought he sounded normal but a quick explanation of how his texts can be misinterpreted has him trying to change the way he communicates through texts.

𖦹°‧ will literally ask you to race him when you guys walk back home after a date. “how much do you want to bet that i can beat you.” and you just stare at him, you already know he’s going to beat you and as soon as you slightly stop to try to adjust your purse— he’s already taking off. unc still got it.

a/n: awuwuggggg i miss my pretty princess so bad i cant believe this. i hope u like ^_^

[nekoboydreams]

I have some questions if you wouldn't mind sparing me some of your time? Tho i feel some migh be spoilery, so if they cant me awsered yet, i fully understand <3

1- How would the circus folks react/feels like if MC was some sorta of past with monsters? Like they had/have a monster friend or even were raised by monsters?

2- If MC were once married or had a very serious relationship, how would Pierrot feels about it? Would that bother him or he doesnt care since is in the past anyway? (I think this and the next one have been awsered already but i couldn't find it, so i'm sorry if i made you repeat yourself)

3- Related to the 2th question, if MC couldn't get over their past lover (either their lover died or they had a nasty breakup that left MC completely hearthbroken) to the point that finding a new partner is a no go, how would Pierrot and Harlequin approach MC then?

4- Does monsters have a notorious weakness? Like vampires with garlic and werewolfs with silver, for example.

5- To kill a monster, does it need to be in a specific way? Or any lethal wound would be enough? (Not sure if it made much sense lol-) but for example, if they had their head riped off or have their body pierced through, would that kill them or they can just regenerate the lost parts/organs? Considering we dont know how op they really are... ( ;´･ω･`)

6- i think in a previous ask, you said that the whole "eating humans thing" has a symbolic meaning in the circus and they just "figured out" that eating humans are the best way of gaining energy and being satisfied. Does that mean eating humans is not something that all monsters do?

Obg se puder responder! lembre-se de beber água e continue fazendo esse ótimo trabalho em alimentar seu novo fandom faminto. MUAH MUAH (*＾3＾)/～♡

Hi! I’ll do my best!

Some of them would doubt that it’s not something they’re used to hearing.

Pierrot isn’t the type to get upset about your past that wouldn’t bother him.

Pierrot would try to comfort MC, showing he understands their pain and wants to help them smile again, even if that pain never fully goes away. Harlequin has a different way of comforting less tender. He’d say the scars from the past will always burn, but MC shouldn’t hold on to that, or the rest of their days would be dark.

Not a specific weakness like vampires, but they do have weaknesses.

Hmm... dangerous question. Some of them would hate hearing that haha. What I can say is there are ways to kill them, and some injuries fatal to humans wouldn’t kill them.

You could say yes.

Thanks! I’m really trying hard!