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lokissweater · 9 months ago

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little mouse

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: toge inumaki, the barista at your local campus coffee shop, is the cutest man to ever cross your life— the both of you clicking fast and becoming the best of friends as the years flew by together… but you were in love. uncertain of crossing that line between friendship and lovers as you focused mainly on trying to see if he even liked you back. but as for toge? he was focused on trying not to burden you for the rest of your life because of his inability to speak, wanting you and only you, but juggling and tormented over his labored silent existence, hurting you in the process.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, college!au, FLUUUFFFF SO MUCH, pet names, TOGE LOVES YOU BROOO, angst!!! but with comfort!!, happy ending, SMUTTTT, p in v sex, fingering, creampie, doggy hehe, mentions of alcohol and drinking, sorority party, toge is a barista ouuu, cursing, best friends to lovers trope, reader and toge argue, all characters are aged up.

word count: 15.2k

authors note: YEEEOOOOWWWWW this fic was originally NOOTTTT supposed to be 15k but i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again I CAN NEVA STOP YAPPING MY GOD??? i hope you guys love this one as much as i do though it is SOOOOOO CUTEEE man :(( thank you SO SO MUCH for your love and support as ALWAYS, AND I LOVE YOUUUU AHHH MWAH MWAH HAVE A GOOD DAY OKAY <333

anyone that was a regular at the shop knew toge inumaki didn’t really ever speak.

and it was something you found out on your first day of college, running to the nearest coffee shop at eight-thirty in the fucking morning looking for something to snack on and wake you up before lecture, choosing to go to the one just around the corner from campus through a recommendation of a friend— but not knowing at all that you were about to run into the cutest man to ever plague your god damn existence, as well as your bestest friend in the entire world.

toge was the main barista and cashier at the shop, his mixology skill incomparable as no one else on the floor could replicate it successfully without errors the way he did— ringing customers up while simultaneously throwing coffee bases and syrups in a blender, topping each corresponding one with whipped cream on various orders before sliding it over to the pick up counter, all without even breaking a sweat through the times that you’ve shamefully watched him work from your little table before or after classes.

the first time you met him, you thought he was just having a bad day… and that he also hated you.

you had politely told him your order while at the same time ogling his handsome face— a small and simple sweet vanilla cold brew drink with a little blueberry scone on the side— when toge didn’t even spare you a glance and just tapped in your order on the screen, turning the tablet over to showcase the total before moving to the back to get started on your drink, not a single word leaving his scarf covered mouth as you silently paid and got a table.

it’s not like you were expecting anything out of it, but you hoped you would at least catch the color of his eyes before you had to leave.

and it went on like that for a total of four days— you saying the exact same order but just switching up the little pastry depending on your mood (it only consisting of your usual three— blueberry scone, cake pop, and cheese danish), toge’s eyes never leaving the register or drinks he made as you waited, and him sliding over your order in record time as he got started on attending the next customer.

on the fifth day, toge finally looked up.

the way he took your order didn’t change, but when it came to placing it over the pick up counter where you stood, your eyes widened when you noticed he was already looking at you, a grin on his face as he personally handed you your drink instead of sliding it over.

his eyes were purple.

and you just about fucking screamed, your days of hopelessly coming in to try and ridiculously take longer peeks at his face whenever you could finally paying off in that moment— and not expecting whatsoever to see the sides of his mouth marked with tattooed snake eyes either.

that day was also the day you noticed toge knew sign language.

most of the time toge took orders quickly without a word and punched in requests, but from time to time when a customer had a question about a menu item or what the passcode to the bathroom was, he always had a little whiteboard next to him with a black marker to scribble out what he needed to say— regulars already knowing how he communicated and not batting a single strange eye.

but on that day, a new customer came in that you didn’t recognize to be a regular, signing to one of the confused employees at the cash register until the employee turned around and tapped toge on the shoulder, pointing and saying words you couldn’t really hear before he quickly nodded and put down the blender he was holding, going over to sign.

you were mesmerized by it, the way his hands and fingers came together and away from each other to form different words and sentences completely unknown to those who didn’t understand the language, something that was beautiful to you and made you want to actually learn so you could potentially have the liberty to talk to him some time in the future if you could.

the next time you came into the shop early in the morning, toge was at the register. and upon seeing you walk in, he smoothly looked down and started typing away already on the screen, seemingly not listening and leaving you standing there confused.

“um—” you stammered. “can i…”

you trailed off as you watched him pick up his whiteboard and uncap the marker, scribbling.

‘i remembered your order.’

you froze, your heart doing enormous leaps considering this was the first time toge actually spoke to you apart from getting your order down and smiling at you.

“oh! really?” you laughed nervously. “…do i come in here too often then?”

he gave you a friendly grin and shook his head, erasing what he had before writing again.

‘do you want a blueberry scone, cake pop, or cheese danish?’

your eyes bulged. “you know that too?!”

he laughed, the sound making your hands clammy as you giggled along with him shyly.

“i’ll do a cake pop today!” you smiled. “i’m running a little late and that’s— easy to eat.. you know—”

he gave you a thumbs up and nodded, signaling with his head for you to wait by the pick up counter as he scribbled another few words, turning the whiteboard around.

‘i’ll see you tomorrow :)’

your cheeks flushed pink.

“y—yeah!” you spoke gingerly. “i’ll see you toge.”

the next few times after that toge would absolutely beam whenever you came into the shop, having already scribbled down your three choices of your usual pastries before having it ready for you at the pick up counter once you chose, even every now and then asking you a simple thing or two about your classes and major from the register as you sat by your table, him propping his little whiteboard up for you to see.

and ever since you saw that toge knew sign language, you wanted to know too, your desire to communicate with him more efficiently a silly priority on your mind as you signed up for entry level sign language courses at your college, trying to learn as much as you possibly could so it’d be easier for him not always having to step back and write.

“wait wait!” you put your hands out one slow morning upon arriving at the shop, toge stopping mid tap on the screen just as he was about to input your order, eyeing you.

your fingers shook a little as you slowly signed your order and choice of pastry for the day, trying to remember and grasp what you practiced repeatedly the night before, hoping your efforts would successfully come across and that you didn’t look like a fucking idiot.

but his focused eyes followed your movements, carefully watching you sign with pinched brows until you eventually finished— a slow pearly white smile spreading across is face as his gaze flickered to yours before writing on his whiteboard, turning it.

‘you know sign language?’

“barely!” you sputtered. “i um.. i started taking classes a couple of months ago but i’m not very good… did you— get it though? what i said?”

he quickly nodded.

‘it was a little choppy but good! good job y/n :)’

you breathed out a sigh of relief, a hand over your hammering chest as you swallowed.

“oh thank god.” you breathed. “i was worried i looked stupid or was accidentally telling you something weird.”

he laughed and waved you off, a slight tint to his cheeks as he wrote.

‘how’s learning it overall?’

“hard as fuck.” you mumbled, but peering up at him with a smile. “i’m trying though! i really love the language and i love learning it… it’s just hard because my professor kind of sucks and teaches it too fast.”

he hummed, moving around in the back while preparing your order before coming around through the little swinging door and over to your usual table, you standing dumbfounded at the register still as he stood there with your pastry and his whiteboard.

toge pointed to your seat.

“oh!” you gasped, walking over and taking a seat, smiling gratefully once he placed your coffee and cheese danish down for you, but stiffening once he scooched the chair out across from you and sat, your cheeks ablaze again.

“you wanna—” you looked at him with furrowed brows. “you wanna sit with me?”

he laughed a little and nodded.

“but the…” you pointed to the cash register.

he uncapped his marker and wrote, turning the board over.

‘it’s a slow day. if someone comes in i’ll just go.’

“oh— okay!” you breathed out nervously, wringing your fingers together as you kept them on your lap.

your thoughts were speeding across every corner of your mind, not knowing exactly why toge chose to sit with you right now but hanging on to the moment anyways, you anxiously trying to come up with things to say to get to know him a little better.

“i like your um..” you pointed to the corners of your mouth. “—your tattoos. did they hurt?”

he smiled and wrote.

‘thanks :) and not really, my throat hurts more than the tattooing itself hehe.’

your eyes snapped up to his.

“your throat?” you asked softly. “is it okay?”

‘oh it’s fine!’ he wrote. ‘well no but it just hurts a lot when i talk so i just don’t.’

you hummed in understanding, the missing puzzle as to why exactly toge never spoke out loud to anyone in the first place finally clicking into place.

“i’m sorry toge…” you expressed sweetly. “have you tried— well i assume you have but… like getting it checked out? or maybe honey with lemon or—”

he turned his board around.

‘yeah :P nothing really works. L for me.’

you giggled, and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in a smile.

‘can you show me what else you know in sign language?’

“ohhh this is it.” you swallowed. “you’re about to laugh in my face and think i’m stupid.”

he laughed and gave you a look.

‘you’re silly. just show me.’

you huffed before timidly showing him very basic simple phrases that you managed to pick up from class out of the millions that were shown— short choppy kiddy words that didn’t even serve to get by in a quick conversation, but enough for simple one worded responses.

“oh! and i like this one the most!—” you put the bases of your palms together and rubbed a little.

toge let out a squeaky cute laugh as he watched you before quickly picking up his marker and writing.

‘cheese? your favorite thing to sign is cheese?’

“yeah!—” you giggled shyly. “it’s funnn! and i never fuck it up.”

he nodded with a gleam in his eye.

‘i could teach you sign language if you want.’

you froze, eyes wide as you looked at him.

“seriously?” you quickly leaned forward. “are— are you sure? you definitely don’t have to at all toge… i don’t want to burden you or anything.”

his eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.

‘not burden at all.’ he wrote. ‘i’m a lazy fart i don’t do much besides this so it’s fine.’

you giggled and nodded excitedly, a hopeful shine in your eyes as you looked at him.

“o—okay!” you agreed. “i’d like that a lot… thank you toge!”

he was so nice.

and just as he was about to write something else, a customer came through the doors and up to the cash register, toge quickly scribbling something down before standing and showing you, walking backwards.

‘i’ll talk to you later little mouse :)’

you laughed loudly, a hand flying over your mouth as you did.

that nickname stuck.

“bye toge!” you responded kindly, gathering your things before heading out for the day with your coffee and pastry.

unfortunately for you, midterm season came and knocked the absolute shit out of you for a week, you unable to go back to the coffee shop to see toge until it was all fucking over, your heart heavy over the fact that you literally failed your sign language test, but giddy and excited nonetheless to finally see him after a while and go back to your usual happy routine.

and as for toge, he was left utterly confused.

was he too forward? did you think it was weird when he called you little mouse? did you think he was weird?

was it something he did? why had you stopped coming into the shop after going in continuously for like weeks at this point?

and he had just gotten the courage to look you in the eye too.

toge literally had your order ready every single day with your three pastries warmed up and toasted if need be, your sweet vanilla cold brew drink ready to go the moment you walked through those doors at any given point and time… but you just didn’t come. him leaning on the register counter bored out of his mind and dejected over the disappearance of the pretty nice girl that always came in and talked to him at his work, ending up always drinking the coffee he made for you silently and munching on the three pastries you chose between when it was time to close.

but when you finally came in, early in the morning like you always did and looking forward to seeing him again— toge was hunched over the counter with his chin propped up on his hand like he had been for the past week, you unknowing of that as you walked over with a smile.

“hi toge!”

he shot up, eyes wide with his palms flat on the counter.

“y/n!—”

he spoke.

toge spoke and he immediately cowered over in a fit of painful sounding coughs that racked through his body, his mouth shoved into his elbow as he quickly pushed through the doors and walked to the back, leaving you there wide eyed and completely fucking shocked.

he said your name.

“toge..?” you called softly, timidly as you leaned over the counter to try and catch a look at him from inside the employee break room, still hearing faint coughing. “hey— are you okay?”

he returned to the floor chugging back a bottle of cough syrup like nothing before tossing it into the nearest bin and swallowing, snatching his marker to write on the mini whiteboard, holding it up.

‘where the fuck have you been?’

you looked at him with an apologetic little face, your eyes soft.

“i’m sorryyy!” you whined. “i’m so sorry it was midterm week for me and i was grinding so hard and i just didn’t have time to come in… it was torture.”

you guiltily bit your lip. “…are you mad at me?”

he shook his head slowly, his shoulders visibly relaxing at the confirmation that it wasn’t anything he did that could’ve potentially put you off.

‘not at all mouse :P.’ he wrote before reaching to the side and sliding over your already made coffee and three pastries, lined up.

and surprise crossed your face.

“you had it ready?” you gasped. “toge! thank you!”

you quickly opened your book bag and he placed a hand over your arm, stopping you and shaking his head ‘no.’

“no?” you asked softly. “what do you mean? i’m just gonna pay.”

toge only shook his head again with a small smile, nudging his head over for you to sit at your usual table.

your shoulders slumped. “now what would you do if i just burst out crying right now.”

he laughed loudly and let go of your arm to write, leaving a burning fuzzy feeling on your skin in return.

‘cry? why?’

“because you’re so nice!” you whined. “please let me pay. i already feel bad not coming in for a week… especially after you offered to teach me sign language.”

‘go sit down mouse. i’ll sit with you in a little bit.’

you begrudgingly stood in place before nodding and taking your drink with your bag of pastries, walking over to the side and plopping down on a seat.

toge had a bit of a rush in and couldn’t join you for nearly an hour, him constantly shooting you apologetic looks and you frantically waving him off and reassuring him that it was okay, you astronomically thankful that you didn’t have class that day until later in the evening.

but when the rush was eventually over, toge dropped down on the seat across from yours with a big tired sigh and his whiteboard, head down.

you gently poked his arm then, and he looked up.

“is your throat okay?” you asked, face serious. “and you?”

he nodded, giving you a warm smile before grabbing his marker.

‘it happens sometimes, i just slipped up. L for me again.’

you smiled sadly and retracted your hand from across the table to settle back over your lap.

“i like your voice… if that makes you feel any better.” you spoke shyly, looking down at your fingers.

toge bit the inside of his cheek and smiled cheekily.

‘thanks mouse… but i know something that’ll make me feel even better hehe.’

“what?” you asked curiously.

he wrote.

‘give me your number before you disappear on me again you little rat.’

“hey!” you whined. “i thought i was a mouse..”

he chuckled cutely and nudged your foot gently from underneath the table, erasing and writing again.

‘i’m just kidding. we need to set up those sign language lessons soon though :D.’

and at the reminder of that you groaned, body slumping over the table as toge eyed you confusedly.

“you’re gonna laugh. or be mad. or disappointed. or all three..” you mumbled, voice slightly muffled.

he poked your head repeatedly and you lifted it, chin resting lazily on the table as he looked at you expectantly.

“i failed my sign language midterm.”

toge snorted but quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, and you whined again before shoving your face back down as he quickly shook you by the shoulders, trying to get you to look up again.

“no no no i’m a disgrace i’m a failure i studied so fucking hard for nothing it’s over i’m not cut out—”

he kept shaking and delicately pinching you before you finally looked up again.

“what.” you mumbled, eyes dragging to his propped up whiteboard.

‘i’m sorry i laughed… but don’t worry you’ll pass the next one. you’ll be okay.’

“and how do you know.” you grumbled.

‘because now you have delicious me, duh :P’

you giggled softly and lifted yourself from the table, leaning back against your chair.

he gave you a warm knowing smile before writing again.

‘cheer up mouse… i promise i’ll help you.’

a slow cutesy grin spread across your face, one that made him swallow hard as you looked at him through your lashes.

“thank you toge… do you— do you work tomorrow?”

his gaze flickered up in thought before he shook his head, eyes landing back on yours.

“maybe we could start… tomorrow? if you’re free? and if— if it’s okay of course!” you stammered nervously, gnawing at your bottom lip as you waited for his response.

his cheeks fluttered pink a little before quickly nodding.

“okay!” you breathed excitedly. “great! we could do it here? or—”

he frantically shook his head no and uncapped his marker.

‘my dickhead manager will pull me to work if i’m here on my day off.’

you laughed and nodded. “okay not here then.. where? we can try my place but i already know my parents are gonna be annoying about bringing a guy over so..”

he smiled and looked down to write.

‘we can do my apartment mouse. i live alone.’

your eyes widened. “you have your own place? really?”

he slowly nodded.

“that’s so cool toge! oh my goodness i can’t wait to see it now!”

you bounced enthusiastically in your seat and he chuckled, perplexed as to why you would ever be excited to see something like that, but choosing not to question it.

‘it’s kind of small, and i mainly just sleep and be lazy if i’m not working or streaming.’

you tilted your head. “streaming..?”

he pursed his lips and looked down again to scribble, an embarrassed undertone to his face before propping the whiteboard up.

‘i play games and stream to earn extra money on the side like a little loser.’

you giggled, your eyebrows slightly furrowing before relaxing. “why would that make you a little loser toge? you’re making money while doing something you like… i think that’s really fun!”

an eager attractive grin ran across his face before quickly writing again.

‘i’m glad you think so :) but give me your number neow.’

“oh that’s right!” you beamed, taking his offered whiteboard and marker before quickly writing down your number with a heart in the corner, passing it back.

“just text me whenever and we can set a time for tomorrow okay?”

he nodded, his eyes trained to the heart you drew.

for the rest of his shift, toge spent it bouncing around between your table and back to the cash register to take orders and make drinks, seemingly finishing each beverage ten times fucking faster than usual just so he could come over and talk to you before you had to leave again for your evening class.

but you didn’t want to leave whatsoever, and you even juggled the possibility of skipping class to stay longer with toge, but the next class happened to be sign language, and you didn’t want to fail another fucking midterm by not showing up and missing material.

you threw your trash away before grabbing your book bag and slinging it over your shoulder once it was time, you slowly and timidly trying to get toge’s attention as you walked to the exit.

your shy raised hand caught his eye in between him blending and pouring drinks, toge quickly putting everything down and reaching for the whiteboard from the register, erasing whatever he had from a previous customer to write and flipping it over with a silly smile.

‘bye mouse!’ it read. ‘i’ll see you tomorrow! :P.’

and that was nearly two and a half years ago, the heart you drew in the corner of his whiteboard still there to this day as he answered questions, responded, or scribbled directions in any given situation with it no matter if it was in or outside of work— always wanting to have a little part of you with him wherever he went.

toge also kept his promise and taught you sign language, you trying so so fucking hard every waking day you spent with him at his cute little studio apartment— learning phrases and properly constructing it into sentences that actually made sense as you both sat sprawled on the floor for hours on end, him patient and kind as he watched you shakily sign and accept his gentle corrections with an open mind.

but although your sentences were continuously choppy and a little off at that point in time, they were definitely in way better condition than when you tried to study and learn it on your own… and toge was unsurprisingly a really good teacher— ten times more helpful than your literal freaking licensed professor whom you had started with, as toge would actually take the time to write and explain each concept in the best way he possibly could for you to understand.

now you were comfortable enough with it to respond in very simple sentences and phrases, but stronger at understanding it whenever toge signed to you, a plus when he clumsily forgot his whiteboard somewhere or when he just didn’t want to use it.

and ever since that first day you went over to his place to learn and study, you literally never went a day without going back again, your cute routine with him being going to his apartment every second of the day to hang out with him or do the things that you needed to do— some that could easily be done in your own space and home and room, but you refusing to for the sole purpose of wanting to be with toge all of the time, him feeling the exact same way and going as far as to giving you a copy of the key to his apartment.

(toge :D): MOUSE

your phone buzzed repeatedly just as you were walking up the steps to toge’s floor, you nearly dropping it over the uncontrollable buzz.

(toge :D): LITTLE MOUSE

(you): YES <3

(toge :D): ouuu a heart?? i didn’t know we were married :P

you let out a giggle and quickly typed a response, your face hot.

(you): mmm i don’t know my ring finger is quite literally bare right now :/ maybe next time!

(toge :D): YOOOOO

(toge :D): it’s because it’s gonna be under your pillow

(toge :D): like from the tooth fairy

(toge :D): a big shiny cock

(toge :D): I MEAN ROCK

(toge :D): ROCK I MEANT ROCK SORRY

you burst out laughing as you readjusted your book bag on your shoulder and turned the corner, nearing his apartment number.

(toge :D): …please still come over

(toge :D): oh wait that’s why i texted you! :P

(toge :D:) WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU

(toge :D): YOU’RE LATE MOUSE

(you): LMFAAOOO

(you): IM COMMINGGGG i’m literally down the hall sir

(you): but now that you yelled at me HMMMM i don’t feel like going today <//3

(toge :D): NO

(toge :D): i’m sorry i’m on my knees

(toge :D): i’m begging

(toge :D): i even brought you a blueberry scone from work

(toge :D): and i’ll buy you whatever you want

(toge :D): FUCK COME OVER NOOOWWWWW

(you): SAY PLEASE AND ADDRESS ME CORRECTLY

(toge :D): PLEEEAASSEEE MOUUSEE

you bit your lip in attempts at suppressing your giddy smile, it not really fucking working as you arrived at his door, pulling your keys out from your bag and shuffling through them to find his— one that had a tiny onigiri design on it.

(you): coming!! <33

(toge :D): so you’re saying we’re married again :P

the door clicked open upon you twisting the key in, stepping inside before closing it behind you while juggling your textbooks and locking it, toge seated on his little gaming chair when he swiveled around and waved at you with a big smile, standing.

“toge!” you gasped exhaustedly, stepping over to him. “you have got to help me please my god—”

he grabbed the textbooks from your arms and walked over to his desk, setting them down before turning back around and giving you a curious look.

‘what’s wrong?’ he signed.

“everything! everything is wrong sign language two is not for the weak oh my goodness gracious—”

you flopped down with your back flat on his bed, eyes shut in agony as he watched you amusedly.

“my professor’s teaching us grammar now and it just gets harder! i don’t know where to properly put anything or— or sign anything.”

he giggled softly and you peeked an eye open, looking at him.

‘i’ll help you mouse.’ he signed, stretching a hand out and you taking it, letting him pull you up to sit as you lazily did so.

“but i ask you too much.” you pouted. “and i feel bad every time i do, especially when you’re playing.”

he snorted, going over to his little dining table and pulling out a chair, lifting it over to his desk gaming set up area and placing it down before ushering you over with his hand.

“nuh uh.” you shook your head.

toge gave you a half lidded look and sat on the dining chair, him always saving his big comfy gaming chair for you whenever you sat with him at his desk since the first time you came over— his eyes expectant.

you deeply sighed and stood, trudging over to his gaming chair before plopping yourself down.

“you don’t have to toge… it’s okay.” you spoke gently. “you’ve been teaching me for like— two years already. my new year’s resolution was to stop bothering you about it and let you live.”

he slid his little whiteboard over and erased what he previously had, uncapping his marker and writing.

he showed you.

‘i’ll always help you and you know that :( and it doesn’t bother me you rat, i do it because i want to.’

or because he’s in love with you. either or.

you giggled and lifted your hand, your index finger erasing over the word ‘rat.’ “—it’s mouusee toge. it’s like you get off on abusing and hurting your bestest mestest friend.”

he laughed boyishly and put down his whiteboard, sliding over one of your textbooks from across the table to him and flipping through several pages, reading to try and see exactly where you were at by the sticky notes you left behind in the margins.

“don’t you have to stream today though?” you asked timidly. “like right now?”

he simply shrugged, turning a page as he reached over to write again on his board.

‘i can stream later tonight—’

he quickly turned it around again to add something just as you had finished reading, him flipping it back over.

‘—with you asleep on my bed. because you’re sleeping over. and that’s FINAL.’

you laughed loudly while leaning forward, your cheeks brewing up a little flush at the request even though you’ve slept over at his place plenty of times before— the thought of him actively wanting you to making your heart bounce around erratically in your chest.

“fuck i don’t know…” you feigned concern. “i’m not sure if i can toge i’m sorry.”

he slumped, eyes so sad that it made you almost sick to your stomach as you struggled to commit to the small bit.

‘why not?’ he signed.

“because i’m missing something.” you pouted.

‘missing?’ he signed again. ‘missing what?’

you snickered.

“my ring!” you extended your hand to him and wiggled your little fingers, you poking the tip of your tongue out to the side cutely. “the one you promised me over text.”

toge breathed out a laugh and nearly dropped dead at your cute expression, him mimicking you and sticking his tattooed tongue out before picking up his whiteboard from his lap to write.

‘i told you the tooth fairy has it :D you have to be patient little mouse.’

you giggled and put your arm down, giving him a stern silly look.

“kayyy thennn!” you dragged, sitting up in your chair and looking over your textbook. “i’ll be expecting my big shiny rock under my pillow in the morning sir.”

he saluted you and you grinned, the rest of the time being spent with toge trying to teach you as best as he could with you hopelessly following along, feeling like the dumbest bitch alive and embarrassed whenever you got something wrong.

but toge never minded, not one single bit— even when you made the same grammar mistake literally three times in a row and him correcting you each freaking time the same exact way, no sign of annoyance or frustration on his face as he worked with you.

and that’s one of the biggest reasons as to why you loved toge so much. since the moment you met him all he wanted to do was just help you, regardless of the fact if you were a stranger or not as he generously always put the things he needed to do aside for you— making sure you were always okay and getting the things you needed no matter how many times you told him he didn’t need to worry, you feeling special and appreciated whenever you were with him no matter what.

you hoped to god he felt the same… and you hoped you weren’t being straight delusional when you noticed the way he looked at you a little longer than he should have at times, or when you read too much into the casual little pecks on your head from him, or when you had told him how much you loved just studying on the floor beside him while he streamed but made a joke that sometimes you couldn’t see because it was so dark in his apartment, toge literally the next day buying you a little flower lily lamp to set and prop up right next to you so you could comfortably study, him laughing and wiping your tears when you ridiculously cried over his consideration.

so did that mean he loved you too?

“toge…” you murmured in the midst of him fixing a signage error of the word ‘before’ with his fingers.

he pointed to your hands so you could take note of the alteration he made, waiting for you to carry on then.

you smiled softly in gratitude before continuing.

“have you ever—” you pursed your lips. “have you ever um… well— actually nevermind—”

he blinked before slowly lifting his hands.

‘have i ever what?’ toge signed, and you quickly shook your head.

“nevermind! it’s okay.”

he gently nudged your foot with his, beckoning you to tell him as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

fuck.

okay if he kisses your head right now then you’ll tell him.

“i forgot toge.” you lied. “that’s why i said nevermind… oopsie!”

he laughed and leaned forward, pecking your forehead before reaching a hand up to ruffle up your hair.

fuck!

no you take it back you can’t do it you can’t—

‘silly.’ he signed, turning his attention back to your textbook and flipping a page.

he wondered what it was, but figured it would come back to you eventually and you’d tell him soon after.

by the end of the day, it was like there was an actual fucking light at the end of the tunnel for you and your sign language two class— you going from being over a thousand percent sure that you were about to pathetically fail the entire course, to having a shiny little sliver of hope because of toge’s ability to get anything through your big head and make you understand, feeling eternally grateful for him in many ways than one.

and you wanted him, so fucking bad, ever since you saw him at the coffee shop, that you thought in that moment while toge set up his bed for you to sleep in while you sat on his desk chair, dressed in his big white t-shirt and pajama pants, that if you just— maayybee tested the waters and crossed the line a little bit without it being too drastic, that you’d get your answer.

but did you want to know? what if he didn’t love you back? what the fuck were you supposed to do then?

cry and wither away, that’s what. you don’t think you’ve ever loved someone as much as you loved toge.

you hear the familiar squeaks of his black marker streaking against his little whiteboard, the sound pulling you from your thoughts and you looked up.

‘you’re so spacey today pretty. are you still worried about your class? :(‘

pretty.

“oh!” you stood. “no toge i feel a lot better about it actually because of you… thank you.”

he grinned, nodding before walking and leaning over his pc to set up his streaming session, mouse clicking away.

“toge—”

he looked over at you with his gorgeous purple eyes and you froze, cheeks heating up as your wobbly lips struggled to come together and fucking speak.

“nevermind nevermind—”

his eyes narrowed, snatching his whiteboard and quickly writing.

‘you did this earlier today too. tell me what’s wrong.’

“no.”

‘no?’ he signed. ‘tell me y/n.’

“no! not my name!” you dived dramatically on his comfy blanket filled bed and groaned. “you only call me by my name when you’re mad and i don’t like it.”

he sat next to you on the edge of the bed and pulled on your shoulder slightly, you fully turning around on your back and looking at him anxiously.

toge wished he could continuously beg you and ask you what was wrong so you’d just tell him— him at times sick of constantly having to pause and make you wait so he could get his point across, a painful fact that never left his mind and made him feel like the biggest burden in your life.

that’s why he never wanted to cross that line you both always seemed to lean over without meaning to. the line that’s kept you both on this limbo of half best friends and half more as he sometimes hugged you a lot longer or snuck in a couple of self indulgent cheek and hand kisses to your skin… but that’s as far as he’d really let himself get. toge didn’t want to permanently have you drag him along in your life no matter how much he wanted to be in it as something way more.

you deserved noise, you deserved loud love, you deserved someone who could actually speak to you— things he mourned over that he could never give you.

and he knew this. he’s known from the moment you walked into the coffee shop the very first time even though you swore up and down that he noticed you later, you unaware that he actually saw you right off the fucking bat on the first day and couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye— knowing you were going to be the biggest heartbreak of his life and ruin him if he so managed as to let you in when you kept coming back.

but toge was selfish, and he couldn’t help himself.

so he tried to compromise.

there’s nothing wrong with being just friends… right? a casual conversation between two people while he was at work? to then bid goodbye and say hello to every now and then?

except a quick conversation with you turned into ones that lasted almost his entire shift sometimes, and then casual meet ups turned into sleepovers at his apartment when he offered to teach you sign language, and then little hugs of farewell and hello’s turned into him kissing you practically fucking everywhere that wasn’t your mouth with the tightest embraces, him completely going against what he swore he wasn’t going to do and damning himself for life.

and even more so when you had joked about wanting a ring that one day, him actually going out the next day and buying you matching ones even though he didn’t even know if he was strong enough to actually give yours to you.

but toge was still freaking selfish.

because as you looked at him now, your gorgeous face anxious and thought-filled about things he wished you would tell him without worry, the outline and shape of your plush soft lips burning his pupils in such a way that it felt like a privilege, your body in his clothes—

made him want to speak the three worded phrase he was only allowed to say in his sleepy dreams if he was lucky.

“what toge?” you spoke softly, reaching a hand up to delicately card through the front pieces of his pale blonde hair, soft and silky as the outline of his tattooed snake eyes made you a little fuzzy.

he slowly shook his head, a far off look in his eye as he leaned over you, his face close and strained that your eyebrows pinched a little at his expression.

your hand proceeded to gently smooth down from his hair to the side of his cheek, cupping it and caressing over it with your thumb so lovingly that he nearly broke his oath.

if you said that you loved him… he wondered if he would crack. if you confessed and told him that you felt the same way, he juggled the possibility of ruining his own life by giving in and letting you take on the burden of his existence just to have you like he’s always wanted—

“i love you.” you told him.

toge’s big wide afraid eyes stared back at you as you smiled sheepishly, his breath caught in his throat.

“i—” you hesitated, playing with the hem of his shirt. “i really love you. like in the way where i want you to like— kiss me and stuff in your free time…”

he huffed a shocked breath, his face still just alarmed and strained and you started to believe that maybe you actually were delusional and misinterpreted things, his lack of anything making you second guess.

“i’m sorry.” you blurted. “i’m sorry i thought—”

and toge was still selfish as he let his lips fall down and crash against yours, moving so feverishly and hungrily that you couldn’t keep up as he dug his arms underneath you and around before pulling you up flush against his body, wanting you as close to him as humanely fucking possible incase he never got to do this again with you, the possibility horrifyingly still there.

“does this mean—” you spoke in between kisses, breathless. “does this mean you love me too—”

toge broke apart momentarily and quickly nodded, eyes ditzy and clouded as he panted against your lips, drunkenly lowering his head and linking his wet lips with yours again as he sloppily kissed you, laying you back down while you wrung your arms around his neck, you giddy and absolutely fucking enamored with him and that he was finally yours.

except he technically wasn’t… yet…

even when three full weeks had passed.

you still visited toge at work in the coffee shop in the mornings or the afternoon like you always did, ordering the same thing and going in to chat as he wrote his responses on his whiteboard— except now whenever rush hour would conclude, toge would greedily sneak in kisses with you at your table or hold the back of your hand to his cheek as you talked about your classes and your plans for the weekend, his conflicted mind putting his oath on the back burner for now as he tried to relish in the love he’s been wanting for so long.

and you were a little confused as to why toge hadn’t taken the initiative that night and asked you to be his girlfriend, but you didn’t complain, you too caught up in the moment when he would make out with you at his apartment in between study or streaming breaks with his hands literally all over you like a man starved, groping and squeezing at anything he could but never going over that last jump to do something intimate with you, your lovesick mind too in it to care at the moment.

that was the next compromise he made.

if you both just— just stayed this way. no official title no matter how much it pained him just so that he could continue doing these lovely lovely things with you whenever you both wanted, his mind thinking that since you both weren’t technically together that he wasn’t burdening you for life just yet, wanting to keep it this way for as long as he possibly could because toge didn’t fucking know what he was going to do when the time came for making it official.

well yes— he did know. but what he wanted to do and what he should do were two completely different things.

“togeee!” you bounded into the shop one morning, thankful that it was empty as you quickly leaned over the counter and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek, him smiling wide with a flush to his face in response.

‘hi mouse :) <3’ he wrote on his whiteboard. ‘have you had something to eat yet?’

“i’m good im good! wait i haven’t ate but im good!” you spoke excitedly. “i come with newwsss. really fun news!”

he hummed and nodded, motioning for you to continue as he moved around in the back to get and warm up a breakfast sandwich for you.

“one of my friends from sign language told me she’s throwing a party at her sorority house and invited meee!” you beamed, hearing a little oven ping and then following him to your usual table so the both of you could sit.

toge gently slid your sandwich over upon scooting his chair up, warm and yummy as it sat pretty on a little pastel green plate and him signing ‘eat please’ as you grinned.

“and i know you told me once that you’ve never been to a college party, so i was wondering if you wanted to maybe.. come with me?”

he smiled softly.

‘when?’ toge signed.

“tomorrow night!” you responded, taking a bite out of your breakfast sandwich.

he nodded, thinking a little in his head before sliding his whiteboard over to write.

‘of course ill go mouse but it might be better without me.’

you faltered, swallowing. “without you? why?”

he erased and wrote again.

‘because i can’t talk. your friends might think it’s a little odd.’

“no they won’t.” you countered. “and that’s totally okay, toge. just bring your whiteboard.”

he snorted, shaking his head.

‘i’m not bringing my whiteboard silly that’s even worse.’

“but you’ll be with me.” you reasoned. “and i don’t really talk to anyone at school either besides her so it’s literally just you and i hanging out.”

you wiggled your brows. “and drinkinggg ehh?”

he laughed and eventually nodded, reaching across the table and taking your hands in his as he agreed to go, caressing his fingers over your wrists.

the familiar scent of coffee beans and vanilla— a scent you’ve come to know for almost three years now wafted and swirled around through your nose comfortingly, it permanently reminding you of toge and the time that you’ve spent with him.

he let go of your wrists to write.

‘how was sign language yesterday? are you still good?’

you swallowed the bite you were chewing on and held back a grimace.

“oh i’m doing horrendously again… but it’s all good! ignorance is bliss and i’m choosing hardcore ignorance right now.”

toge’s jaw dropped before he laughed in disbelief and picked up his marker.

‘you’re sleeping over at my place again so i can help you no exceptions sorry about it :p’

you giggled and nodded— saluting him, a mannerism you picked up on from him as he smiled brightly.

“but i do know this!” you exclaimed excitedly as you pressed the bases of your palms together and rubbed, signing the word ‘cheese’— your favorite.

toge laughed cutely and signed the same word back, unable to do much else as the doors chimed to the shop then and a group of students came in, toge’s chair scraping against the floor as he stood before giving you a quick kiss and a ruffle to your hair, his whiteboard in hand as he started making his way to the back.

‘i love you.’ he signed and you bit your bottom lip in a smile, your heart swelling obnoxiously as you watched him shuffle on and tap a few things into the register, nodding along to the groups order as you soon after gathered your things for your afternoon class.

and that night after toge taught you a little more sign language and helped you work on the things you were struggling with, you fell asleep rather earlier than usual on his bed— him reaching for one of his fluffy blankets and draping it over your sleeping gorgeous self and staring, slowly leaning down and pressing the softest kiss ever to your little warm cheek— his chest twisting and contorting with the desire to just fucking give in and stop his stupid ridiculous suffering, to just be selfish one last time and ask you to be his.

and maybe he could.

maybe toge could allow himself this one tiny thing— the most important pretty thing of all, he felt.

just once.

“toge?” you murmured sleepily, eyes pinching a little as you lazily reached out for him.

but what if you grew tired of him? of the silence?

he delicately took your outstretched hand and hummed in question.

“come sleep.” you mumbled. “with me.”

his eyes softened, the corners of his mouth curving as he carefully tapped his index finger against your cheek repeatedly, you straining your eyes open.

‘look under your pillow.’ he signed.

your groggy eyes narrowed in confusion, barely making out what he was signing in the dark but catching key words.

“under my pillow?”

he nodded, pointing.

you breathed in and propped yourself up on your elbow, lifting the pillow you were laying on and suddenly snapping the fuck awake.

a ring.

you shot up, sitting up fully as you looked at him.

he stood and reached over for his whiteboard and marker, uncapping it and writing for a moment before flipping it around and showing you.

‘i got us matching bestest mestest friends but also in love at the same time rings :]’

you picked it up, a dainty thin silver banned ring with a milky white heart in the middle, iridescent as it glowed against the moonlight streaming through his open window.

“toge—” you breathed out. “you actually… you actually got me a ring?”

he wrote, a sly little grin on his face.

‘the tooth fairy did mouse.’

you giggled then, a vibrant pink glow to your cheeks and still a little shocked as he took the jewelry piece from you and gently grabbed your hand, sliding it over your ring finger smoothly, his ring finger already having his shiny silver band on.

he put your hand down and grabbed his whiteboard again.

‘that ring is me promising to help you and love you and kiss you until i die.’ he wrote. ‘okay?’

you quickly nodded, absolutely cheesed as you threw your arms around his neck and pulled toge in— feeling so so happy and fresh and loved, like everything was officially falling into place after nearly three years of semi crossing lines and stolen glances and unanswered questions about what exactly you both were for the longest.

your pretty pretty face had toge in a daze as you looked at him like he carried the world on his shoulders, his mouth slowly coming closer and closer to yours before softly pressing against them— slow and tender as you tugged him down to you by his shirt until he climbed in and was in between your thighs.

each kiss exchange was sensual and a mouthful as you helped toge tug his shirt off over his head, your palms running over his bare skinned chest and back as he deepened his kisses, your hands quickly pulling your shirt off and his eyes bulging at the sight of your puffy tits snug and pretty in your bra.

you were desperate for him and didn’t even have to think twice about something like this as you reached and tugged a little at his jeans, signaling him to take them the fuck off—

‘baby.’ he signed shakily, not even sure why he was asking since he doesn’t think at this point he could stop, but needing to check in with you first. ‘are you sure?’

“fuck yeah i’m sure.” you whispered quickly and unzipped his pants, toge smiling big as he kicked his pants and everything else off, carefully helping you do the same until you were bare and vulnerable in front of him.

toge moved to place a hand on your thigh and you squeaked, suddenly bashful as you shyly covered your arms over your chest and squeezed your thighs together.

he leaned down and placed gentle soft kisses on your cheeks, patting a comforting hand over your head.

‘it’s okay mouse. you’re okay.’ he signed.

you nodded, comfort washing over you as you slowly let your thighs spread and your arms reveal you, his spit catching in his throat at the sight of your gorgeous fucking body beneath him, his dick embarrassingly already leaking a little bit of cum as you watched him pump it a few times.

‘you’re beautiful.’ he signed, and you blushed.

he drooled some spit over his fingers and slid it gently in between your folds, your bottom lip coming in between your teeth as you tried to hold back your moans, his digits prepping you while slipping through your hole deeming it fucking hard as he was completely lost in it, unaware of the way he was riling you up and already building up that familiar sensation in the pit of your tummy.

“t—toge—” your pussy clenched at the way he was fucking you with his fingers, keeping your thighs apart with his other arm as he was completely drowned in the gushy sticky sounds of your hole.

“you’re gonna make me cum and i—” you panted, cute whines slipping from your lips as he looked up at you. “—i wanna cum when you’re inside—”

his cock spasmed and a drop of cum drooped out at your yummy plea, his breathing trembling as he quickly nodded and squeezed your thigh endearingly, slowly slipping his fingers out and stuffing them into his mouth to suck your juices as he pumped his cock while lining it up with your hole.

toge sunk in his dick then, the both of you groaning at the way he filled you up so fucking nice and stretched you, your pussy literally grabbing his cock and sucking him inside easily as you gripped his shoulders tight.

“mmm!—” you whimpered, toge now slowly pumping his cock inside of you as he leaned over and propped himself up by his arms, hips tenderly and deliciously rolling in as he panted and softly whined in your ear.

you were so god damn tight, his throat literally closing at the lock you had around him as he fucked you slow and breathless, one of his hands coming down to grip your waist to try and keep himself grounded and from snapping his hips into yours brutally— him wanting to make love to you and not do that just yet.

toge ducked his head down and licked over a perky tit, your breath hitching and subconsciously spreading your legs wider as he closed his lips around your nipple— suckling and laying a flat tattooed tongue over it as you moaned.

“faster—” pant! “faster please baby—”

with a mouthful of your tit he snapped his hips up, you choking as he started going a lot quicker than you anticipated as your hand flew to your mouth to keep your moans in, your tits bouncing with every fuck.

“oh my god oh my god—”

toge suddenly pulled out and threw you over, tummy to the bed as he hauled your ass up and lined himself at your entrance again, wasting no time in pushing in and screwing you in the same pace he had before.

but this new position was an absolute delicacy as you drooled over his sheets at the way he rammed his cock, the recoil of your ass sending a shiver up his spine and roughly gripping your hips and ass in anyway he could, you screaming and whining into his pillow as a series of slaps to your ass cheeks from him echoed through his little studio.

toge was about to dump the biggest fucking load in you that it was embarrassing.

you reached a hand behind you and he quickly grabbed it, his thumb running over your skin soothingly as he pistoned roughly into your cunt, him groaning and whimpering over the squelching and leaking of your hole as he felt his dick harden— his cum on the brink of release.

“fuck fuck fuck—” you hiccuped into his pillow. “baby i’m gonna cum i’m gonna cum hah!—”

he gripped your hand harder and leaned down over you, rutting into your pussy as he heaved and pressed his lips up against your ear, choking out the word ‘cum’ so softly that it bypassed the confines of his situation, your eyes squeezing shut as the hardest fucking orgasm you had ever had in your life hit you like brick.

you felt toge’s hips snap up and still as his hot milky cum spilled through your walls with a grunt, gooey and slimy as it filled you up and left you squirming at the weight of it.

his breath fanned against your hair as he tried to calm it, his hand moving soothingly up and down your back as you weakly tried to gain back some consciousness, the both of you sweaty and spent with his softening dick sliding out slowly.

toge carefully nudged you back over and kissed you tenderly, his hands traveling from your back over to your tummy and smoothly caressing every part of you down to the sides of your thighs, eyes swelling in utter worship over you as he leaned back to look at you.

‘i love you baby.’ he signed, and you beamed.

and just as toge had finally decided to ask you to be his girlfriend then, to officially let go of the fears he had and let himself have you— there in your arms as you peppered sweet cute kisses all over his face and over his tattooed markings on the corners of his mouth, pulling him further in to rest and sleep?

toge had a horrendous day the following morning that threw it all away.

horrendous.

it started in the morning when he left your sleeping figure quietly with a kiss to your head for his shift at work that day, excited and in a never ending state of bliss from the night before as he drove to the shop.

except he had forgotten his whiteboard at home.

toge had realized when he was already fucking halfway into the drive, a full fledged twenty five minute one that he didn’t have time to go back and repeat as he pulled up to the parking lot— cursing himself for being such a dumbass and wondering how the fuck he was gonna answer specific questions from customers, especially since he was the only one really working today.

he figured he should be fine… right? usually the people that come in already know what to get and they just read it out to him.

but there’s always a few every single day without fail that ask questions toge needed his whiteboard for. and you didn’t have class that day— so the means of you coming down there were for nothing, at least not until the party later that night.

and he didn’t want to ask anything of you…

but he really needed it.

(toge :D): hi pretty mouseee i know you’re asleep i’m sorry but is there anyway you could come to the shop when you wake up and drop off my whiteboard please? i left it on the desk like a stupid fucking idiot EL OH EL

“inumaki.”

toge froze on his walk to open the shop and looked up from his phone, eyes blowing wide.

there his manager stood, who was also the owner of the coffee shop itself, a stern look on his face with crossed arms as they both stood in front of a shattered door and windows, shards of glass twinkling on the floor.

“did you lock up last night?”

toge nodded, eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the ground.

“everything?”

he went to nod again, but stopped.

he did… he did truly he did—

…oh.

he forgot to lock up and cash in the register.

toge quickly stepped over the glass and swung open the shattered door and over to the front counter, sure enough finding the register wide open and battered with not a single fucking penny left inside.

he groaned, his hands shooting up and digging the bases of his palms into his eyes as he leaned back, lips in a thin line at how utterly fucking stupid he was for forgetting to lock up the register and take in the money— the number one thing he was always supposed to do.

“what happened?” his manager asked, hands out. “have you been not locking it up?”

toge scrambled for his phone and pulled it from his back pocket, the thought of his job literally on the line because of this sending him for a fucking ride.

‘i always lock it up, honestly.’ he typed and showed his phone. ‘but i stupidly forgot last night and i can’t express enough to you how sorry i am.’

his manager sighed deeply and dropped his hands, looking over at the open register.

“you’ve consistently been one of my best.” he spoke. “but a mistake like this isn’t something small like forgetting to properly close and wipe down everything or put up the chairs.”

toge nodded understandingly, arms tightly crossed over his chest as he shamefully looked to the side, feeling like the biggest pathetic loser for doing something like this that could’ve been entirely avoided if he just did his damn job correctly.

“it’s alright.” his manager reached and patted a heavy hand to his shoulder. “it happens. it’s just unfortunate that we got broken into right when it did.”

toge looked at him.

“we can’t open today because there’s glass everywhere… so if you can stay and call up the insurance for the shop—” he pointed to the wall, their number amongst others typed and labeled. “—and file an insurance claim in any way you can for me that’d be great. i’m gonna go down to the police station and report.”

toge quickly nodded, typing again on his phone before showing him.

‘okay sounds good. i’m really really sorry and this won’t happen again.’

his manager waved him off with a smile. “don’t sweat, inumaki. i’m pretty sure i did this too when i was working except it was my works safe and not the register…”

softly chuckling, toge nodded once more and gave his manager a tiny wave as he patted his shoulder again before stepping around the glass, leaving.

regardless of being lucky enough to have such an understanding boss, toge still felt like complete and utter shit as he stood behind the counter slumped over after, on hold with the insurance company for thirty minutes now as he stared at the broken shards and the register.

you had gotten toge’s text the minute you woke up and quickly got up to get ready, not even bothering to change into anything different as you left with his pajamas on you and his little whiteboard, hopping into your car and speeding off knowing how much he needed it for work sometimes.

and when you pulled into the shops parking lot, confusedly already noticing scattered glass on the concrete walking up, you froze in front of the coffee shop upon seeing the windows and doors completely shattered— toge propping his forehead up with his palm on the counter solemnly.

“toge?”

he looked up.

“what happened?”

his shoulders dropped in relief and he slowly came around the counter, opening his arms a little and pulling you in as he buried his face into your hair, sighing.

you hugged him back. “are you okay? did this happen right now?”

he shook his head and stepped back, taking the whiteboard from you.

‘someone broke into the shop last night. but i forgot to lock up the register and cash in the money so they stole that too.’

“oh my god!” you gasped, hands flying over your mouth. “fuucckkkk was your manager mad? don’t tell me he fired you—”

toge erased and wrote before flipping the board over.

‘no just disappointed. but i still feel like such a fucking moron for forgetting and i hate that i did.’

“toge..” you sighed sadly, running your hands over his upper arms. “it’s okay you’re human baby. these things happen so don’t feel like that please..”

he nodded a little before ducking down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

you smiled and looked around.

“seeing the shop like this is nuts.”

he hummed in agreement.

toge stuck around for a little while, you next to him behind the counter still waiting on hold with the insurance company, feeling awfully bad for keeping you here when he knew you wanted to go shopping for a dress for the party, but him stupidly forgetting again that he couldn’t speak— too caught up in trying to make it up to his manager for his fuck up to think about how exactly he was going to talk to the insurance company on the other line, you demanding to help him.

sometime down the line when the insurance claim was filed, toge’s manager told him that if he wanted to open up the shop for the day he could, and to just sweep up the glass a little from the ground and fix up the place a little so it didn’t look like they just got robbed.

and because toge was still in his self dreaded state of guilt and shame over what happened, he immediately agreed to, trying to make up for his mistake and see if he could double the shop’s earnings for today.

“i could stay toge let me stay.” you pushed, but he only shook his head and sent you off to do the things he knew you needed to do with a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek, telling you he’d see you at his place to get ready for the party.

but maybe toge was better off telling his manager a bit fat no and going home with you, because it was like everybody that came into the shop following that had eaten a big bag of dicks and salvaged the biggest fucking attitudes out of it to spit back in his face.

no one was understanding him. no one. not a single soul. even when he used his whiteboard to explain everything that certain customers needed, for some reason the extra effort of them having to just read putting them off and yelling and making toge’s shift a living hell.

and it’s not like he’s never managed shifts on his own either— never having an issue and still putting in and preparing orders efficiently like he was supposed to, but he figured the debacle from this morning was setting him off since he couldn’t do anything right at the moment, the attitude he was getting from literally every single fucking customer leaving him wishing he at least had one more person on the floor with him.

but toge was still blaming himself.

why couldn’t anyone understand him? why couldn’t he just speak? his life would be so much easier if he could… and you would’ve been his a long time ago.

so as toge sat there tiredly after work with his eyes closed on a stool next to you in his bathroom, you applying the finishing touches to your hair and makeup— you could practically feel toge’s exhaustion, frustration, and sadness seeping into your skin and insides over the shift he told you he had, your eyebrows pinching anxiously.

“we don’t have to go baby…” you murmured, looking down and playing with the rings on your fingers. “i would much rather stay here with you so you can relax for a little…”

he slowly peeled his eyes open, the sight of you standing there in front of him— so fucking beautiful in your dress and heels and dolled up in the way that you were, made his cheeks buzz pink as he slumped forward and mushed his cheek up against your tummy, wrapping his arms around you and shaking his head.

“are you sure?” you asked gently, running your fingers over his soft hair. “i don’t mind what we do toge… as long as with you i’m okay.”

his heart jumped as he looked up and gave you a cute smile, nodding.

you’d decided to meet in the middle and just go home early so toge could have enough rest for his shift tomorrow, him driving you both to the sorority house and parking a bit down the street amongst dozens of other cars, a little nervous and apprehensive and wondering what he was gonna do if any of your friends came up to talk to him— but the desire to make you happy and accompany you to something that you were so excited for far, far greater.

the night went smoothly for the most part, you in no time at all spotting your friend that initially invited you through the crowd along with some of your other friends that you had no idea were coming in the first place, introducing toge to each one and him giving a small smile and wave in response as he interlaced your fingers and gladly let you lead him to wherever you wanted through the dark and blue lit house, taking sips occasionally of the tequila orange liquor mix from his red solo cup and funnily from yours too— since you had gotten a different punch like flavor that he liked better.

“y/n? i didn’t know you were coming!”

your head snapped to the voice just as you were talking to toge, your eyes widening and a huge smile spreading across your face.

“oh hey! i didn’t know you were either!” you quickly turned to toge. “he’s in my sign language class the one i told you about that teaches us how to cuss—”

your friend laughed, “you talk about me y/n? interestinggg.”

toge quirked a brow.

“not like that—” you slapped his shoulder. “i talk about you so i can build up the stamina to rat you out.”

he gasped dramatically. “says the one who bothered me last class to teach her how to sign the word cunt.”

“no i didn’t— wait actually i did.”

your friend laughed again but diverted his attention momentarily to someone pulling on his arm a bit.

toge nudged you gently and you turned.

‘i’m gonna go get a drink mouse.’ he signed.

“okay!” you nodded. “i’ll wait for you here.”

he nodded, kissing your head before leaving— the kitchen not too far from where you both were originally at as he walked and threw away the drink he had initially and scanned the counter, looking for the fruity punch one you got before spotting it and picking one up from the rows of others, the smell of alcohol filling his nostrils.

“hey sorry to bother, which flavor is that?”

toge froze and looked over, a girl standing there and pointing at his cup.

oh shit.

toge pointed to his cup.

“yeah, which flavor is that one? i’ve tried the others but not that one yet.”

oh fuck.

why couldn’t he just talk?

the girl quirked a brow at his silence, and just when she was about to say something else, someone came through the kitchen.

“i think that one’s tutti frutti but i could be wrong.”

she turned to the other person and nodded, giving toge an awkward look before walking around him to get a cup for herself.

toge covered his eyes with a hand in complete fucking mortifying embarrassment, cheeks warm as he leaned against the kitchen sink in the lowest low he had ever lowed.

or so he thought.

because the sound of your loud pretty laughter had him slowly looking up and taking his hand away, you conversing so— so openly and freely with your friend from sign language triggering a hint of jealousy and bitterness in his chest. bitter as to why he was cursed to deal with something like this, bitter over the loser that was blatantly obviously flirting with you… but jealous of him that he was able to open his mouth and speak to you in whatever words and phrases he wanted, syllables flying out without any sort of pain or blood as a paying price like he had to.

that’s what you needed… that’s what you should have. not him.

not his inevitable silence and whiteboards and constant pauses, his lack of being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him whenever, wherever… without being tied down to a marker or a phone.

his mixup from this morning, his customers not understanding him, everybody else not understanding him, has led him to believe that someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t carry the burden of even trying to.

toge knew from the very first time you came into the coffee shop that you were going to unknowingly break his heart if he let you in because of his situation… and fuck did he let you in.

and now he had to break yours so you could find and be with what you deserved.

toge walked over to you then, head down with his jaw tight and mind fogged over as you doubled over in laughter over something your friend said.

“wait—” you gasped. “wait toge he just told me that—”

“is he your boyfriend?” you friend asked, pointing to him.

well, toge still hadn’t really asked you… but he gave you a promise ring, and you were both wearing them tonight so—

your eyes snapped to toge, who was shaking his head no.

…no?

your brows furrowed.

“oh! i thought you guys were together, my bad.”

toge twitched over the way your friend sounded relieved, but you didn’t notice a thing, still looking at him with the most gutting look that made him want to scream.

“yeah.. my bad too.” you mumbled, your friend not catching it as he then got pulled by the shoulder to a different crowd, him calling over that he would come find you later on in the night.

“no?” you repeated to him.

‘come with me outside.’ he signed before slowly walking and leading you back to the kitchen and through the backyard doors, the chilling cold night air a refreshing break from the stuffiness inside.

“if this is a joke it’s not that funny toge.” you mumbled, hugging yourself as you closed the door behind you.

he looked at you sadly.

‘you shouldn’t be with me mouse.’ he signed.

“what?” you breathed out. “what are you talking about?”

‘i can’t give you what you need.’

“what i need?”

he nodded. ‘it won’t work. you and me.’

“toge—” your chest picked up speed, tears prickling a bit at your eyes. “you’re telling me all of this yet no answers— why won’t we work.”

‘you should be with someone that can talk to you and tell you that they love you and say anything without all of this baggage—’

“wait wait slow down i can’t—” you put your hands out. “you’re signing too fast i can’t understand you—”

you couldn’t understand him.

and toge realized that the reasoning he had would be something that you would counter and fight for, and something he would more than one hundred percent give in to you winning just so he could have you again.

he needed to make you hate him so it would be easier for you to move on.

toge dropped his arms, a defeated look on his face as he shoved a hand in his pocket for his phone, typing out a message to you.

you received it on the other end, your phone illuminating your face as you opened it.

(toge :D): i realized after we confessed that this isn’t what i want anymore and im sorry

your jaw dropped, eyes narrowing as you looked up at him.

“what the fuck do you mean.”

his thumbs shook as he typed, his heart pulling and screaming at the muscles and nerves tied to them for him to stop.

(toge :D): we’re better off as just friends. i’m really sorry that i realized after the fact. you deserve someone better anyways and i just don’t think it’s with me.

you let out a sob that ripped him to shreds, hand coming over your mouth in disbelief as you stared at the blurry screen in your grasp.

he realized this after the fact? after messing around with you for almost three years? after confessing to you and saying he loves you? after being intimate?

you felt fucking used.

“you’re realizing this now?” you shook your head. “toge— you realize we’ve been flirting like this for as long as we’ve known each other and all of a sudden you’re pulling back? after you got your fucking fill? after kissing me and telling me that you love me, and— and after—”

you ran an exasperated trembling hand through your hair. “toge we had sex and you’re telling me this isn’t what you want?”

god this is everything he wants.

but toge bit his tongue, him strained all over with a locked painful jaw as you yelled at him, his eyes glossy over how much he was hurting you as he stiffly nodded.

you stepped closer, jabbing a finger to his chest. “look at me in the eyes right now and tell me if our entire fucking friendship before leading up to our bullshit confessions was all a lie. tell me right now if this—” you held your hand up, the promise ring he gave you shimmering under the fairy lights of the backyard. “—was a lie when you promised me that you would always help me and love me.”

toge breathed in and out shakily, swallowing thickly as he slowly nodded, his entire body in absolute detriment.

holy fucking shit.

how long had you been this stupid for you to not realize the kind of person he actually was?

but— but it didn’t make any sense. this wasn’t toge. this wasn’t toge at all you didn’t know who the fuck you were yelling at right now because toge would never do this to you.

“do you know why i’m learning sign language in the first place?”

toge blinked back tears, shaking his head no.

“i started taking sign language for you, asshole!” you sobbed. “when i was stupidly crushing on you at the shop before we talked for the first time, i noticed you knew sign language and i signed up for you so it’d be easier for you to communicate with me without always having to use your whiteboard.”

he felt a pang to his heart, harshly wiping his eyes.

“but even then i don’t fucking care toge! you could have absolutely nothing to talk to me with and i’d still love you and do anything for you because that’s how much i’m in love you!”

you sobbed as your shoulders shook violently, hands covering your eyes.

“glad to know the feelings not mutual.”

oh he takes it back.

he takes it all back.

toge reached for your hands and you pushed him away.

“you’re so full of shit toge.” you sniffled. “if this is what you want then fine. take this fucking—”

you slipped the ring off from your finger and threw it at him, the feeling of it thudding against his chest and clinking to the ground beneath his feet close enough to a damn bullet.

he shook his head frantically, picking up your ring and following you up the steps of the porch, grabbing your hand and pulling you back, but you only shaking it off and trudging on forward.

“mouse—” he spoke. “please stop—”

the sound of his rare voice made you freeze in place, unmoving and feeling guilt pool in your stomach at the sound of him reeling over and coughing violently as a result.

he spoke to you… but his dreaded words from earlier still lingered in your mind, betrayal etched into your chest like a tattoo.

“don’t call me that.” you mumbled over your shoulder, swinging the door open to the kitchen and slamming it shut.

toge heard nothing from you for four weeks.

even through all of the calls and texts he sent you, he started to conclude that you actually blocked his number the moment you left him that night, unable to see his actual explanation through the masses of messages he sent you and still continued to even after confirming the thought that you had blocked him.

he couldn’t believe himself. he couldn’t believe he actually hurt you and drove you away like that.

and toge had never felt so much self hatred, missing you like fucking crazy throughout those weeks— it reminding him of that one time when you first started getting to know each other where you disappeared for a week, except far far worse now that you had both built so much together over the years.

his life felt empty now that you weren’t in it.

and funnily enough, his job— something he had gotten before you, now solely reminding him of you as he tried to work without throwing something over the random flashbacks he’d have of that night, blending and serving drinks and sliding them over the pickup counter all meaningless if you weren’t there at your usual table to give him a cheeky smile and sign the word ‘cheese’ to make him laugh on the other side.

his little mouse.

and toge silently cried almost every night at his desk, him clutching your ring.

you were basically the same way as him, if not fucking lower as you were the one that was practically presumably dumped and used, you unable to sleep for hours on end in your bed and your parents wondering what the hell happened between the two of you as they tried to console your tears through your restless nights, you half in denial that this was your reality and toge was out of your life.

after some time, you realized that you had left nearly half of your things in toge’s apartment, it settling into your mind how much time you actually spent with him and not at your own house as you constantly found yourself needing things but couldn’t have them because they were over there— one of those things unfortunately being your freaking sign language textbook.

there was absolutely no way you could get it, and you opted to borrowing your friends for the longest time… but by the time you reached the beginning of the fifth week without toge, you started feeling really bad for continuously bothering your friend for her book when you could just suck it up and get yours.

so you made your jumbled mind up and reached for your phone one day after your morning class, going to toge’s contact number and unblocking him before texting.

(you): hi. sorry to bother but i left some things in your apartment that i need. i was wondering if i could come by today to get them.

toge nearly jumped out of his skin at your pretty name flashing across his phone while he was lazily and depressingly laying in bed, scrambling to type back not even a minute later.

(toge): yes of course

(toge): i’m home right now if you want to come

(toge): and you’re never a bother

you pursed your lips, a lump building in your throat.

(you): okay. i’ll be there in a few minutes.

toge flung his scattered clothing inside his closet or literally anywhere that was out of eyesight, trying to turn his rut of a room back to how it looked like when you were always here, shaking out a big garbage bag and throwing all of his trash in there (along with all of the cake pop, cheese danish, and blueberry scone wrappers…), opening the blinds and straightening out his sheets.

you pulled into his apartment complex parking lot and parked not too long after, your hands drenched in sweat and your body rigid as you came up to his floor and over to his apartment number, knocking even though you had the key.

you almost turned back to leave once you heard his padded footsteps, but decided against is as he was already opening the door.

and my god, seeing him hurt a lot more than you thought it would.

his eyes were soft as they looked at you, and red like yours, him quickly stepping to the side to let you in and you doing so with your head down, not saying a single word.

“i think—” you shakily spoke, eyes already watering as he closed his door with a click. “i think i’m just gonna get my sign language textbook for now i’ll come back some other time for the rest—”

you felt a little tug at your hand, and you turned, his shoulders slumping at your teary eyes, stray droplets slipping down your cheeks already.

‘please don’t cry.’ he signed. ‘i’m so sorry for everything.’

you snorted, shaking your head as you reached behind you to get your textbook.

“sorry for stringing me along and using every part of me until you were bored? sure.”

he frantically shook his head no, panic rising in his chest as he watched you step around him and head for the door.

he couldn’t let you leave.

because he had a feeling if he did, he actually would never see you again.

toge quickly grabbed your wrist and tugged you back around.

“what toge—”

‘stay for a bit.’ he shakily signed. ‘please just stay and let me explain.’

you followed his signage, and your eyes narrowed. “explain what? there’s nothing to explain—”

toge swiped his phone from his bed and opened it, going to your contact to type out a message.

you hesitantly pulled yours out and waited, your phone vibrating against your hand once he sent it over.

(toge): i lied about absolutely everything i said that night. i don’t think any of those things at all. i’ve wanted you so fucking bad from the start y/n, i’ve been ready to be with you i don’t think for a second we’re better off as friends i want more with you always and for the rest of my life.

what?

he sent another message.

(toge): i said what i said because throughout our friendship i told myself like a fucking idiot that i couldn’t let you all the way in because i can’t talk. i kept thinking that you needed someone who you can talk to you whenever you want without having to always step back and read or write like you have to with me. i didn’t want you to carry that baggage and deal with me and i just felt like a burden, and i love you so fucking much that i wanted better for you.

you sniffled and wiped your cheeks, you rubbing away lonesome tears that landed on your phone screen.

(toge): but i’m selfish baby i’ve BEEN selfish. i said those horrible things to you so it’d be easier for you to move on and im so sorry. none of them are true. i don’t want you to move on from me. i didn’t use you i could never and that night we had sex was the most meaningful experience of my life. i love you more than anything in my life, and im gonna be selfish again and please ask you to come back to me. you’re my best friend and more, and i still believe that you need someone better and that can give you more than i can, but i just can’t let you go man i’ve been physically sick for four weeks without you.

you cried still and he typed again.

(toge): i’m selfish and i’m in love with you mouse. i’m sorry.

“toge!” you cried and chucked your phone to his bed, flinging your arms around his neck and pulling him in a tight embrace— the weight completely lifting off both of your shoulders at the feeling of your bodies pressed against each others like a perfect little key in a lock, toge hugging you back so so fucking tight with his face in your neck that he practically squeezed the air out of your lungs entirely.

“i love you.” he spoke, his words incredibly powerful in your ear even though it couldn’t have been more than a mere whisper, the sound and depth of his voice ringing through your head and one you wanted to remember forever and ever, feeling so incredibly loved over the fact that he’d use his voice for you even when it hurt him so much.

but he really didn’t need to. you just wanted him.

and you’ve never been so happy to hear someone tell you that they lied.

toge pulled back a bit and turned his head to the side, stuffing his mouth into the crook of his elbow and coughing.

you pressed your cheek against his once he was done, kissing it a few times beforehand and him closing his eyes at the feeling of your lips on his skin after so long.

“you okay?” you murmured softly, and he nodded.

“i love you too, toge.” you tightened your arms around his neck. “please don’t ever think that you’re a burden or giving me baggage to carry. i’ve never ever felt that way and neither should you.”

you stepped back and cupped his cheeks.

“i need you, baby. i don’t need anything or anyone else but you. someone that has the ability to talk can’t give me even ten percent of what you’ve been giving me. i’m happy with you. the happiest i’ve ever been is when i’m with you… okay?”

toge grinned, huge and shiny as he nodded and leaned forward and captured your lips in a kiss— the both of you utterly deprived as your mouths smacked and moved in haste, his hands running and squeezing over your body with labored breathing between the two of you.

he pulled apart for a second and you stopped.

“what baby?” you breathed, watching as he raised his arms.

‘please be my girlfriend mouse.’ he signed. ‘or i’ll die.’

you giggled cutely and a blush rose on both of your sore cheeks from smiling so much, you happily nodding and roughly pulling him back in to continue.

and how lucky was toge to have such a sweet little mouse that cared for him this much? for someone who couldn’t even speak? who had the greatest level of patience and not once ever complained about the burden she had to carry?

you learned sign language for him. solely for him. the reasons he was thinking about how he’d be baggage to you, was amazingly the total opposite on your end, as you didn’t want to be baggage to him when it came down to communication with you— as if something like that were ever even possible.

and you learned sign language for him— a totally beautiful and different and complex language that was iterated through the feeling of arms and body, to be read across with purposeful moving hands and symbols and diligent fingers— somehow looking even more beautiful when it was you that was doing it.

silence was toge’s greatest form of love… one that you received with open arms and acceptance without a twinge of judgement in your heart, and one that toge only ever wanted you to receive.

you.

his little mouse.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

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onetruechromosome · 1 year ago

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Let's goooooooooooo

Found the brush.

#art #digital art #drawing #oc #my draws #ocs #comic #custom content #drawing tablet #my ocs #krita #kritaart #made with krita

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mggslover · 4 months ago

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Hey I loveddddd the legging pervert!spencer fic, I’d love another one, maybe a part 2, or maybe just another with the same reader and perv!spencer. I love your fics!

SWEAT FOR ME ´-

In which Spencer has a different kind of workout in mind.

pairing perv!spence x leggings!reader genre smut (18+) cw reader is part of the bau + certified gym rat, gym semi public sex, male masturbation, fingering and oral (f receiving), p in v, fwb relationship wc 3,8k a/n we have an official reader! yippie! this is not a pt. 2 but another story in this universe. tysm for this request! feel free to send in more for them :)

Being a loyal gym member came with its set of advantages.

The tenth anniversary of your membership at Quantico’s “Fit4FBI” was coming up. When you joined the BAU, you had signed yourself up for the FBI’s designated training center. Though it was essential for your job to be in good condition, this gym also had the natural pattern of people massively joining during the first weeks of January and collectively giving up around the holidays.

You were one of the few customers that visited regularly. To be specific, every day that you weren’t out on a case. The gym felt like a refuge to you, a place to blow off steam and clear your head from the gruesome cases that seemed to always be on your mind.

You were quick to befriend the owner, Mr. Isaac Dalton, a man in his mid-sixties (but don’t be fooled by his age; there is no trainer as encouraging and persistent as him). It all started with your suggestion to introduce a boxing lesson as a break from the usual Wednesday Pilates classes. It seemed like a small thing to you — boxing has been part of your life since childhood. But to him? It meant everything.

From that day on, you were his favorite customer. Hell, his favorite person even. You gained access to the staff dressing rooms, even to the staff showers — which were a huge upgrade from the shared customer spaces that made even a high school gym look good. Yes, it was that bad. You now knew where they were cutting on the budget to be able to afford the tablets and private jet.

But the best benefit that came with being a star customer was getting the title of rightful owner to a spare set of shiny keys.

Going to the gym after closing hours was the best thing that could happen to you. You were sure that the handover of the keys was a moment that not even your future wedding or the birth of your first child could ever beat. No more eyeing the Smith machine while walking the treadmill, waiting for the right opportunity to take a sprint and claim it before someone else did. No more cleaning of seats because the people before you were too lazy to wipe their sweat away. And thank God, no more annoying people complaining in your ear about how exhausting working out is. Well… besides Spencer.

“I- I can’t,” he panted, letting the dumbbells fall to the ground beside him. In moments like this, you couldn’t help but regret offering him personal training when the gym was supposed to be closed.

You placed your hands on your hips, not hiding the look of judgment as he lay on the training bench, chest heaving like he had just climbed Mount Everest. On heels.

“I truly wonder what you did to pass the physical exam.”

“I was in a remedial training program,” he put his hand on his pounding heart, taking a deep breath before continuing. “They needed new agents in the field, so they made me an exception.”

Well, that explains it.

You shook away your thoughts, extending your hand to help him up. With a groan he stood, legs wobbly as he held onto your shoulders. Your skin felt soft and cool, in contrast to his clammy hands.

Naturally, he started massaging your shoulders, causing a small groan to leave your lips. Spencer was about to slide his fingers under the band of your sports bra, but you stopped him.

“We should do a leg exercise next. Maybe your legs are stronger than your arms.”

Now it was his turn to groan. “Have you seen me? I’m not even standing straight right now.”

“I know, Bambi,” you chuckled jokingly. “People usually find leg extensions one of the easier exercises. You’ll be fine.”

“That makes sense. Your legs are part of your body’s largest muscle groups. Studies have shown that your creatine kinase and myoglobin levels increase significantly after an arm exercise compared to a leg exercise.” He explained as you walked to the equipment at the back of the gym.

You raised an eyebrow. “And that means?”

“It means that your arms are easier to get sore than your legs. They’re also easier to get damaged and heal after an extensive workout.”

You hummed, saving the information to the back of your mind. There must be a day when these random facts will come in handy.

Spencer continued his info dumping as you changed the amount of weights on the machine, putting the pin into 80 lb — a standard beginner’s weight.

You clapped your hands when you were finished. “Okay, you’re all set up.”

“What do I do?” He asked cluelessly.

“Take a seat.”

He did as you said, waiting for further instruction.

“And now you place your feet under the lever and lift it up. You can hold onto the handles for support.”

Spencer followed your instructions, holding onto the levers before he lifted his legs. He paused them at the top for a moment before slowly lowering them back down.

“That’s it. Good job.”

Spencer didn’t respond to your compliment. Concentration was etched onto his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth slightly agape as he repeated the motion. His tongue poked out to the side as he counted the reps in his head, occasionally wetting his lips.

You looked at him. First to make sure he was executing the exercise correctly, but you quickly got distracted. Sweat dripped down his neck, the droplets falling into the white tank top that he wore. At this point it wouldn’t have made a difference if he wore a shirt or not, the fabric being so translucent that you could see the color of his skin.

Your eyes traced him until they landed on his arms. He had a tight grip on the handles, making the veins that decorated his arms and hands look prominent.

Your gaze fell even lower — and it really shouldn’t have — because now you noticed how his shorts have ridden all the way up to his thighs. It wouldn’t surprise you if they dated back to high school. The material clung tightly to him, and every time he tilted his legs, the shorts bulged around his crotch.

To put it simply, he looked hot. Extremely hot.

Get your head out of the gutter. He’s here to train, to gain more confidence in the field. Not to be your personal eye candy.

You were supposed to stay with him the entire time, as a personal trainer does. But you don’t think you can stand here for a second longer trying to fight the urge to jump him.

“I’m going to do some sets on the Smith machine,” you pointed toward the device that stood a couple of feet away, still in clear sight.

Again, no response from the still focused Spencer.

You made your way over to the machine, picking out the weights that you wanted to add to the bar. In routine, you positioned yourself under the bar, placing your feet at shoulder-width, before bending your knees.

In the meantime, Spencer had completed his set of reps. He grabbed his water bottle from the ground next to him, feeling like a real gym jock as he gulped the contents down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his fist.

He looked up to find you. And he was so grateful that he had swallowed, or there’d be a fountain of water bursting from his lips right now.

He didn’t know what a Smith machine entailed, but he definitely didn’t expect to find you in a squatting position yet again. His eyes went to your ass first, obviously. Seeing how perfectly you filled out your leggings, the fabric clinging to every curve, giving the illusion that it could rip at any given moment.

But then his eyes snapped to your upper back. How the muscles in your shoulders flexed as you lifted the bar of weights. There was something so enticing about how strong you were. He thought back on all the times he had pinned you down underneath him, not having realized that you could easily spin him around. Dominate him.

A shiver soared through his body, straight to his pulsing cock. He looked down, embarrassed to find himself twitching, the tip of his cock begging to escape from under his shorts. He placed a hand on his bulge — meant to stop himself — but with the way you kept bending down, he had no choice but to rub his hand over his length.

A breathy moan escaped his throat as he watched you. He imagined lying down on the ground beneath you — germs and safety hazards be damned — holding you by your hips as you’d press your bare cunt into his face. He’d make sure to make the most out of every squat, licking your folds and kissing your clit, before you stood back up.

Spencer didn’t know during which set his hand had found its way into his shorts, only that he struggled to keep quiet as he tugged on his length. His eyes rolled back as he circled his tip with his thumb, collecting precum and using it as lube to stroke the rest of his cock.

He fantasized about you walking up to him, holding onto his shoulders as you’d climb on top of his lap. How you would free his cock from the restraints of his boxers. The way your mouth would open in a gasp at the sight of his throbbing length springing free. You would grab him by the shaft, rubbing his tip against your puffy lips before sinking down onto him. His hands would clasp onto your ass, massaging the flesh like his cock would massage your inner walls as he pumped his length into you.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, flicking his wrist faster as his gaze remained burnt on you.

He had his eyes closed shut, nearing the brink of an orgasm, when he heard the loud clang of the bar attaching to the machine. At record speed, he adjusted his length, tugging his tank top over his shorts in an effort to hide how hard he was. He then wiped his hands on his shorts, just in time before you walked up to him.

“Hey,” you said, out of breath. “How did it go?”

“Good! Good. I completed all the sets, actually.”

A beautiful, bright smile tilted at the corner of your lips. It almost distracted him from the way your breasts pushed up in your sports bra, shining in a light coat of sweat. Almost.

“I thought of another exercise we could do,” Spencer suggested.

Curiosity filled your mind. “Okay, gym rat. Let’s hear it.”

Spencer walked you to the hip abductor, a machine that trains the muscles of your inner thighs and glutes by sitting down and spreading your legs against the resistance of the padded weights.

You waited for him to sit down, but he remained standing behind you. Your neck flushed with goosebumps as he leaned in, breath tickling the skin. “I want you to use it.”

“Okay,” you chirped, trying not to show how much his proximity was affecting you.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he tsked as you stepped forward. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. And that’s when you felt it. His erection poking at your lower back.

“You can’t possibly work out in an outfit like this,” he said, fingers playing with the waistband of your leggings.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower into the fabric, fingers grazing your hip bones. “I think you should take these off. Don’t want it to be ruined with sweat, or you know, something else.”

You raised your eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Reid?”

“You never seemed to back down from one before,” he dared.

A glint of mischief flickered in your eyes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your leggings, and you swore you could hear him take in a sharp breath.

You bent over. In an agonizing slowness, you pulled your leggings down, revealing the plumpness of your bare skin.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Spencer praised, eyes scanning the curves of your nude ass and legs.

You slipped away from his grasp, grinning as you took your place at the seat of the machine. As the manual explained, you spread your legs, grateful that you kept the weights at beginner’s level.

You threw your head back laughing as Spencer kneeled in front of you, finally making the connection on what he was about to do. “You are absolutely insane. Do you know that I could crush your head with these weights?”

He hummed, not really caring about the possible consequences as he was face to face with your spread-open pussy. “It’ll be worth it.”

He reached out with his finger, drawing a line up your slick folds. “Also — considering your expertise in exercises like this, and the fact that the weights are way less heavy than the ones you’d usually choose — I estimate that my chances of not dying are pretty high tonight.”

Before you could give a clever response back, he pressed his finger down on your clit. A shudder coursed through your body, accompanied by a flutter of butterflies.

“You’re so wet already,” Spencer mused. “What have you been thinking of?”

“Same thing as you,” you responded, thinking back on how hard his cock was when he pressed it against you.

He continued trailing his fingers up and down your slit, warming you up, before halting them at your entrance. “Ready?”

You nodded hastily, anticipation pulling at your core.

Spencer slipped a finger inside of you with ease, groaning at the sweet sound that escaped your lips. Being fingered never felt special before; that was until you met Spencer. Though it wasn’t fair to compare him to any of the other people you’ve been with. His fingers were heavenly: long, slender, soft. He pumped it in and out of your pussy before leaning in and capturing your clit with his tongue. Surprise washed over you, but you didn’t have time to adjust to the feeling. He clouded your mind by switching between flicking his tongue and sucking on the bundle, while his finger matched the steady rhythm.

“Need more,” you whimpered, rolling your hips into his face. He hummed against your clit, the vibrations sending tingles through every part of your body.

When he pulled back, his lips were glistening with your juices. “Can you handle another finger?” He asked as he swiped his tongue over his lips.

You quickly nodded, not even needing him to ask for permission. He stretched you out by inserting another finger, not stopping until he was knuckle-deep inside of you.

“I like this machine,” he stated, curling his digits up to your g-spot. “I don’t need to hold your thighs open to keep you from squirming.”

You softly cried as the tips of his fingers hit your pleasure point, increasing his pace in a way that made you see stars.

“You look so pretty. All spread out for me, letting me use you how I want.” He muttered, more to himself than to you, before he attached his lips back onto your pussy.

The pleasure felt overwhelming. Spencer stimulated you with his hands and mouth in all the spots that he could. He was good at this. Too good at this. You felt almost sad when you felt the familiar heat building up, not wanting it to be over yet.

Still, you gasped, “Just like that!” Your hands were gripping the handles of the machine for dear life as the tip of his tongue drew figure eights against your clit.

Everything cut to white noise, your abdomen tightened, and your hips started spasming until you finally cried out his name.

Your body trembled in aftershocks as Spencer made sure to lap up your juices, not wanting a single drop to go to waste.

He stood up, taking his time as he lovingly grazed your cheek with his clean hand. “Felt good?”

You hummed in response. Your eyes fluttered to the obvious tent in his shorts, not able to ignore it. “That looks painful,” you observed.

“I really want to be inside of you.” He confessed.

His words made you chuckle. Spencer always made sure to satisfy you first, before thinking of his own needs. Even when his achingly red tip had been leaking precum ever since he saw you in that gym outfit earlier today.

“Where do you want me?” You purred, making a groan escape his throat. He loved the way you let him take direction, how you made it seem like he was the one in charge — when you were both completely aware of the fact that you could have him on his knees at any given time and at any place that you’d like.

His eyes scanned the gym, landing on an empty bench.

“That one.” He decided, like he chose some Sour Patch Kids in a candy shop.

You got up — used to having shaky legs due to working out every day — and took Spencer’s hand in yours, guiding him to the sole bench next to the colored kettlebells.

Spencer was glad you were holding his hand, or otherwise he’d have stumbled against every surrounding object, too entranced by the way your hips moved from side to side with every step that you took. If he wasn’t so hypnotized by the sight, he would’ve given your ass a slap — more like a tap — not enough to cause you pain, but enough for you to squeal. Enough for you to move to your tiptoes in reflex. Enough to see your ass shake.

As if born ready, you laid down on the bench, spreading your legs that bent perfectly due to the position you’d just held for minutes.

Spencer didn’t waste any time, pulling his shorts and boxers down in a single, swift movement, his cock jumping free from its confinements. You grinned when he also got rid of his tank top. You bit your lip as you looked at him, wet curls of hair sticking to his forehead and his chest glistening in a light layer of sweat.

His large hands wrapped around your ankles, holding you in place. He then tilted his hips until his length lined up with your needy pussy. A drip of precum spilled from his tip, cock aching as he took in how perfect you looked: your clit still swollen from his tongue, and your soft thighs glittering from the wetness that was still leaking out of you.

In a single motion, he pushed himself in. His cock disappearing all the way in between your folds.

Your brows furrowed and your mouth hung open as he started moving his hips, not giving you the time to recover.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “You just feel too good. So warm. Couldn’t wait.”

Your hands gripped around the air, needing something to hold onto as he fucked you deeply.

You settled on your tits. Cupping them through your sports bra, pinching your nipples that were so hard they poked right through the layer of fabric.

“Oh fuck, baby, you look so hot like that.” Spencer moaned. “I’m so lucky,” he said in awe.

He opened your legs further — surprising you with your flexibility — as he hovered above you. His cock slipped in even deeper, your pussy swallowing him to the hilt. You could feel every vein as he massaged your inner walls, relieving you of your aching. He was close enough for you to dig your nails into his shoulder blades. He didn’t attempt to muffle his whimpers when you pressed little half-moon indents into his back. Your in-sync moans and the colliding of bare skin were the only sounds that echoed off the bare gym walls.

Spencer anchored you in place with his length while his hand reached out to pull the cup of your bra down, freeing your breast. In a second his mouth was latched onto your nipple, sucking on it like he was a man starving.

“Kiss me,” you whimpered, hands tugging at his hair. You needed to feel those soft, pink lips on yours.

As much as he loved your tits, he obeyed in an instant. Hungrily locking his mouth with yours. He placed his bent arms on either side of your head, large hands cupping your face as he kissed you intensely. His tongue swiped against yours in the same exquisite way as the tip of his cock swiped the place inside of you where you needed him most.

“Legs hurt,” he whined against your mouth.

“Count it- fuck,” you moaned as he thrust deep into you. “Count it as an exercise.”

He chuckled breathlessly. “This might be the hardest one yet.”

Literally, you thought. But the word couldn’t make it past your lips, transforming into a high-pitched moan as he upped his speed.

“Just like that, please, Spencer,” you cried out.

There was no bigger motivation than your sweet pleas filling his ears. With all his might, he slammed into you, your pussy pulsing around him, making his vision hazy. All that was on his mind was you. How you felt. How you tasted. How he needed to spill inside of you.

A string of yes’s repeatedly left your lips, signaling to him that you were close.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he announced, swallowing your moans by pressing his lips back to yours.

You clawed at his back, bucking your hips up into him until a jolt of electricity shot through your body. Your back arched off the bench as you gave yourself over to the all-consuming feeling. It was not even a second later when Spencer’s legs gave out. His cock twitching as spurts of white filled your insides.

He collapsed on top of you, feeling your racing heartbeat against him. For a moment you lay down like that, on the way too narrow bench. Enjoying each other’s presence as a comfortable silence filled the air.

Once his breathing had calmed down, Spencer seemed to notice a small, red flickering light that was attached to the ceiling. A security camera.

“Hey,” he started, asking for your attention.

You made a small sound, too exhausted to speak.

“You have the keys to the office, right?”

“No, just to the entrance. Why?”

#loverrequests #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fanfic

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nakylvr · 26 days ago

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— FANTASY ✧ M.S

summary જ⁀➴ working at a coffee shop in los angeles had its perks and drawbacks. you got a lot of business in the area, which was nice. then you got the bad customers thinking they were better than anyone else. one day during your shift, you're met with megan, the superstar of katseye — only you have no idea who she is.

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, transmasc!reader, barista!reader, idol!megan,

happy pride month everyone! part two coming soon 😋 i didnt know how to end it im sawry, not proofread

"iced caramel macchiato for logan!"

standing at the register, you were taking count of the total sales for the day so far, writing them down on the small post-it note you kept in your apron along with your pen. you hear the front door bell jingle, and you instantly look up to see a girl walking inside.

"welcome to starry night!" you call loud enough for the customer to hear, sticking the post-it on the cash register to remember for later.

the girl approaches the register, and you send a smile her way. "hey! what can i get for you?"

the girl proceeds to list six different drinks, all with random variations and flavors or milks. you nod along, putting it in the system and writing on the cups, and when you ask for a name for the order, she freezes.

"um," megan lets out. "megan is fine." she answers.

"got it." you nod, putting the name on the ticket. "anything else for you?"

"no, that's it." she shakes her head.

"alright. it'll be $36.78 for you." you tell her, spinning the tablet around.

you're trying not to stare, you are. you've gotten used to attractive people coming into the shop all the time, but there was something different about her. you aren't sure why. you haven't seen her before, that's for sure. but she looks like she walked straight out of a magazine. taller than you by an inch or two, her ginger hair curled and her outfit was enough for you to go: she's definitely somebody. that being said, you knew better than to flirt with customers, so you don't say anything as she pays.

"we'll call your name down at the end when it's ready." you tell her with a smile.

"thanks." she smiles back, and you swear your heart does flips.

you leave the register to get the cup carriers for the drinks, and offer your coworker to work register while you make the drinks. not wanting to keep the line waiting with the six drinks being made at the same time.

meanwhile, megan's eyes don't stray away from you. they watch your movements as you make the drinks with expertise and like it was nothing. you put the drinks on the trays as you finish them, and her eyes meet yours for a moment. she quickly averts her eyes, pretending she was looking at something else.

you finish the drinks and put them all in the trays before putting them on the edge of the counter. "here you go!" you tell the girl.

megan stares for a few seconds, contemplating whether to push past her anxiety and ask what she wants to ask. you don't walk away, and she takes that as a somewhat good sign.

"miss?" you say.

megan's snapped out of her thoughts, and the words come stumbling out. "can i get your number?"

now's your turn to pause. you stare back at her with widened eyes, not expecting that. "uhm," you let out. this is definitely a first. "uh."

megan waves her hand, reaching forward to grab the drink trays. "forget it. it was stupid, i just–"

"no, no, it's okay." you shake your head, grabbing the post-it notes from your pocket and a pen. "this is just a first." you laugh nervously, scribbling your number down on the paper. "here." you hand it over to her.

megan blinks. "really?"

"unless you were joking–"

"no!" megan says quickly, taking the post-it and putting it in her pocket. "s-sorry, um, thank you!" she smiles, grabbing the drink trays with rosy cheeks. "i'll um i'll text you..."

"yn." you finish for her, putting the pen and post-its back in your apron pocket.

"i'll text you, yn." she says, and then she walks out of the shop.

watching her leave, your coworker comes rushing to you. "dude, did you just give that girl your number?"

"it's none of your business, jason." you tell him, rolling your eyes.

"do you even know who she is?" your coworker continues.

"no? this is literally the first time i've seen her. why are you–"

"dude!" your coworker hands you his phone, showing a picture of none other than the girl you just gave your number. "she's like, famous! she has over a million followers on insta!"

you raise an eyebrow at him. "and?"

"i can't believe you're gonna bag a baddie what the fuck!" he whines, stomping his foot on the ground.

"you're a child." you tell him blankly.

"whatever, man!" he says. "just don't get upset if she doesn't make time for you."

"go take orders." you shove him towards the register, done with him.

a little later when you're done with your shift, you sit in your car and a message comes through. it's from an unknown number, but a small smile pulls on your lips when you read it.

unknown

hi, yn! it's megan! thank you for making the drinks, my friends really enjoyed them! u want to meet up somewhere tmrw? i'm off and have nothing to do :(

you chuckle at the end, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you respond.

i'm off at 2 tmrw. i'll give you a free drink if you stop by

she responds almost immediately.

unknown

really?

yeah!

unknown

great! i'll be there :)

i'll be waiting

the thread ends there, and you put your phone back down. with a smile on your face, you put your car into drive and start on your way back home.

#katseye thoughts 💭#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel thoughts 💭#megan skiendiel x reader

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)."

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock.

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message.

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

"There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days.

You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows.

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?"

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window.

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?"

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied:

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake.

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused.

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else."

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing.

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat.

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport.

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks.

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society.

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation.

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly.

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail."

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary.

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment?

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously.

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology.

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa.

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport.

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead.

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment.

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans.

Just you."

#yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere robot #yandere android #robot x human #android x reader #robot x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere imagine #yandere fic

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obeymeluv · 4 months ago

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In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Idia Shroud x Reader #Idia x Reader #Ortho Shroud #Ignihyde

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aurorasulphur · 2 years ago

Text

Disclaimer: none of these answers are official, and may not work for your particular use case. If there is a specific feature that an unofficial app had that you don't know how to replicate on the AO3, let me know in the notes and we might can crowdsource a solution.

A lot of people used the Archive Reader app to access stories on Archive of Our Own, and have been upset that the app is now charging to read longer than an hour a day. AO3 (and its parent organization, the OTW) has made it extremely clear in recent days that this app is unofficial and that there *is* no official app. They encourage people to use the website.

However, there are MANY reasons you might want an app, and in a bunch of those cases, there are ways to do those things without having to provide your login information to a random person running an app. Here is a round-up of solutions to the most common reasons I've seen people give for wanting an app instead of the plain AO3 website.

These solutions are based on the following assumptions:

You know what Archive of Our Own is

You often or primarily access it through a mobile device running iOS or Android

You understand what a browser is

You understand what a browser bookmark is

You understand what a site skin is

Edits:

Edited to clarify that you must be logged in to use custom site skins

Edited to add more tips and tricks from the reblogs

Edited to add new entry about notifications/emails

Edited to add new entry about reading statistics and the tracking thereof

I need a widget on my phone's homescreen, not just a browser bookmark.

You can do this with any website, not just AO3! Instructions here: https://www.howtogeek.com/196087/how-to-add-websites-to-the-home-screen-on-any-smartphone-or-tablet/

I need Dark Mode.

AO3 has a default site skin for Dark Mode, it's just called Reversi. Find it here, or at the bottom of any page on the website. https://archiveofourown.org/skins/929/

If you'd like Dark Mode on your whole browser (and you're on Android), sorrelchestnut has advice here: https://www.tumblr.com/sorrelchestnut/737869282153775104/if-you-want-dark-mode-and-dont-want-to-mess

I need to be able to read stories when I don't have internet.

Every work on the AO3 has a download button, so you can click on that and download the story for offline reading in the ereader app of your choice. More info on how to do that is in the AO3 FAQs: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/downloading-fanworks?language_id=en#accesslater

I need to be able to change the text size of the website itself.

If you have an AO3 account (and you should!!) you can do this with a personalized site skin! There is a simple tutorial here: https://www.tumblr.com/ao3skin/667284237718798336/i-have-a-request-if-you-dont-mind-could-you

I need to be able to change the text size in downloaded stories.

My personal recommendation: Don't download in PDF format. All the other formats you can download in can scale the text size up and down, assuming you open the work in the correct app. For me, I download works in EPUB format and read them on the built-in Books app on my iPhone. I hear good things about Moon Reader on Android as well.

I need to be able to replace Y/N in fics with an actual name.

ElectricAlice has a bookmarklet for that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34796935

I need to be able to save specific tags and not have to search them up every time.

If you have an AO3 account (which you definitely should) then you can favorite up to 20 tags which will appear on the landing page. The AO3 FAQ explains how that works: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/tags?language_id=en#favtag

I need to be able to save specific filters and be able to apply them to any tag.

Reisling's beautiful bookmarklet has you covered: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33825019

I need to be able to permanently hide certain tags.

The best option is adding this to your site skin. (Must be logged in.) Instructions here: https://www.tumblr.com/ao3css/719667033634160640/how-to-permanently-filter-out-certain-tags-on-ao3

I also hear things about the AO3 Enhancements extension (just for Android/desktop, sorry iOS folks): https://www.tumblr.com/emotionalsupportrats/686787582579851265/browser-extension-everyone-on-ao3-should-know

I need it to save my place on the page and not reload.

This is really mostly a browser error--Firefox on iOS does this to me A LOT. Your best bet is to download the work and read it in an ereader app. A lot of people also will make an ao3 bookmark and write in the notes section which part they were at, but that assumes you aren't falling asleep while reading. (Which is the main reason I have this issue, lol.) For more info on bookmarks, see the FAQ: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/bookmarks?language_id=en#whatisbookmark

I need it to keep track of which stories I've already read/opened/kudos'd.

If you have an account (which you should) then the "My History" page keeps track of every fic you've ever clicked on. No, it isn't searchable or sortable, but it does exist. For fics you've kudos'd, I have yet to find a solution for iOS. For desktop or Android, you can use this excellent userscript: https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/5835-ao3-kudosed-and-seen-history

@the-sleepy-archivist and @inkandarsenic have a solution for iOS here to use userscripts: https://www.tumblr.com/the-sleepy-archivist/737895174683885568/this-is-a-great-guide-one-thing-i-can-help-with and https://www.tumblr.com/inkandarsenic/737827438571192320/the-user-scripts-will-also-work-on-ios-there-are

I need an app because the website's search is terrible.

(I genuinely don't understand this one but I have seen it multiple times so on the list it goes!!) The search bar at the top of the screen is a keyword search. If you'd rather search within a specific field (like title or tag) then you'll want to click on the word "search" at the top of the screen and select Work Search or Tag Search. To search users, use People Search. To search Bookmarks, use Bookmark Search. (If this is you, please tell me what the heck you mean by "search is bad" and how an app helped with this.)

I need to be able to sort stories by date posted/number of bookmarks/alphabetical/etc.

You can do this using the filters sidebar. Pick a tag you want to filter on (like a fandom, character, or relationship) and then click on the "Filters" button. The sidebar will pop out and you can sort and filter on a boggling array of specifics. A good filtering guide: https://www.tumblr.com/saurons-pr-department/718665516093472768/if-there-is-something-you-dont-want-to-see-in

I need to be able to mark stories to read later.

AO3 has this feature built in! If you have an account (which you should) there is a "Mark for Later" option on every work.

Edit: Thispersonishuman reminded me that History and Mark For Later can be disabled, so if you're not seeing the Mark for Later option, check your settings.

I need to be able to listen to stories using text-to-speech.

Microsoft Edge web browser has a built in text to speech function. Supposedly it works on both iOS and Android, but I have not personally tested that. iOS also has a native accessibility feature in settings for text to speech that will work on the Books app, so I assume Android has a similar functionality. A bunch of people in the reblogs have more in-depth Android recommendations here: https://www.tumblr.com/protect-namine/737957194510794752/seconding-voice-aloud-on-android-for-tts-my, https://www.tumblr.com/smallercommand/737884523093704704/i-use-voice-for-tts-on-android-its-got-some, and https://www.tumblr.com/doitninetimes/737869463749263360/for-text-to-speech-on-android-you-can-also-check

I need to have in-app notifications for updates/I can't ever find story updates in among the rest of my emails/checking my email stresses me out.

Set up a separate email address using a free service like gmail, and use that email address JUST for AO3. Then the only emails in that inbox will be your story updates. I use Apple's Mail application for all my inboxes, but it's very easy to use the Gmail app instead, and you could log in to JUST the ao3 email and set it to notify for every email.

(Also as a general PSA: don't use your work, school, or military email as your AO3 email. Just don't.)

I want statistics like how many hours I spent reading, how many words I read, what my most read tags were, stuff like that.

So we've finally hit something that isn't easy and that requires a hell of a lot of manual work. Short version: AO3 does not track this data because they don't want to. (Mostly due to privacy concerns.) The lack of this tracking is a feature, not a bug. You can crunch these numbers yourself, but it will take a hell of a lot more effort, and it's something I personally found is not worth the effort the couple of times I have tried to crunch those numbers. If you are willing to download your history to an actual computer (not a tablet or chromebook) using Calibre, you can get a rough idea of your most popular tags via their tag browser, but it won't play nice with typos synned to a Common Tag (Canonical Tag/filterable tag) like ao3 does. (If anyone has used an app that gave you stats on this, please let me know in reblogs/replies/via ask how that worked because I am very curious.)

I need an app because <other reason>.

The AO3 Unofficial Browser Tools FAQ might cover your use case: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/unofficial-browser-tools?language_id=en If not, give a shout and we'll see what other tumblr users suggest!

#ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 app #ao3 tips #if you want official answers please use the contact forms on the ao3 or otw websites #standard disclaimer that while i am an otw volunteer i do not speak for the organization #my opinions are my own and do not represent anyone else

3K notes · View notes

yoonmoonn · 2 months ago

Text

taste me┃jjk

04┃show stopper┃masterlist ┃taglist

note: why do i lowk hate it 😐 might rewrite later (also i definitely didn't fell asleep last night while editing this...)

You walked into the arena with a coffee in hand and a swing in your step, humming under your breath like the world was yours and no one else had even been invited.

“Why are you singing that early in the morning?” your manager asked, squinting at you over the rim of his tablet.

You just sipped your drink—half milk, half espresso, a little chaos on top—and twirled once in place, your platform sneakers squeaking lightly on the polished floor.

“Why not?” you shot back, grinning like the devil in lip gloss.

Something was off. Not in a bad way, just...off. You were suspiciously happy. Suspiciously put together for soundcheck. You weren’t pacing, weren’t barking about mic frequencies or annoyingly cold weather. You weren’t even late. You were early.

You, who barely showed up on time for your own birthday.

The venue crew was already buzzing around, and you drifted past them like you belonged in the middle of it all. Half-humming Taste to yourself, fingers snapping along with the beat in your head.

It was going to hit so hard tonight.

Your voice wasn’t tired. It was sharp. Your tone had that sweet, teasing edge that always made your fans scream like they were in on a joke you never told them. You moved from the edge of the stage to the wings and back, spinning once, letting your hair fall over your shoulder like you were in a music video and not just rehearsing.

You walked past one of your stylists and tapped her shoulder.

“Did the tights come in?”

She blinked, nodded. “Yeah. You mean the custom sheer ones?”

You grinned wider. “Mhm. The ones with taste me written just below the hip. In black script. Looks like a tattoo, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, half-shocked, half-impressed. “It’s... intense.”

You just shrugged, eyes glinting under your sunglasses. “It’s for Act I.”

Act I: the corset bodysuit—the baby blue one with rhinestones. The tights would sit underneath, skin-colored and nearly invisible unless someone really looked. But you knew who’d look.

Act II: the black lace capri catsuit. Always made you feel like sin on Mary Janes.

Act III: the two-piece top and micro skirt covered in Swarovski crystals that danced under the lights. That one always got the loudest reaction.

Tonight, though, Act I was the one you were counting on.

You didn’t say anything else. Just sipped your coffee, swaying slightly to the rhythm in your head. Humming again.

By now, everyone around you had noticed.

You weren’t nervous.

You weren’t bitter.

You were dangerous.

Like someone who had something to prove and had already planned exactly how to prove it.

You sang a few lines under your breath again, leaning against a wall, lips curling around the words like they tasted sweet.

“You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you”

Yeah. You were ready.

And if he was watching?

Good. That was the whole point.

The venue was already buzzing when you stepped into the wings.

Cameras flashed like fireworks. Lights swirled across the crowd in glittery loops, and the hum of the pre-show electricity lit up your veins more than the iced latte you'd downed in your dressing room. You adjusted your in-ear monitor with a smirk, fingers tapping along a random beat in your head as the opening scene was played across the big screen.

It was the last show of the tour leg. You should’ve been exhausted.

But you weren’t.

You were alive.

You knew he was here before you even saw him. The air shifted. That strange intuition that always warned you of Jungkook's presence tugged at your spine, made you glance out into the crowd right before the start of Act II.

And there he was. Front row. Black hoodie, hands folded, head tilted like he was trying too hard not to be impressed.

But it wasn’t him that made you pause.

It was her.

Standing next to him like she belonged there, like she hadn’t been the girl that once broke his heart—now suddenly smiling, screaming, recording every second of you on her phone.

Jumping around.

Singing along.

You almost laughed. Of course she was a fan.

Of course he brought her here.

By the time you reached the last track, the air in the arena was thick with anticipation. The crowd was already feverish from the last set, and you didn’t say a word before the music started.

The beat hit—slick, disco-infused, glittering under the lights like a mirrorball cracking open.

Your hips moved with the rhythm, sharp and purposeful, the lyrics pouring out with sugar-laced venom.

"Oh, I leave quite an impression—

Five feet to be exact

You're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin'

My body's where they're at..."

You kept your gaze wide, teasing and cocky, letting your voice carry high over the bass. But you saw him.

He wasn’t leaning back anymore.

His jaw was tense.

“Now I'm gone, but you're still layin'

Next to me, one degree of separation

I heard you're back together and if that's true

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you...”

You moved across the stage with a steady, practiced grace, a smirk tucked in the corner of your lips. Not loud. Not bitter.

Just surgical.

And when you reached the final lyric—when your voice slipped into that final note, slow and honeyed and sharp as glass—you did it without flinching.

“You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you...”

You pointed.

Right at them.

The lights exploded behind you.

The crowd lost its mind.

And in that tiny flicker of a second before the blackout, you caught it—Jungkook’s face, still as stone.

His girlfriend frozen next to him, hand lowered from where she’d been clapping.

You turned on your heel and walked offstage, chest rising and falling, sweat beading at your temples.

You didn’t look back.

You never needed to.

Backstage was chaos.

Glitter trailed your heels like stardust as crew members buzzed past, voices tangled in shouts and laughter, someone waving a towel, someone else yelling about lighting cues, someone crying over a broken mic pack. But it all bled into static.

You didn’t hear any of it.

Not really.

You walked straight down the hallway, past the green room, past the stylist trying to stop you for a post-show touch-up, past your manager calling your name. Your matching set was still on, the Swarovski crystals catching every low backstage light like small, sharp bursts of memory. Your lungs burned under the top. You felt too full and too empty at once.

Your heels clicked against the concrete floor, steady and sharp.

The silence inside you, though—that was deafening.

Your dressing room door swung shut behind you, and that’s when it all hit.

The adrenaline dropped like a weight down your spine, dragging heat and ache and a wild thrum of something unplaceable with it.

Your chest rose and fell like you couldn’t get enough air. You reached for the vanity, palms flat against the marble top, eyes closed as you leaned in, forcing your body to stop shaking.

You didn’t know what you were feeling.

Power?

Relief?

Rage?

A sob wanted to claw its way up your throat, but you swallowed it whole. No. Not here. Not now.

You stared at your reflection—flushed cheeks, sweat-damp hair at your temples, eyes wild and rimmed in liner that somehow didn’t smudge. You looked untouchable.

You didn’t feel it.

You felt cracked open.

Like every lyric of Taste had carved something out of you in front of 20,000 screaming fans.

Like you gave them blood in glitter wrapping paper.

You’d seen his face.

That was the worst part.

Not the shock in it. Not even the guilt that flickered there for half a second.

It was the way he watched you like he knew.

Like he always knew you could wreck him, and still let you.

You leaned forward, gripping the edge of the vanity so tightly your fingers went white.

You were supposed to feel better.

That song, that moment, that silence right after—it was supposed to be the closure you never got.

But it wasn’t.

Because somewhere in your chest, under all the performance, under all the glitter and venom and tight stagewear—he still lived there.

Uninvited.

Unwanted.

But there.

You slid to the floor before your knees could give out, the cold tile biting into your skin, arms wrapped around your legs, chin on your knees. You weren’t crying.

Not yet.

You were remembering.

The way he used to show up after soundcheck with coffee just the way you liked it.

The way he always said your voice sounded different when you were angry—hotter.

The way he used to trace your name on your shoulder with his fingers when you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember.

You pressed your forehead to your knees.

The show was over. The crowd was gone.

There were no encores. No more songs to hide behind.

No more lights to blur the truth.

Just silence.

And you—still half-hoping, half-hating—that he’d find his way back here.

Still kind of wanting him to come backstage.

Still kind of wanting him to beg.

The elevator ride felt like a lifetime.

Your condo was quiet the second you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you like a final period to a sentence you hadn’t wanted to write. The city buzzed beyond the windows—horns, sirens, muffled bass lines from someone’s party—but inside, everything was still.

You dropped your keys onto the marble counter with a clatter that echoed louder than expected. Your sneakers came off next, the shoe laces hitting the ground with the softest sound as you kicked them aside and padded barefoot across the floor.

Every muscle ached.

Your back. Your neck. Your voice box.

But mostly your heart.

You made your way to your bedroom without turning on any lights, letting the dim gold glow of the skyline wash over everything. Your room still smelled faintly of hairspray and perfume, the scent trailing you as you pulled your hoodie off your body and threw it somewhere in the room. The cool air kissed your bare skin. Your body felt like it was still vibrating from the bass.

You threw on an oversized shirt—his, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore. Too many pieces of him had ended up here. Too many traces of something that was never meant to last.

You walked back into the living room, collapsed onto the arm of the couch, tucking one leg beneath you. The room felt too big. Too quiet. Too clean.

Your phone sat screen-side down on the coffee table. You hadn’t touched it since the car ride home.

You could still see his face in the crowd.

Not just watching you—but studying you.

His new girlfriend had been jumping around like a fangirl, singing every lyric. Singing your lyrics. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

You tilted your head back and stared at the ceiling, your heart still racing even though it had been hours since you stepped off that stage.

You should feel proud.

That song was good.

You looked hot. You sounded even better. You did exactly what you came to do.

But here you were. Alone. Wearing a shirt that wasn’t yours, mascara still clinging to your lashes, throat raw, with no one to carefully tie your hair up or ask how you felt.

No one to say, you did good tonight.

No one to pull you in when you didn’t want to be strong anymore.

A shaky breath left your lips.

Because the truth—the kind that clawed at you when the noise faded—was this:

You didn’t write that song for him. Not really.

You wrote it for you. To remind yourself that you weren’t just something to be left behind. That you meant something. That he’d feel it—your absence—in every touch he gave her. In every kiss. In every goddamn memory that wouldn’t let him go.

You weren’t the kind of girl you forgot.

And he was gonna remember that.

Even if he didn’t come back.

Even if you didn’t want him to.

It was stupid—how much you missed him.

And even more stupid how you let yourself.

You never wanted to put a label on it. You were the one who kept saying no. You had your career, your image, your press team. The spotlight didn’t leave room for real love—not the kind that didn’t crack under pressure.

But he had made you feel something. Something steady. Something warm. Something that slipped through your fingers the second you tried to hold it too tight.

You closed your eyes and let the silence swell around you.

“He’s not what you need,” you whispered out loud, your voice barely a breath.

You said it again.

And again.

“I don’t want him back.”

And maybe if you said it enough, you’d believe it.

Maybe if you kept singing, kept dancing, kept doing what you did best—being untouchable—his name would stop echoing in the places he never should’ve touched.

You weren’t going to beg.

You weren’t going to break.

You just had to keep pretending you didn’t still want him.

The apartment smelled like vanilla.

Your perfume was still in the air, sweet and sugary the way you liked it—too much, always too much. Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, hands clasped tightly together between his knees. His hoodie stuck to his back from the sweat and heat of the crowd, but he didn’t bother changing.

The concert played over and over in his mind, but not in a nostalgic way.

Just...annoying. Loud. Unavoidable.

That song.

That look.

You pulled the stunt right in front of them, in front of everyone. Typical. Flashy. Petty. Just like you.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t told his girlfriend about your past—why would he? It hadn’t been anything real. Not to him, anyway. Not something worth confessing. You messed around. It was fun. It got messy. You liked playing games. He let you. That was it.

And now you turned it into a spectacle.

His girlfriend walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying her hair, wearing one of his t-shirts and some sweats, eyes narrowed and hesitant. Her voice broke the silence.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?”

He didn’t even look at her at first. Just shook his head, slow and dismissive.

“Jungkook.”

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered, finally standing up and heading to the kitchen like he needed space just to breathe.

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Maybe that the biggest pop star in the world basically just performed a song about you while staring you down from the stage?”

He opened the fridge. Took out a water bottle. Twisted the cap slowly. “It’s not my fault.”

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“She’s dramatic. Always has been.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She does this.” His tone was flat now. Distant. “It’s what she’s good at—getting attention.”

His girlfriend looked stunned. “So you were with her.”

“For a while. Yeah.”

“You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“It didn’t come up,” he said, sharp. “It wasn’t serious.”

“You didn’t think I’d find out?”

“She’s not my problem anymore.”

That hit. Her face shifted, hardening. “Wow.”

He took a long drink of water, like he needed something in his mouth to keep him from saying more.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I made you come tonight because I thought it would be fun. I thought it’d be this cool thing we did together. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t even look at me.”

He met her eyes, cold and expressionless. “Maybe I didn’t want to be there.”

She stared at him, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“Are you still into her?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“But you’re not over it.”

“She doesn’t matter,” he said, flat and final. “She’s just good at acting like she still does.”

Her eyes glossed over but she blinked fast, like she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Right.”

She grabbed her bag off the dresser and pulled her jacket over her shoulders without another word.

He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t even flinch when the door closed.

Just stood there, arms still crossed, the cold bottle sweating in his palm.

And when his phone buzzed five minutes later with a dozen tagged videos from the concert—you, spinning around in glitter and spotlight, dripping with attitude—he hit mute on all of them.

He’d played the game. He was done now.

Or so he told himself.

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octaneink · 28 days ago

Text

Smooth

Will Lenney x Female!Reader

Summary: Will and the reader enjoy their vacation time while Will sends death glances to flirty divers. (He trusts you. He just doesn’t trust them.) Warnings: None! Notes: Part two of Super trouper, based on this ask! Sorry this took so long! Work's been busy, and I wasn't sure if this made sense or was cute.

Salt-stiffened linen flaps against a terracotta wall, stirred by a breeze that smells of iodine and dried thyme. The Tyrrhenian Sea sprawls beyond the balcony, sun still low enough to cast long shadows across the glinting water. A lizard skitters over the railing, pauses, flicks its tongue at the soft clatter of wheels on cobblestones below.

Clack-clack-clack.

The sound grates, rhythmic, familiar. Will’s suitcase rolls behind him, obedient as a hound, while yours lists sideways, its left wheel sheared clean off by Heathrow’s baggage handlers. You’d watched him at the carousel earlier—back rigid, eyes tracking the conveyor belt like a hawk—as he hefted his own suitcase first, then plucked yours from the belt with a grunt, fingers snagging the handle seconds before it lurched past. The broken wheel clattered out moments later, rolling three feeble rotations before collapsing. Will had gone very still, your luggage dangling from his grip.

He put down the luggage and kelt down to inspect the luggage.

A quiet slump of his shoulders, fingers tracing the cracked plastic. “They’ve butchered it,” he’d murmured, more to himself than you. An attendant had flitted over, already rehearsing the ‘not liable for cosmetic damage’ spiel, but Will cut her off with a weary sigh. “It’s not cosmetic. The wheel’s structural. Look.”

From his crouched position, he tilted the suitcase to show the mangled axle, then pulled up a pre-departure photo on his phone—your luggage pristine on the bedroom floor, wheels intact. “We’ve got a two-week trip. How’s this meant to hold up?” His voice stayed calm, but his thumb tapped the screen edge, restless. “I’d like to file a report. Properly.”

You’d hovered, torn between embarrassment and a flicker of guilt as he filled out the form in meticulous block letters, the attendant’s resolve wilting under his quiet persistence. “Like I said sir, the best we can do is a partial refund,” she’d conceded finally, avoiding his gaze. “And we can try this?” She produced a roll of duct tape, neon green and already peeling at the edge.

Will stared at it.

Blinked.

“That’s not—”

But she was already crouching, wrapping the tape around the fractured wheel hub in haphazard loops, her name tag jangling with the effort. The tape buckled instantly, adhesive gumming the broken plastic into a lopsided clump. Will’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing, watching as the wheel tilted sideways.

“There!” She stood, dusting her hands with the flourish of a magician completing a trick. “Good as new, yes?”

You bit your tongue, staring at the duct-tape monstrosity. “It’s creative,” you offered, voice thin.

Will’s smile was a rictus grin, knuckles whitening on the suitcase handle. “A masterpiece. Tate Modern should put it behind glass.”

The attendant beamed at you, mistaking politeness for praise. “The refund will process in five business days,” she chirped, tapping her tablet. “We appreciate your patience as a valued customer.”

“Thanks,” you said, too quickly, already tugging Will’s sleeve. “Let’s just—”

“A flamethrower could have done a better job,” Will muttered under his breath, low enough for only you to hear.

You stepped in front of him, blocking his glare. “Thank you.”

She nodded, oblivious, already turning to the next passenger. “Prego! Please enjoy our wonderful country!”

The duct tape emitted a gummy whine as Will dragged the suitcase away, the wheel lurching like a spavined horse. You fell into step beside him, cheeks hot. “That was subtle.”

“Subtlety’s overrated.” he grumbled, tight-lipped, and wheeled the crippled bag away and his own without another word.

Fingers worried the frayed cuff of your hoodie, cheeks burning. “Sorry,” you mumbled, “This is. it’s my mess.”

Will halted mid-stride. When you dared glance up, his stern mask had slipped—just a boy with flushed ears and a too-stiff spine. “Your mess? You silly goose.” His thumb brushed your wrist, calloused and warm. “Love, the only crime here is that abomination they call a baggage system.” A beat. “And your taste in luggage. Christ, it’s neon pink.”

“It’s coral.”

“Same difference.”

Now the suitcase lurches sideways, its duct-taped wheel catching on a cobblestone seam. You curse, wrestling it back into line, but it drifts again. Will halts ahead, shoulders tensing as the screech of plastic-on-stone grates through the heat.

Without a word, he turns, swaps your mangled luggage for his own, and resumes walking. The good wheels glide smoothly over the path, his stride unbroken. When you arch a brow, he shrugs, adjusting his grip on the broken handle. “You’re terrible at steering.”

The hotel courtyard swallows you whole—whitewashed walls, lemon trees sagging with fruit, a plunge pool glowing turquoise in the shade. Will holds the gate open, fingertips brushing the small of your back as you pass. His touch lingers, warm even through the hoodie.

“Honeysuckle,” he mutters, inhaling. “And chlorine. They over-sanitised the pool.”

You bite back a laugh. “How can you tell that?”

Will narrows his eyes, a mock-offended glance cast sideways as he lets the gate swing shut behind you. “Because my nose works,” he replies flatly, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

You hum thoughtfully, stepping aside as a bellboy zips past with a rickety luggage cart. “No, I’m serious. Do you have, like, a secret certification for pool chemicals?” You pantomime swirling a glass, sniffing dramatically. “Mm. Chlorine. With notes of crushed penny tile.”

That gets a sound out of him, not quite a laugh, but close. A low huff through his nose, fond and exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

You flash a grin over your shoulder. “You knew that when you booked, non-refundable.”

Will only shakes his head, but there’s a softness there now, something settling in the lines around his eyes. He reaches for your bag again without comment, knuckles brushing yours as you walk through the arched entryway into the cool hush of the hotel lobby.

The clerk at the front desk greets you with a too-bright smile, but Will handles the check-in, passport ready, reservation number memorised, a pen already uncapped before she slides the form across the counter. She’d barely had time to finish her practiced welcome before Will is sliding the paperwork back across the counter, already signed.

She flips through the documents with a nod of approval, tapping something into her screen with the precision of a seasoned concierge. “You’re in room 304,” she says warm. “Top floor, corner unit. Sea view and balcony, as requested.”

Will gives a small, satisfied nod. Of course, he requested it.

She slides two sleek, sand-colored key cards toward you. “Breakfast is served from seven to ten each morning in the veranda lounge—just past the lemon grove. You also have two complimentary spa treatments to use during your stay, and access to our private beach club, a short walk down the cliff path. You’ll find towels and umbrellas already set up by the lifeguard.”

You glance at Will. “Did you book the massages already?”

He raises a brow. “I figured I’d let you pick the day. Thoughtful, right?”

You stifle a grin, pocketing your key. “Look at you. Relaxed and democratic.”

Giulia smiles politely, clearly used to couples like you, mild bickering worn soft with familiarity. “If you’d like to schedule anything—dinners, boat tours, vineyard visits—just let me know. Or we can arrange it through the room phone.”

Will nod again, already tucking the map she offers into his folder of printouts. “Thank you,” he says, that clipped politeness that almost sounds like a compliment. “We’ll get settled.”

She beams. “Buona vacanza.”

You follow Will across the terracotta tiles and into the lift, the old metal grate clanking shut behind you. It groans to life, the glass back offering a slow, rising glimpse of the courtyard below. The scent of citrus and salt intensifies the higher you go, riding the shaft of warm air that sneaks through the cracks.

On the third floor, the hallway is hushed and cool, with thick stone walls and arching ceilings that echo faintly underfoot. Will leads the way, key card already in hand, stopping in front of a carved wooden door with a brass number plate.

The room greets you with a rush of light and quiet. Vaulted ceilings curve overhead, white and seamless like the inside of a shell. Muslin curtains framing the tall French doors, stirred by a breeze that smells of rosemary, sand, and sun-warmed salt. The tiled floor is cool underfoot, handmade and uneven, the colour of dried clay. Two chairs, wicker-framed and sun-bleached, are set beside a low table bearing a ceramic bowl of fresh figs. A ceiling fan spins lazily above the bed, which is wide and dressed in crisp white linen.

But it’s the view that stops you. You step out onto the balcony, elbows resting on the warm stone balustrade. Below, the Tyrrhenian Sea stretches vast and glittering, fractured into sapphire and teal by the light. A rocky cove curves away to the right, ringed with pale sand and lapped by small waves. Farther down the hill, narrow switchback roads wind through bursts of oleander and cypress trees, their shadows sharp against the earth.

Inside, you hear the faint click of zips, the rustle of folded cotton. When you turn, Will is methodically unpacking your bags with the same care he applies to boarding passes and security bins. He’s already tucked your shoes under the bench by the door, rolled your shirts into neat cylinders, and zipped your toiletries into the bathroom caddy without a word.

He crosses the room to the wardrobe, sliding open a painted door to reveal a built-in safe. Without prompting, he gathers your passports, wallet, spare cash, and the extra travel card—each one stacked precisely in his palm—and locks them away. He glances back at you, not for approval, but in quiet confirmation. Of course, he’d remember. You didn’t even ask.

Then, from the depths of his own case, a toothbrush, a razor placed beside a contact lens case, a bottle of hand sanitiser fitted snugly against his cologne. He smooths a wrinkle from the bedspread with the side of his hand, then pauses—almost sheepishly—and pulls out a battered box of Yorkshire Gold.

He sets it on the night stand beside a single Toblerone. “For emergencies,” he mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

You smile, fingers brushing the box. “You packed the good stuff.”

“I always do.” He says it too casually, but his ears flush faintly pink.

You don’t hover. He’s in his rhythm now, methodical and focused, and you know better than to disrupt the quiet ritual of his unpacking. Instead, you drift to the balcony, the muslin curtain brushing against your legs as you slip outside.

The sun is higher now, gilding the sea in bright ribbons that shimmer as far as you can see. You rest your forearms on the warm stone balustrade, your shirt tugs up your back in the breeze. Below, the cove curves gently into the shoreline, its sand pale and untouched, waves folding in soft and deliberate.

You let your thoughts slow. The only sound is the hush of the surf and the occasional chirp of birds darting through the trees.

Then, quiet footsteps behind you, and the subtle shift of weight as Will steps in close. His arms wrap around your waist without a word, slow and certain, palms splayed over your stomach. He leans into you, resting some of his weight against your back like he needs the contact just as much as you do.

You feel his breath first, warm against your skin, and then the press of his mouth at the crook of your neck, a kiss. Only then does he let his chin settle on your shoulder, his stubble brushing lightly against your collarbone.

“Low tide at six,” he murmurs, voice low near your ear. He nods toward the cove below. “We could look for sea glass.”

A pause. Then, softer, “If you want.”

You smile, the words sinking in—if you want. Coming from Will, it feels like a small surrender. He doesn’t do unstructured. He plans everything down to the minute, has probably had this whole trip mapped out since before your passports were renewed. And still, he offered.

Your fingers slide over his at your waist, giving a small squeeze. “Hmm,” you murmur, leaning back into him. “Yeah, I want to. But we can do it later. I know you’ve got every second of this trip scheduled, down to our bathroom breaks.”

Will snorts, lips brushing your shoulder. “Not every second,” he grumbles, mock-offended. “It’s a perfectly reasonable balance of cultural immersion and rest.”

You laugh. “So, overbooked with a nap squeezed in.”

He hums noncommittally. “Wednesday morning,” he says. “The museum doesn’t open till ten, and the tide’s low around seven. We’ll go then. Beat the sun.”

You glance over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You already worked it in?”

He tries to play it off with a shrug, but the corners of his mouth betray him. “I might’ve pencilled in a sea glass window. Just in case you said yes.”

You grin. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

He presses another kiss just below your ear. “And yet, here you are.” Giving you one last kiss, he walked into the room, rummaged around and called your name. Turning around, he hands you a bottle of sunscreen without a word.

You look at the label. It’s your brand, the kind with the matte finish that doesn’t make you feel like a buttered croissant. You nod in approval and utter a thank you and then squeeze some into your palm.

“I’m not letting you get sunburnt on day one,” he mutters, watching you apply it like you might cut corners. “And don’t even think about wearing that black top.”

“It’s linen,” you protest.

“It’s black linen. You’ll bake like a pastry. Wear the one with the buttons. The white one.”

You squint at him. “Did you plan my clothes too?”

Will doesn’t answer, but when you glance over, the white top is already laid out, neatly smoothed and folded. You sigh, smile despite yourself, and duck into the bathroom to change. When you come out, dressed and lotioned to his standards, he gives you a quick once-over and nods. “Perfect. Hat’s in your tote. Water bottle’s full. Let’s go.”

Nuraghe stones bake under a merciless sun, their ancient honeycombs casting knife-edge shadows across the dry grass. The heat clings to everything rocks, sandals, the nape of your neck, rising in ripples from the gravel path. Will’s voice hums beside you, reading the faded information plaque out loud.

“Bronze Age. Dry-stone masonry. Strategic sight lines for tribal warfare.” He squints at the last line, nose wrinkling. “Bit reductive, isn’t it? Reducing three millennia of culture to ‘they were good at spotting enemies’.”

You drift away from his voice, lured by the woeful maaah of a goat picking its way down the scrub-choked slope. It’s a shaggy, sun-bleached thing, all knobby knees nibbling at a thorn bush without a thought behind its eyes. You raise your camera, framing its ragged silhouette against the impossible blue of the sea. The shutter clicks—

“Oi.”

Gravel crunches in front of you. Will’s hand closes around your elbow, thumb skating over the sensitive skin of your inner arm. “Stay close,” he murmurs, pulling you back from the crumbling edge. His palm is warm and slightly tacky with sunscreen. “The path’s unstable.”

You glance at the fissured stones, then up at him. “What, no helmet? Safety harness?”

“No helmet.” His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “But only because you’d refuse to wear it.” He tugs you toward shade. “And before you gloat—I do have a first-aid kit. And—”

“—industrial-strength bandages?” You interrupt, bumping his shoulder.

“Obviously.” He pulls out the sunscreen. “Arms. Now.”

You groan. “Will, I just—”

“You’re meant to re-apply the sunscreen every two hours. Plus, I’m pretty sure that the lotion sweats off on the hike up.” He squirts cool lotion onto his palm.

His touch is methodical. Up your forearm, over your shoulder, down the exposed strip of your spine. You shiver.

“See?” he murmurs, breath warm at your ear. “Quick and easy.”

“Hmm. Debatable.” You lean into his hands.

He huffs, thumb brushing your shoulder blade. “You’re welcome.” His gaze flicks past you to the goat, now perched on a boulder. “Your accomplice is eyeing the ‘unstable path’ sign.”

“He’ll be fine. Braver than you with your bandages.”

“He’s got four legs and a death wish.” Will’s sunscreen-slick hand slides down to lace with yours. “Like someone else I know.”

You squeeze. “Admit it. You’re jealous he’s off the itinerary.”

“Devastated.” He kisses your temple, a quick peck. “Now move. Lemon granita in about an hour. And he’s” a nod at the goat, now nibbling a discarded map, “not on the guest list.”

Two days later, after another morning of ruins, espresso, and Will arguing with the GPS, you both return to the hotel sun-drenched and dust-covered. The lemon trees in the courtyard sag heavier than before, their scent headier in the late afternoon warmth. A breeze stirs the muslin curtains as you enter the room, and Will immediately begins his ritual—shoes lined up, water bottles refilled, receipts sorted.

You peel off your sandals and stretch. “I vote for collapsing.”

Will arches a brow. “You’ll thank me later when we don’t have to guess which bag has what.”

You toss him a grin and wander toward the bathroom. “Fine. But collapsing is still on the agenda.”

By the time you’ve showered, the light outside has turned syrupy gold. The air is thick with the scent of salt and thyme drifting up from the coast. Will’s already changed linen shirt, open over his swim trunks, wristwatch still on, because, of course it is.

“We going somewhere?” you ask, towel-drying your hair.

“Beach. Just below the hotel.” He nods toward the balcony. “It’ll be quiet. Low tide.”

You pause, glancing past the fluttering curtain to the glittering curve of pale sand below. “Was this in the itinerary?”

He shrugs, casual. “Call it unscheduled decompression.”

You dress in your favourite old swimsuit—the black triangle one with fraying ties that’s probably more nostalgia than structurally safe. When you step out, Will’s eyes catch on you, then dart quickly away.

“I thought you packed the white one,” he says without looking.

“I did.” You tug on one of his loose linen shirt. “But this one’s got personality.”

“Mmm. So does a cracked buoy.” But there’s no heat in it. Just the barest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Minutes later, you’re descending the narrow, pine-lined path from the back of the hotel, beach bag slung between you. The sea glows a soft, blinding gold, and the beach is nearly empty—just a couple reading under an umbrella and a dog nosing at driftwood.

Will sets up camp, umbrella at a wind-smart angle, towels laid edge-to-edge with no sand trapped beneath, Kindle powered on to a biography you’ve already teased him about. He settles beneath the tree, long limbs stretching out in the shade.

You drop your bag and tug the shirt over your head. His eyes flick up—pause—then very clearly drop lower, lingering just a beat too long on your chest. You catch the flicker of heat before he yanks his gaze away, suddenly deeply absorbed in the paper bag of grapes you picked up together at the morning market. Crunchy, plump, and green. Your favourite.

“Twice now,” you tease, stepping out of your sandals. “You stared in the hotel room, too.”

Will doesn’t look up. “I did not stare.”

“You did,” you hum, sliding the neoprene shoes onto your feet. “And I didn’t mind then, either.”

"I was being subtle." he huffs, cheeks flushing pink as he pops a grape into his mouth.

You lean down, brush a kiss to his cheek—then, impulsively, to his lips. "You’re cute when you lie."

His hand catches your wrist as you start to pull back, fingers tightening gently, anchoring you in place. For a beat, neither of you moves—the world narrowing to the press of his palm against your thigh, the salt-sting of breeze on your cheeks. Then he shifts, still seated in the sand, and his free hand slides up to cradle the curve of your hip.

The kiss starts slow.

A deliberate tilt of his chin, the soft drag of his lower lip against yours—then deepens with a quiet urgency. His mouth coaxes yours open, not with demand, but with a patient, searching heat that melts your spine. Salt and the faint sweetness of grapes linger on his tongue. Your balance wavers, one hand flying to his shoulder, fingers digging into the sun-warmed cotton of his shirt. He smiles against your mouth, a low amused hum vibrating in his throat as he feels you sway.

This is the surrender you teased him about in the past. The way his thumb strokes the hollow behind your knee, the hitch in his breath when you bite his lip. The sea wind whips around you, tangling your hair with his, but beneath it all is the steady thrum of his pulse where your palm rests against his neck. He kisses like he plans—thoroughly, with deadly focus—mapping the seam of your lips, the ridge of your teeth, and the soft gasp you can’t swallow.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His eyelashes brush your skin as he blinks, thumb drifts across your pulse point once, then falls away.

"Sunscreen first," he says, voice lower now, rougher. He tosses you the tube without looking. "Shoulders. Neck. Don’t skip the back of your knees."

You raise an eyebrow. “Very romantic.”

“I contain multitudes,” he says, smiling, but it’s softer now. Less of a tease, the kiss still clinging between you.

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingers as you apply the sunscreen quickly, then grab your mask and flippers. “Alright, I’m going in.”

“You’ve got about forty-five minutes,” he calls after you, plucking a grape from the bunch. “Before I start filing a missing person’s report with the coast guard.”

“I’ll try to survive,” you say, grabbing your snorkel gear and heading to the waterline.

You don’t look back. The warm grit gives way to damp, packed sand as you reach the water’s edge. Squatting, you yank the neoprene flippers over your heels—awkward, stiff, sealing your feet like a second skin. Next, the goggles: you spit into the lenses, rub the film clear with your thumb (an old diver’s trick your dad taught you), then strap the elastic band over your hair. The snorkel clicks into the mask’s bracket, its mouthpiece faintly tasting of silicone.

“Try not to drown!” Will calls, louder now over the surf’s hiss.

You turn just enough to see him—a silhouette against the towel, knees drawn up, watching. You raise a middle finger, grinning when he barks a laugh.

Beneath the surface, the world softens and blurs into a dreamlike palette of blues and greens. Sunlight filters through the water in flickering shafts, illuminating swaying forests of seagrass. Tiny bubbles rise in lazy trails as you glide over craggy rocks and scattered shells.

Colourful fish dart between the waving fronds — vivid damselfish shimmering like liquid sapphire, silver mullets flickering by in schools, and a curious wrasse that pauses to inspect you before darting away.

As you explore, your eyes catch delicate shapes resting on the sand—beautiful shells, smooth and unoccupied, their spiral curves and pearly interiors gleaming in the filtered light. Carefully, you scoop a few up, mindful they hold no creatures. You pause over one in particular—ridged pink, iridescent inside, like something out of a dream. With no pouch on hand, you tuck it into the cup of your bikini top, nestled securely against your skin. A little treasure to bring back.

Above, the surface ripples gently, catching the golden afternoon sun. The distant sound of gulls and waves mingles with your own steady breathing, a private escape in the beautiful waters.

Then—a flicker in your peripheral vision. Someone is beside you.

You turn, kicking gently, and a hand waves into your line of sight, fingers splayed in the water. You surface slowly, spitting the mouthpiece free as you push the goggles to your forehead, blinking salt from your lashes that drip down from the goggles.

“Scusa,” a voice calls, not too loud.

A man treads water a few feet away—sun-browned, salt curls plastered to his forehead, grin quick and bright. He nods toward your foot, where your flipper strap has come loose, the heel slipping with each kick.

“Permesso?” he asks, gesturing.

You nod, a little surprised, and float still while he dips briefly beneath the surface. His fingers brush your calf as he secures the buckle, tightening it with practiced ease. The touch is light but assured, the briefest pause before he lets go.

He surfaces again, shaking water from his face. “Va meglio adesso,” he says, then studies you a second longer before switching languages. “You speak English?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”

“Thought so,” he replies easily. “Strap was slipping. Dangerous. You’d lose a fin.” His eyes linger just a beat longer, his smile edging into something playful. “Would be a shame to lose you to the current. Beautiful girls make very poor flotation devices.”

You open your mouth to respond—something dry, maybe—but then his gaze lifts over your shoulder. His smile flickers. “Ah.”

You turn slightly, following his line of sight.

Will. Standing ankle-deep at the shoreline, towel slung over one shoulder, hand shading his eyes as he watches. He’s too far to hear anything, but the set of his jaw is familiar. Calm. Not angry—just locked in.

The man clears his throat, his smile easing into something friendlier, more platonic. “Boyfriend?” he asks, with a quick nod toward the beach.

You nod.

“Right,” he says, backing up a stroke. “Lucky guy.” His grin softens. “Be careful, okay? The current tugs harder the farther out you go.”

“Got it. Thanks again.”

He salutes you lazily, then kicks off into the open water without another word.

You float a moment longer, then lift your hand above the surface and flash Will a thumbs-up.

He nods once, slow and satisfied, then turns and walks back toward the pine-shaded patch where your towels wait.

You sink below again, letting the quiet take you. The sea folds around you like silk. You drift over pale sand and swaying grass, the occasional dart of a fish slipping past your fingers. Your eyes scan the seabed, finally catching the curved gleam of something nestled between stones.

A flat, fan-shaped scallop shell, sun-bleached on one side and warm orange on the other, like it’s been kissed by fire. You turn it over in your palm, admiring the delicate ridges and faint lines like fingerprint whorls. It’s beautiful, untouched.

Carefully, you lift it to your chest with a quick glance around, the new shell slips easily into the other cup, the curve of it cool against your skin. No pouch, no problem. You adjust the top slightly and smile to yourself. Will’s going to roll his eyes so hard when you pull these out later.

You turn toward the shore, legs already moving in an easy, practised kick. The water resists gently, like it doesn’t want to let you go. Pale sand slopes upward beneath you, sunlight warping across the seabed in soft golden ripples.

As the water shallows, you slow your strokes and rise to the surface. With both hands, you pull the goggles up from your eyes, pushing them onto your forehead, and then work the snorkel free from your mouth. The quiet hush of the underwater world slips away, replaced by the rhythmic rush of waves and the distant caw of gulls overhead. You hold the gear loosely in one hand, letting seawater drip from your fingertips.

With a small hop, you plant your feet on the sandy bottom. Waves lap gently at your thighs, then knees. You bend to unstrap your flippers one by one, lifting your feet carefully before stepping forward, flippers in hand, making your way to the shore.

Will’s already waiting. He stands just at the water’s edge, towel in hand, bare feet half-buried in warm sand. His curls are messier now, salt-stiff and wind-tossed, and he squints slightly in the sun as he watches you approach.

“Towel?” he offers, already unfolding it.

“Perfect,” you say, letting him drape it over your shoulders. It’s sun-warmed and smells faintly of his sunscreen.

As you adjust the towel around you, a small shiver runs through you. The breeze hits your damp skin, raising goosebumps across your arms.

Will notices. “Cold?” he asks, already reaching for the snorkel gear in your hands.

You nod, and he gently takes the flippers, goggles, and snorkel from you. “I’ll carry these. You focus on not freezing. I can always provide emergency cuddles on the beach.”

You huff a laugh, tugging the towel tighter. “That might actually be necessary.”

He tugs the corners snug again, then leans back a little to study you. “How was it?”

You smile, heart still thudding softly in your chest. “Peaceful. Gorgeous. There’s this whole underwater meadow out there. Grass swaying like it’s dancing.”

He arches a brow. “Any wild sea creatures I need to go interrogate?”

“Just one.” You nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “Fixed my flipper and tried flirting while you were giving your best death glare from the shore.”

His mouth twitches. “Wasn’t glaring.”

“Hmm. You scared him off just fine.”

“Good.” He bends to kiss your temple, a hand resting low on your back. “Don’t want to share you with charmers and rogue currents.”

You glance down at your chest and pat it lightly. “Well, I did find a few treasures.”

Will’s brows lift. “Oh?”

You smirk. “You’ll see later. Not beach-appropriate to reveal them now.”

He groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You are a menace.”

“A charming one,” you say, bumping him again as you both begin the short walk back toward your spot beneath the pines, his arm steady around you, towel and gear in tow.

#willne x reader #willne x fem!reader #will lenney x fem!reader #will lenney x reader

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kbunzzi2oa · 6 days ago

Text

Thread of the beast - S.J

Synopsis -__-> Jake Sim a golden boy, a man who had many flaws and troubles. A man who had you on your knees for a second of him speaking with that deep warm Australian voice. Well of course it did make your knees buckle when it wasn't supposed to.

Contains -__-> slow burn, suggestive, mentions of murder, mentions of sex, fingering, masterbation (f.receving), unprotected sex, slow burn, hard tension ect.

Word count -__-> 20.831k

NEF NOTES -__-> finally posted ladies and gentlemen, I had fun writing Jake's part, I think I might post sunghoons part later..but yeah hope yall enjoy this! As always likes, reblogs or a comment is enought if you want to be tagged be sure to tell me in the comments!! Sending kisses!

Prisoner 32. Sim Jaeyun.

Nationality: Australian.

Sentence: Life without parole.

Convictions: Six confirmed murders. Possibly more.

Modus operandi: Claws—metallic, custom-modified, always retrieved post-crime.

Psychological classification: Unstable. Manipulative. Highly intelligent.

You closed the file slowly.

You knew his kind.

But after what happened with Jungwon… it wasn’t the diagnosis that made your skin crawl—it was how familiar the danger had begun to feel. It was like a fever, crawling under your skin. And something in your gut whispered again that you liked it.

That terrified you most.

You inhaled sharply and grabbed your tablet, walking briskly through the linoleum halls of Sector 6. The guards didn’t question you—they knew your face by now. Doctor Y/N, young but not fragile, clinical but not cold. The one who had been too close to Prisoner 09—Jungwon—until they had him moved.

You hadn’t seen Jungwon in three weeks. But you still remembered his voice like a song stuck in your head.

Still remembered the way he smiled when your hand lingered too long on his.

Still remembered what he whispered the last time you visited his cell:

"You’ll come back. They all come back to me. But next time... you’ll bring your knees with you."

You clenched your jaw and pushed the thought away as the scanner beeped. Jake’s cell door unlocked with a mechanical hiss.

You stepped inside.

It wasn’t like Jungwon’s solitary block—this cell was cleaner, roomier. A behavioral reward for those who played nice. Jake lay on his cot, one leg propped over the other, reading a book upside down.

He didn’t even glance at you.

"You’re late," he muttered, flipping the page with his pinky.

"You weren’t expecting me," you replied, voice crisp. "This is your psych assessment."

Jake slowly lowered the book. His eyes met yours—hazel and sharp. Like he’d already disassembled your entire personality in five seconds and found it boring. Or maybe hungry.

"Therapist day," he drawled, dragging the syllables. "Finally. I was worried they’d keep sending the old guy who smells like pepperoni."

You sat down across from him. “Do you prefer younger therapists, Jake?”

He smirked, sitting up slowly, letting his long legs spread just wide enough to feel inappropriate. "I prefer ones who don't pretend they aren’t curious."

"About what?"

"About what it's like to be me."

You didn’t blink. "You kill people with claws."

He grinned. “And you give therapy to monsters. So who’s sick?"

▄︻══━一 ♡

You walked into his cell and instantly felt it—that presence.

Sim Jaeyun was a quiet kind of dangerous. Not loud or erratic like the others. No, his threat was measured. Calm. The kind that watched you too long, memorized how you moved, and used silence like a weapon.

He tilted his head and dragged his eyes across you—slow and bold—until they reached your throat and lingered.

“You’re not like the rest,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel dipped in honey.

You arched an eyebrow. “Because I don’t scream when you look at me?”

“No,” he said, leaning forward. “Because you don’t run.”

You sat, forcing your expression neutral. “I’m not here to run from you, Jake. I’m here to understand you.”

“Oh?” His smile widened. “Then you’re already braver than your file said.”

You flipped open your tablet. “Let’s start with your earliest memory of violence.”

“Mm,” he murmured, eyes flicking over your lips as if they were a more interesting answer. “Does it have to be mine, or can I use one I liked watching?”

“Yours.”

He leaned back, elbows on his knees, voice dropping. “Okay then. I was seven. My dog died. Mom said it got hit by a truck. I knew she was lying.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“She killed it,” he said casually. “It bit my father when he raised a hand to her. So she poisoned it. Didn’t want any protection left for me.”

You scribbled a note.

Jake glanced at it. “You always do that? Take notes when someone tells you their pain?”

You met his gaze. “I take notes when people tell me who they really are.”

His tongue flicked across his bottom lip. “And what am I?

You considered the question. “A man who uses charm to hide violence. Intelligence to mask need. But underneath, you’re still the boy who lost his dog.”

Silence bloomed.

Then—he laughed. A low, rich sound that made your skin prickle.

“I like you,” he said. “You talk like a knife.”

“I’m not here to be liked.”

“Oh, baby,” Jake whispered, voice darkening. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

▄︻══━一 ♡

One Week Later

You told yourself you wouldn’t think about him outside work hours.

But you were lying to yourself.

It started with the little things—remembering how his eyes dropped when you asked about his childhood. Noted how he watched your mouth when you spoke. How he’d gone from sitting lazily to leaning forward during every session.

And then it became worse. You began dressing differently. Subtly. A different blouse. A more fitted skirt. Just in case he noticed.

You hated yourself for it. But you didn’t stop.

He noticed, of course.

“I see we’re wearing red today,” he murmured, voice almost a purr.

“Coincidence,” you said, not meeting his gaze.

“No such thing,” Jake replied. “Red means hunger.”

“Does it?”

He smiled lazily. “It does when you wear it.”

You swallowed.

“Do you like being watched?” he asked suddenly. “Because you know every man in this wing notices when you walk in. But me? I notice the things they don’t. The way you breathe before asking a hard question. The way your fingers twitch when you lie.”

You exhaled shakily. “Jake, this is therapy. Not flirting practice.”

“And yet,” he leaned in, voice thick, “you keep showing up like you want me to taste your boundaries.”

▄︻══━一 ♡

Two Weeks Later

He sat differently now. Closer. Eyes darker.

You could feel the change in him.

Jake didn’t just want to talk anymore—he wanted to unravel you. Wanted you off balance.

And you were.

It became harder to focus. Your notes got sloppier. You’d replay entire sessions in bed, his voice echoing in your ears.

One night, after three glasses of wine, you let your fingers slip lower in the dark while whispering his name to no one.

You felt filthy.

And alive.

▄︻══━一 ♡

It was late. The prison was dim. You’d stayed late for paperwork. That’s what you told yourself.

Jake’s cell was down the hall. His guards were off shift. The wing was quiet.

Too quiet.

You told yourself you were just walking past.

You stopped in front of his cell.

He was awake. Sitting on the edge of his bed. Shirtless. Muscles flexed with each breath. His eyes snapped up—and then lit like fire.

“I knew you’d come.”

You stared. “This isn’t part of protocol.”

“No,” he said, standing slowly. “But you broke that the moment you let me crawl into your head.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did. You think about me. At night. Alone.” He was at the glass now. “I bet you say my name when you come.”

Your knees weakened.

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered.

He smirked. “Good. Because I don’t want to scare you. I want to ruin you.”

You turned to leave—and then froze.

“Ask,” he said.

“What?”

“Ask me what I’d do to you if this glass wasn’t here.”

You shouldn’t.

But you did.

He stepped closer.

“I’d press you against this wall,” he growled, “and make you beg with every inch of your perfect mouth. I’d whisper every filthy thing I’ve dreamed about while watching you scribble notes like a good girl. Then I’d bend you over and show you how monsters make women moan.”

You choked on a breath.

He chuckled, low and triumphant.

“You’re wet right now, aren’t you?”

Slap. Your hand hit the glass. His eyes widened—then narrowed.

You stared at him. “You’ll never touch me.”

“But you’ll think about it,” he said, darkly. “You’ll ache for it.”

And you did.

▄︻══━一 ♡

Three Weeks Later

You were assigned to another patient for a few days.

But your mind never left Jake.

You read over his transcripts. Reread your notes. Your dreams became darker. In them, Jake wasn’t locked up. He was free. And you were beneath him, writhing.

He’d taken root inside you like rot.

So when you finally returned to his cell, you both knew something had changed.

“Come to confess?” he asked.

You said nothing.

“Or to surrender?”

Still nothing.

He grinned. “Then sit down. Let’s begin the session, doctor.”

It was subtle.

You dropped your pen, and when you bent to pick it up, Jake knelt faster—his hand brushed yours.

Warm. Strong. Dangerous.

Neither of you moved.

You looked up.

He was closer than he should be. So close you could smell him—dark musk, soap, something primal.

You should’ve pulled back.

You didn’t.

“You felt that?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are.”

He straightened slowly, knuckles dragging lightly across your wrist.

You let out a breath that sounded too much like a moan.

His eyes flashed.

From that day forward, it was all teasing, all tension.

Jake made you drop your professionalism, inch by inch.

He talked about your lipstick color. Asked how you liked being touched. Told you how he’d take you apart piece by piece, with his fingers, his mouth, his voice.

You stopped fighting.

One night, you snuck into the surveillance room and turned off his camera for 15 minutes.

You entered his cell.

You don’t remember how you got against the wall, only the heat of his body pressing into yours.

He didn’t kiss you at first. He just hovered.

“Say you want me,” he breathed.

You didn’t answer.

He chuckled and started to pull back.

“Wait.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed onto yours—possessive, punishing. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you up until your legs wrapped around him.

There was nothing slow about that kiss. It was years of hunger crashing together. You clawed at him. He groaned into your neck.

And then—

You pulled away.

“Not here,” you gasped. “Not yet.”

He licked your lip. “Then next time, I want all of you.”

▄︻══━一 ♡

There was a night when you gave in completely.

A storm raged outside. You came soaked through. Jake watched you strip off your jacket, hair dripping.

He said nothing.

Until you stepped into the cell without a word and climbed onto his lap.

No more games.

He took you apart with hands that had once destroyed lives—but now worshiped every inch of your skin. He undressed you like unwrapping sin. He touched you like you were 0

And when he finally filled you, it felt like damnation and salvation in one.

“Mine,” he groaned into your neck.

You didn’t correct him.

Because he was right.

Your wrists rest in the cold curve of the chain, iron pressing lightly against your skin—a reminder, not a threat. He hasn't locked you in. You could pull free. You won’t.

Jake watches you like a man standing at the edge of something sacred and sinful. His chest rises and falls beneath you, slow and controlled, but the heat in his eyes gives him away.

He drags his hands up your thighs—firm, steady, reverent. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through his palms alone. You tremble as he reaches your hips, his thumbs grazing the place where skin softens and heat gathers. He leans forward, brushing his lips across your sternum. Not kissing. Tasting.

“You trust me,” he whispers, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Even now.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The fact that you’re here—straddling him, wrists chained loosely above your head, heart exposed in more ways than one—is all the answer he needs.

He moves one hand between your thighs, spreading you slowly with the pads of his fingers. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tease. His touch is deliberate, exploring the folds of you with a kind of focus that steals your breath.

You gasp when he slips one thick finger inside—slowly, deliberately—and curls it upward. Your hips buck, straining against him. The chain clinks above, your arms tightening as you brace against the flood of sensation.

“There,” he murmurs, lips brushing the curve of your jaw. “Right there.”

His other hand spreads across the small of your back, anchoring you to him. His finger withdraws, then presses in again—slow, deeper this time, drawing a moan from your throat. Then another joins it. He stretches you with care, watching every twitch of your body, every falter in your breath.

“You’re perfect like this,” he growls. “Soft. Dripping. Open.”

You cry out when his thumb finds your clit, circling slow and firm. The chain above your head groans with your movements. You can’t think. You can't breathe. All you can feel is the rhythm of his hand and the heat building like a tidal wave inside you.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice fraying. “Just from this.”

And you do.

Your orgasm hits like a silent scream, your body shuddering around his fingers. Your back arches, your thighs clench, your arms pulling hard against the chain as you cry his name into the damp air. He never stops touching you. He draws it out, rides the tremors with you, until you collapse, panting, trembling, undone.

He holds you while your body calms, one hand sliding up your back, the other tangled in your hair. He doesn't rush. He lets you come back to yourself. To him.

Then he lifts you.

Your legs barely work, so he guides you, settling you again over the rigid length of him. His cock presses against your entrance, thick and hot, and your breath hitches at the promise of what's coming next.

He doesn’t thrust.

He sinks into you.

Slow. So slow it feels like he’s branding you from the inside out. You’re still wet from his fingers, from your release, but the stretch makes you gasp. He fills you inch by inch, groaning against your collarbone as he bottoms out.

There’s nothing hurried in the way he moves. His hands grip your hips, guiding you to rock in time with him, your bodies rolling together like the ocean in a storm’s wake—calm, but dangerous.

You brace against the chain, your arms taut, your spine arching as he thrusts up into you. Every drag of his body inside yours is perfect agony. Deep. Raw. Desperate.

“You feel too good,” he says, voice cracking. “I can’t— I can’t stop.”

You don’t want him to.

Your movements sync, hips grinding in a rhythm that feels ancient, instinctual. Sweat beads on your skin. The scent of rain and sex and something more primal fills the cell. The storm outside fades into a distant hum, eclipsed by the storm inside your own body.

Jake’s hands trail up your waist, along your ribs, over your heart. He cups your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burn.

“Say it,” he pleads. “Tell me you’re mine.”

And though you never thought you’d give yourself to anyone—especially not him—you whisper, “I’m yours.”

He thrusts into you harder, deeper, but still slow. Still deliberate. Like he’s making love to every part of you that’s ever been broken and piecing it back together.

When the second orgasm takes you, it’s not violent. It’s pure. A rush of heat and light and surrender, your entire body melting into his.

He follows, burying himself deep as he spills inside you with a sound that breaks something open in your chest.

Then silence.

Except for your breathing. His heartbeat. The chain gently swaying above your head.

And the certainty between you—thick and unspoken.

This wasn’t just sex

It was surrender.

It was claiming.

It was everything.

You don’t move at first.

Neither of you do.

Your body rests against his, trembling and warm, limbs half-asleep, muscles slack with the ache of pleasure and surrender. Jake’s chest rises beneath yours, slower now, steadier. You feel every heartbeat thrum through your own ribcage, as if the two of you have synced without trying.

The storm outside is a ghost of its former self. Rain taps gently against stone, a lullaby compared to the chaos it once was. Inside the cell, there’s only breath. Skin. Sweat cooling on your back. The distant creak of the chain above as it sways in time with your breathing.

Jake doesn’t say anything. He just holds you.

One arm around your waist. One hand cradling the back of your head. His fingers stroke through your damp hair, slow and aimless, like he’s grounding himself in the texture of you. As if touching you helps convince him this is real.

You shift your wrists, gently sliding them free of the chain. The iron leaves a faint indent on your skin—no pain, just memory. You rest your arms around his shoulders instead, curling in closer, pressing your cheek to the side of his neck.

His stubble scrapes lightly against your temple as he exhales.

Neither of you is in a rush to speak. There’s no need to fill the quiet. Everything important has already been said, or shown, through skin and breath and the tremble of your bodies.

Still, there’s a weight in your chest.

Not fear. Not regret.

Just the terrifying realization that something in you has shifted—and it won’t shift back.

Jake finally breaks the silence.

His voice is rough. Barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

You close your eyes. “I didn’t think I would either.”

He nods like he understands, even though that confession hurts. Maybe it should. Maybe that’s the point.

His arms tighten around you a little more. Protective. Possessive. Like if he holds you close enough, long enough, you won’t vanish with the morning.

“Was it real?” he asks.

You lift your head, just enough to meet his eyes. There’s no mask there. No armor. Just a man laid bare by touch and trust and a thousand things neither of you have dared to say out loud.

You don’t flinch.

“Yes.”

The corner of his mouth lifts—not quite a smile, more like a wound trying to close.

He brushes a thumb along your jaw. “You undo me.”

And you realize something: he may have claimed you, but you’ve ruined him in return.

Together, you are chaos wrapped in quiet. Storms finding stillness. Two broken pieces that, for one impossible night, fit.

You shift off of him slowly, carefully, every inch of your body sore in the best way. He lets you go, but only barely—his hands still lingering, like letting go completely might tear something vital.

You lie beside him on the stone floor, finding his hand with yours. Fingers entwined. Palms warm.

No words. Just breath.

And somewhere, beneath it all, the first whisper of something that might grow in the ruins.

Not forgiveness. Not peace.

But something raw and real.

Something like us.

When you went home..you felt different..this was bad..you slept with two prisoners, will this continue will this just go on until someone finds out or till you're fired?...

#inbox open #kpop #imagine #enhypen imagines #kpop x reader #enhypen #jake x reader #jake sim #enhypen jake #sim jake #jake x you #jake smut #jake smau

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