smitten. [a devereux] (Patreon)

synopsis: everyone says [A] is smitten.

[A] is smitten and everyone knows it.

[A] is smitten in the sense that they're often compared to a lost puppy, trailing you around with a bounce in their step and smile so wide their dimples show. Smitten in that they'd fall over their feet trying to get the door for you. Smitten in that you're the only one who can cheer them up, even when they're insistent on being stubborn and sulking for at least one more hour.

They can't deny you. Never could, never will.

Even when their feelings were completely platonic (though completely might be a bit of a stretch; they're fairly certain some part of them has always liked you), people called them 'whipped.' They blushed at the time, heat racing straight to their cheeks as they argued they were only being a good friend, but no one ever believed them.

Did they believe themself? They'd rather not answer that.

Later, when the two of you started dating, [A] was told that people expected them to act worse—worse being more smitten, in this case. That confused [A], who suddenly became worried about how they were expected to act in a relationship.

What would change, now that you two were together? They've known people whose relationship didn't change at all, aside from the addition of kissing and more intimate explorations. On the other hand, they've known others who did a complete 180, going from slightly distant to upon each other at all times.

Of course, these worries were nothing more than trivial anxieties. You soothed them over with a kiss and a smile, repeatedly stating that you liked [A] for [A] and was not expecting anything they couldn't handle or deliver.

Your presence has always had a calming effect on them, so it was no surprise that they melted into your reassurances immediately, head settling into your lap as their worries washed away. You stoked their hair, playing with the stray curls and [A] swears if they were a cat, they probably would be purring.

(They guess they understand where the whipped thing comes from now).

You found out early on that [A] enjoys when you play with their hair, which is why on a bad day, when they snuggle into you and ask for a cuddle, you pat your lap and beckon them to come closer.

Today was one of those days.

They did all the right things, still trailed you around like a lost puppy, fell over their feet trying to get the door and cheered up instantly after you consoled them over the department running out of their favourite coffee pod, but you know them better than anyone else.

To the naked eye, one could say they were as smitten as ever. To you, [A] was trying too hard to act normal.

"You know you can talk to me right?" you whisper. Your finger wraps around one of [A]'s curls, letting it go a moment later.

[A] feels their brows furrow. "I know. Nothing happened, I just had an off day."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I've been having them a lot lately."

You stop, shifting so you can look them in the eyes. "Anything I can do?"

[A] shakes their head. "No."

"You'll tell me if that changes though, right?"

"Of course." [A] pauses, cheeks starting to flush pink. "Actually, do you think I can have a kiss?"

You laugh, clearly having expected a more serious answer. "Just a kiss? You sure that'll make you feel better?"

"Always does."

The statement flusters you, [A] can tell, but you adjust yourself anyway and lean down for a kiss. [A] eagerly meets you halfway, melting into your touch and nearly sighing at the familiarity of your tongue. They suck at your bottom lip, earning a quiet moan before they tug you down further. Without the warning, you have no time to brace yourself and go falling, toppling on top of [A] who you’d been so carefully trying not to crush.

“What— A— [A]!”

[A] laughs, vibrations tumbling through their stomach. “Sorry, you weren’t close enough.”

“I was plenty close. You said one kiss.”

[A] responds by leaning in again. With your closer position, they’re able to slide a hand down your thigh and hold you in place. They can feel your heartbeat against their chest, your shaky sighs against their lips. They mourn the moment they break the kiss, but remind themself why they chose to do so when they hear you mumble their name as they latch onto your neck. They don’t want to leave a bruise, but if you go to the mirror in a few minutes and find a new hickey, well, they tried to practice self-restraint.

“Are you satisfied with one kiss though?” they whisper against your skin.

“I’m not complaining,” you answer.

[A] grins. “That’s what I thought.”

Maybe it’s not just them that’s smitten.