#again. i know they're all part of the problem in the same way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldentigerfestival · 1 year ago

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Since I'd been talking a lot about JP Vesperia (primarily Yuri and Flynn and the heavy changes that surround them, and because I'm highly passionate about them in their original context), I wanted to compile some more jarring if not outright glaring mistakes in the localization (or what were likely intentional changes, because I can't look at some of these and just call them "mistakes"). I'm not going to mention every little change throughout the game, so smaller things I'll mostly be leaving out (namely things that don't really affect characters or context). I primarily just wanted to give some insight on some of the bigger parts.

Some of the changes seem to have been mistakes in translation itself (not just localization, but misunderstanding what was being said in general; such as, there's an instance I mention of that between Patty and Don), so I've got some mentions hanging around for clarity purposes as some scenes didn't make much sense, likely because of this.

Vocal tone with Yuri was the most prominent issue that got me making this, and the context that was changed being right after if not equally next to that (most often also with Yuri but also Flynn).

This is something that has been bothering me for a while and I've been wanting to share this stuff with people interested in seeing the game with its original context. Generally speaking, the plot and story themselves are on point. The majority of the differences surround Yuri and Flynn respectively, so there's going to be a lot of mention of them throughout.

I've also posted video clips of my favorite scenes and the heavy changes, so consider those a supplement to this and vice versa.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

(Other) GTF Favorites.

Note because people have vagueposted about me since making these: Do not start "dub versus sub hurr hurr" arguments with me or imply that's what I'm doing with these. Firstly, Japanese is a language, not your English subtitles. Secondly, these posts are not in main tags and I am not bothering anyone by making posts of my feelings on my own blog related to these facts. If you have time to vaguepost and whine about my untagged opinions after hatereading (or not even reading it at all and making stupid assumptions), you have time to be nice to people and find something fun to do. Lastly, I've said many times that the entire loc/dub in this game is not bad. There are specific things I take issue with. It does not mean I'm anti dub and hate all dubs. It does not mean I go out of my way to find dub fans and start shit with them.

Update: Went back through to correct the way I used "dub" and "localization" interchangeably. I don't do that anymore bc "dub" obviously refers to the dubbing of foreign media, and dubbing is a part of the localization process. Lines themselves are not the dubbing, and the dubbing is the vocals. Thus, I edited cases where I really didn't think about that while writing these and changed mistaken "dub" mentions as needed.

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I'd like to preface this by mentioning the chief director and producer of the game itself has also spoken about localization inaccuracy issues, so that's something to keep in mind (it's in Japanese, but you should be able to use the offered post translator).

I'd also like to preface this by mentioning that in the original, Yuri is more playful and relaxed/casual (generally but including with Flynn, which the dub pretty much entirely changed until arc 3), but also gentler and softer. He has a very large variety of tonal behaviors/tonal "moods" that were pretty much nuked from the dub.

Basically, to get a better experience for this Yuri, I can only really recommend playing the game in JP audio. Obviously you won't get the actual context because all you'll have is the loc context, but that's also partly why I'm making these posts - to cover the contextual changes while the video clips cover some of the tonal changes (because lbh I don't expect anyone to actually go watch the entire game in JP with subtitles unless you're as insanely dedicated as I am, and I'm largely doing it out of my love for the original Yuri and Flynn and my disdain for how the localization treated them).

As a heads up, there won't be many skits in here because I'm going through a specific YT playthrough for these screenshots. Specific skits won't always come up in the playthrough in question, and I can't find a whole list of skits in JP anywhere online. I don't have all skits unlocked in my own save either yet (you can unlock all skits with Grade which I have yet to do in the DE), so I can't use that to compare all skits right now.

There are plenty of small changes here and there that I won't be including in these posts because there are some sentence changes that aren't impactful but do exist. I just don't want to be here for a year covering the random changes that don't matter much. I'm also not going to include details of a lot of honorifics because I'd be here all day, but there is one one major instance that I mention later on.

For reference if anything wants to actually watch the game in JP with the subs (it goes until just after Hypionia), most of the references come from here. Since in some cases the subber just reused localized text even when the context wasn't the same, I did bring some of those up in these posts too. These were subbed before the DE version came out. I used screenshots with subs where possible to make it easier to follow along.

I have a lot of passion for JP Yuri and I hope I can pass on some of that passion to others. 🙏

Apologies in advance if some of these sound cranky. If I sound cranky about some specific changes, it's probably because I am.

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Since I talked about the whole, Raven being shady and Yuri therefore not being grateful to him incident that the localization for some reason butchered and made Yuri sound like a generally ungrateful or just outright dumb person who doesn't understand gratitude, I'll summarize that one again here:

Yuri has a skit with Estelle originally talking about how he can't find himself being grateful to someone like Raven for showing him how to sneak out of the castle. Basically, Raven is shady and he's not sure he should be grateful to someone like that, and is confused as to why Estelle would be so grateful when she doesn't even know him (because in his mind, he isn't sure he wants to trust a guy with those vibes). The loc just kinda... makes him sound like an ungrateful jerk and not so much because he's not sure he wants to trust Raven. It doesn't really sound like it's an issue of his with Raven specifically but more that he just generally doesn't feel grateful for the aid (and that in general one shouldn't feel grateful for aid like this), which gives off a really wrong impression of him that doesn't hold up throughout the game. Yuri wasn't wholly ungrateful for the gesture itself, but because of who it came from (and I imagine a weird peppy guy in jail is good cause to be skeptical).

We start off we a classic "Yuri, you idiot!" that was changed to "come on already!".

Yuri's response to Estelle mentioning he'd been in the knights doesn't actually give a time frame for how long he'd been there (the loc made up three months, but there was never originally even a time frame given).

Here when Yuri asks Estelle why she can't just leave, her response indicates she actually does know why. The loc made it more ambiguous, which could be easily misinterpreted as she really doesn't know, so I'm dropping this one here.

For some reason the localization seemed to have Estelle responding to Karol directly about the ace always performing their attack last ("I don't think so"). What she was referring to was the tiny monster that walked by, asking for confirmation that that monster was not the eggbear they were looking for (I wasn't gonna fight with the video to get a better screenshot without the annoying YT red bar in the way so the monster is in the corner mid-movement lol). Not sure if that was a genuine mistake, but it was an odd one.

(Also, side note and not putting an image here because it's more general, but Yuri refers to Karol as "Karol-sensei" which was translated in the localization to "Captain Karol". Basically, Yuri calls him "sensei" because that's a teacher/professor, and he's making a play on Karol's knowledge and being their "teacher" about monsters/maps/etc.)

I'd say this is more along the lines of overexaggerating and not overreacting, but this line was literally changed to "haha" in the loc. The whole point wasn't that Yuri just brushed her comment off or found it funny. At this point he still literally thinks she's exaggerating about her lack of knowledge out in the world, her excitement, etc.

Not the only instance you'll find of the loc just changing entire sentences to something meaningless as if they ??? didn't know what it meant (they actually changed Patty saying an entire sentence to "aye"). In some cases they added entire sentences that weren't even there...

Even though I can kind of see where they went with the loc here, the point was supposed to be that Flynn actively thought he would be happy for Yuri to go outside the barrier and see the world.

The loc changed this to Flynn saying that he, in the now, is happy that Yuri is outside the barrier, but then says he got a little less happy when he saw the wanted poster, indicating he was previously happy but got less happy, yet says in that moment that he is happy.

It's a weird case of (past/present) tense usage for the most part, but they also removed the fact that Flynn is literally saying "I thought I would be happy" (thus expressing he'd been wanting Yuri to see the world outside the barrier and would've been happy to find out he did). The reason he's not finding himself happy is because of the wanted poster and the crimes listed on it, following up that his honest happiness for Yuri (ultimately because of the poster) was a lie.

This also means they removed Flynn expressing the honesty of his happiness for a positive concept for Yuri, which, given all the changes toward Flynn in the loc/dub, already now takes away from the fact that he'd been actively hoping for good things for someone and we're left with this more sarcastic take on him being "happy" (his line is more like, "but I lost my sense of genuine happiness when I saw this!").

Obviously his happiness wasn't really a lie because most of the crimes were falsified (primarily the ones that would make him actually mad, because Flynn has had to have been aware this whole time that Yuri has committed small time crimes for the past few years now), but at the time, the focus on this conversation is that Flynn thought he'd be happy at a time that Yuri left the barrier; meaning he'd been hoping for it prior to it happening.

I'm also mentioning it because it's the very first in a whole line of changes the loc/dub made to their relationship (and it's their first in game interaction ffs) and to Flynn himself as he's perceived as a character. The original is much more expressive of how important they are to each other in a lot of various ways.

Inserting the JP audio version of the following scene with Flynn here.

And... the following one from there.

This was changed to "damn, we if lose our balance...". I know they did it because Yuri had just fallen over, but I'm including this one because the context isn't... really the same thing to me?

This loc change is a bit odd to me. They had him saying something along the lines of "she is a princess after all" in the loc, regarding the council backing her.

The original context is more like, the council is backing her and he's hearing it directly from Ioder and he probably doubts Ioder would lie like that or about that, cementing that yes, she truly is, like he suspected, a princess, but it's almost still a bit odd to know. It's sort of like, he knew/had suspicions but hearing it directly from Ioder just confirms it for certain.

The loc just made it sound like well yeah, it's obvious they'd want to back her, she's a princess... but Ioder is a prince, so that doesn't explain why they're not backing him. She is a princess after all, so of course they'd back her... but what's stopping them from backing the prince?

Another weird one for me. In the loc Yuri says that "even the Commandant was a little in over his head", when he actually... really wasn't? All he did was step in. Things got bad enough that he had to, but he wasn't in over his head. Not sure how or why the loc ended up with that.

An example of the loc having a habit of just adding in random lines that didn't actually exist (and in this case the one added didn't even contextually make sense. This was no thank you from him, this was literally him making Yuri do something for him because he was going to ask Flynn for a favor and ended up with Yuri in the cell instead).

Another super weird one in the loc. They had Yuri saying Flynn was "too" late, implying he hadn't made it in time, but he did. He made it just before the battle started, but the original context only says he's late, not too late (which makes sense given that they were ready to fight but hadn't started yet).

This was changed to Yuri just mentioning there was one way they could get out of there without actually saying what it was, and Judith saying if he thinks it might work what's the harm in trying it out. Not sure why they changed Yuri literally telling her his plan, so... again, a super weird change that I don't get why they didn't just keep the context the way it was.

Third image was changed to "someone get me away from this psycho", which... I also don't get why they put that there unless they just wanted so much flavor text that they wanted to change the whole "they're in a fight and he's telling her not to come over here because he's pissed at her because they're fighting" part of the fake fight they had going on.

Not one I have a huge problem with, but definitely good examples of them going out of their way to change just... perfectly normal stuff that literally has no reason to be changed? Some of it is flavor text and some of it feels over the top for me. Stuff that makes me like... why would you change that when there was no reason to? Could be more of a personal pet peeve of mine, but I just don't like unnecessary changes when there was nothing wrong or odd about the original text and doesn't at all come off odd in English. Unfortunately Vesperia got littered with those.

I didn't feel like getting a whole video for this, but basically Judith gives a little laugh instead of just the more upset/distressed(?) sound she made in the dub. Feels more fitting imo to keep up the "lie" Yuri started for her. The dub makes it seem more like she feels guilty, versus here she's giving a little forced giggle to go along with it. Again, a change I'm not sure why they put in.

Ngl I get completely different vibes from these. The JP comes across more as concern, rather than... treating them like they're some mob on the loose...?

Once again, this gives off negative vibes toward Flynn as a character imo.

Here Judith gives more of a reason for coming with them, which they changed in the loc to "with the circumstances being what they are, this is just how things turned out". Reasonably, she didn't have to stick around after they ran from Dahngrest, but here she gives a quick "reason".

The loc changed this to "I'll bet he is". They were just told he's the current magistrate in Heliord, and all Yuri says here expresses he's letting it sink in and realizing exactly why all this is happening here. It's not a huge story beat or anything that gets changed, but it's an example of changing things that don't need to be changed as if trying to play things up in a way that... doesn't feel necessary to me? In this case the situation is kind of dawning on Yuri as he realizes how bad this situation could be/why it's like it is, but in the loc it comes across as more just unimpressed and "of course he'd do that".

An unfortunate, classic moment of them changing how much Yuri believes in and trusts Flynn. They changed this to "gotta run, Flynn!" and he just... leaves. I'm sorry but in what universe does "leave the rest to you" equal "gotta run"???

This one is one of those cases where the localization text was super awkward and wonky, and worse, they actually voiced it that way (like "we have guild's job to deal with". Yes, they actually voiced it that way too on top of everything else grammatically wonky with the entire conversation that they didn't bother fixing when the DE came out).

Also here, they changed what Yuri says about Cumore and Flynn. "I don't know how I could explain this to Flynn" doesn't, at least to me, carry the same weight as Yuri actually feeling ashamed (in the loc he says "what a shame", but does not express shame, versus him saying "how pathetic" and expressing shame in feeling pathetic) and saying he can't even face Flynn because Cumore got away. The thing is, Yuri does tend to posture, so when he fails at something, it hits him pretty hard.

And let's be honest, this just hits way harder than "he will get what he deserves".

Interestingly, Yuri could also fall into the category of viewing himself as sinful later on, which I talk about in my favorites post and the usage of "crime" and "sin" within the JP context.

Not particularly important, but just another (more mild) case and example of how the loc just randomly changed tone/mood/wording for no reason.

Another case of Yuri being more aggressive in the dub than he actually was. Here, all he says is just a plain statement. In the dub, he has an attitude about it and says it in a tone that's more insulting that Ioder didn't know about Heracles.

This isn't the only case of dub Yuri acting aggressively toward Ioder when he wasn't supposed to be and we'll get to that, but Ioder is another similar case of the dub making Yuri unnecessarily vocally rude (despite that Ioder is very polite toward Yuri).

(I left out the subtitles because all they did was copy the Eng localization, which kinda defeats the point of this post LOL. This will be the case going forward for any same circumstances.)

This one's a more interesting tidbit to me and less of a harmful change (i.e. I find that a lot of if not most changes relative to Flynn do more harm than good when compared with the original context). Basically it's saying "sweet mask and sharp eyes", implying Flynn's sweet face is a mask and saying it contrasts with his sharp eyes. I could get into a whole rant about why I love that in relation to some side material, but even in the game itself, there's the knight Flynn with his sweet, polite side and his real side that only shows when he's around Yuri (basically, who Flynn has to be for his job and who he actually is as a person, which he only gets to be around someone who knows the real him).

I'd guess this got changed in the loc because they weren't sure how to word it, though there's no mention of "heartthrob" here at all and instead actually says "sweet mask" as if, again, to say his sweetness is just a mask. It's actually a very interestingly accurate representation of his character - how he tends to not be himself when he's being "knight Flynn", and how that sweet face is contrasted by the look in his eyes (which they say, you know, eyes are the windows to the soul, so this would imply the sweet face is the mask and the eyes are the real Flynn. And of course, this Flynn is implied to show himself in his sparring with Yuri in Aurnion, where sword fighting is the best way to express himself. This isn't to say Flynn being a nice person in and of itself is a lie, but that his overly polite, respectful, kind knight side is a sweet mask contrasted to the man who loves to fight and has a sharp look in his eyes)

For now, we'll be back at Mantaic in the next post (due to image per post limit).

#Tales of Vesperia #GTF JP Vesperia Things #GTF Vesperia Localization Woes #really like... a lot of the time? the other characters weren't changed all that much #it's primarily Yuri who got this weird shift where they just... flattened his personality?#but some of the biggest offenders ended up being some of the most important scenes in the game which is what bothers me #and sometimes the localization is pretty much just... on point with the plot dialogue and other characters #yet for some reason they just... changed a lot of tone for Yuri?#it's just like... Yuri will have personality in his tone and they instead make dub Yuri speak it in a flat way in those moments #this did happen with the original dubbing quite a bit but it's also just SUPER noticeable with the new lines #my suggestion would be to at least play the game w/ JP dialogue and see how you feel coming out of it if you're a fan of Yuri and/or Flynn #and if you like it enough then I'd suggest watching the playthrough in JP that these screenshots came from if you're RLY dedicated lol #it's not JUST Yuri it's just /dominantly/ Yuri. other odd lines just didn't... go as hard?#like Raven and Karol especially go pretty hard on their lines in JP and the Schwann stuff with Karol was OOF #or if you'd rather just skip to watching it in JP I mean be my guest lol I just know some ppl might rather PLAY it #I just feel like... like... even tho not everything in the dub is horrendous... if you're a YURI fan?#it's hard to go back to the dub (impossible for me ngl) when you have this actual silly little guy #who is a lot more emotional and wholesome and Yuri isn't acting like he has a stick up his dubbed ass in some scenes #I still prefer the 360 version plot-wise for the most part and it's a mixed bag there a bit but #I can't get JP audio on the 360 so. it's the struggle ig.#in my case though it's this feeling of like... them wanting to create an image onto Yuri that wasn't supposed to be there?#obviously I don't know what went on in the loc room but I do know I walked out looking at dub Yuri like #him and the original Yuri aren't even the same. I get so frustrated with dub Yuri's unnecessary ATTITUDE sometimes #which wasn't ever a problem for me period in JP. he's emotional and sincere WAY more often #also lbh I cannot reasonably picture dub Yuri all dressed up and pretty the way he is in official artwork LOL #and that's the thing. I see them so differently it's like they're different people #I also just feel like the dub was like. he doesn't fit OUR vision for him. what WE want him to be like #and again I don't know what went on in that loc room but I DO know that's how I came out feeling from this game #anyway this is in hope more ppl will come to love JP Yuri's personality and stuff #but yeah more next time on ''why did you do this to my sweet baby boy''

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abbotsanatomy · 2 months ago

Note

Jack x reader

Possessive & Protective Jack. Reader is the hospital social worker. Jack finds out a grieving family member has been stalking and harassing reader.!

⨳ (I’LL BE WATCHING YOU)

pairing: jack abbot x social worker!reader warnings: age gap (28, and 49), depictions of stalking, grief, child death, epilepsy (seizures), verbal assault, physical assault. author's note: this was a rough one to write tbh! hope u like! title’s totally inspired by ‘every breath you take,’ i love double meanings lol

“Good morning!” you greet, strolling into the ER break room.

You set aside the coffees you bought for everyone. It's your turn to bring everyone their fix tonight. They're nothing fancy, as can be expected from someone who earns almost half of what everyone else around here does.

You pick one of the brown coffee cups up from the paper cupholder on the counter, “Or, Y'know. Good night?”

“Live-saver!” one of the second-year residents yells. She's quick to grab one of the coffees, too.

The few people in the break room do the same, thanking you along the way. They slowly filter out, presumably going to tell everyone the break room's stocked up again so they can get their own before it's all gone.

It's just you and Dana Evans in the small room now. She's never been one for rushing home the moment her shift's over. She always lingers, you feel like you might know her even better than the night shift's charge nurse. The affinity you have for her can also be attributed, in huge part, to the fact that the veteran charge nurse reminds you of Dr.Abbot.

“Hey, kid. I heard what happened yesterday,” she starts. “Are you good?”

Wow. Word gets around much quicker than you expected. What happened yesterday should've been less than a blip on someone like Dana's radar.

The situation in question was just a grieving parent who'd said some pretty nasty things to you. He was in shock. You understand. You have to; it's your job.

His anger was justified. You were partially responsible for him missing his kid's last few moments. The memories kept you up all day.

The girl was barely two. When they came in, she was having an epileptic seizure that wouldn't go away. Upon further investigation, the doctors, with a neuro consult, told her father there was a surgery that could reduce her seizures. He'd heard about it before, but he was skeptical.

Apparently, having had his seizing daughter in his arms, unable to do anything but wait for an ambulance changed his mind.

There was one minor problem, though. Before they could get his daughter prepped for surgery, the hospital needed his insurance documents. She was stable; this wasn't emergency surgery. So the financial aspect was, unfortunately, a priority.

“Her mother's out of town. It's just me. I can't leave her alone,” he'd told you.

“Well, she still needs to be monitored for a while. And I understand you want the surgery immediately,” you'd reasoned with him. “Maybe you can make it home and back quickly, before she wakes up.”

He was hesitant at first, but you were determined. You'd help where you can.

“I'll be with her the whole time. I promise. Our doctors will do the best they can to make sure she's comfortable and safe.”

Safe. What a stupid word to use. She wasn't safe when he came back. She was dead.

She'd had another seizure minutes after he left. The entire medical team tried their best, you know that. You were there, holding her hand through it all. Begging her to stay strong for her dad.

When he came back, he was held back by security as he shouted all kinds of evil truths at you.

“You bitch.”

“You all killed her.”

“I could've been here if it wasn't for you!”

It was all true.

His words have replayed in your mind ever since. So, no, you aren't good. But there's nothing a charge nurse you're sure has been through worse can do about it, so you won't tell her.

“Mhm, I'm fine. Don't worry about me,” you lie, straight to her face.

You have a feeling she doesn't believe you, but she's also smart enough to recognize when someone doesn't want to talk about something. So, she drops it.

“Alright. Be kind to yourself, okay? Take some time off if you need it,” she advises, and you trust her judgement. It isn't like you'll listen to her, though.

“Okay. I'll try.”

Dana walks out of the break room, but not before giving you a long hug. On a good day, you'd be soaring with happiness. Today, it makes you feel just slightly better.

You're mid-sip when your favorite attending walks in. Jack looks shocked to see you. He'd given you the exact same advice Dana just did. You'd obviously not taken it.

He walks towards the counter you're leaning against. You feel like he's about to tell you off. He just stands there for a long moment. Then, he's searching your face for something. A sign of distress, maybe?

He doesn't find whatever it is he's looking for. You smile at how ridiculous this staring habit of his is.

“Are you good?” he parrots Dana.

Your brows crease, “Have you and Nurse Evans been talking about me?”

Jack looks confused.

“I'm fine. I'm great, even. Okay?” you demand.

He nods, but it's very hesitant.

“I have a shrink. I'm seeing her after work. You don't have to worry about me,” you reiterate.

Everything he could say was said yesterday. He reassured you for thirty minutes after, brought you water and food in between patients. There's nothing more he can say right now.

He just grabs one of the coffees you brought, “Thank you.”

His tone's a little too sincere for what this is. You'll take it.

You both exit the break room and part ways to get on with your shifts. His eyes are front and center in your mind the entire time, especially when you need some comfort.

You've been on edge lately. You're flinching at things you aren't supposed to. You close your curtains whenever you're home alone. You just can't shake this feeling that you're being watched.

The 90$-an-hour therapist you visit once a month says it's a symptom of your PTSD. That's of no consequence, because the anxiety feels as real as can be. Your nerves are fried all the time.

You need a break. There's one person in particular you want to spend your time off with. He's been invited to your apartment for dinner tonight. Thankfully, Jack hasn’t embarrassed you by rejecting your invitation.

He's just texted you that he's on his way now. You're in the kitchen with your cooking playlist playing in the background. It's the kind of mellow moment you haven't experienced in weeks. You're bringing the wooden mixing spoon up to your mouth to get a taste, when the moment's rudely interrupted.

Someone's pulling you back, with their arm tightly wrapped around your throat. This isn't psychosis, paranoia, or PTSD. This is real.

You try to hit back with the spoon in your hand, but it quickly clatters to the floor, splattering soup everywhere.

Your next line of defense is clawing your way out. Literally. You scratch and pull away at the stranger's arm. It's minimally effective. You're trying to scream out for help, too. It barely comes out as a squeak.

Your vision's getting blurry, when you feel someone tackle the intruder, bringing them to the floor. You can hear an altercation happening on your floor, right next to where you're coughing up a storm, just trying to catch your breath again.

Someone's landing more than a few punches, in the distance. The sound becomes much less distressing when you realize it's Jack who has the upper hand in this fight. His eyes lack the tenderness they usually have when you’re staring back at them.

“Jack...” you croak out, trying to pull him out of it.

He stops, pulling the guy under him up by the collar. That's when you realize it's the same grieving man who was shouting at you in the middle of the PTMC’s emergency room, less than a week ago.

Jack slams him against your kitchen wall, his arm pinning the man in place by the throat. On the floor, beside you, is a set of pictures. They must've fallen from the man’s pocket mid-brawl. They're all of you. At your therapist's office. At home. At work.

He's been watching you, following you. The realization fills you with dread.

You pull your phone out and dial 911 immediately.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, his eyes still set on the man in front of him.

“Yes, I'm fine. Be gentle,” you tell him.

He shakes his head subtly. He'd be smiling a little too, if he wasn't so angry at the man in front of him. Of course, you'd want him to be gentle with the man who was about to kill you. You've always seen the best in everyone.

He can’t ever deny you a thing, so he's as gentle as he can be, with how furious he is right now.

“911, what's your emergency?” you hear on the other end.

Jack takes care of it all. Tells the officers what happened, shows them the pictures, escorts them out. All you could manage for now was a few hums in agreement to the questions the officers asked you.

Once they left, Jack came to sit beside you on the couch. Now, he’s been staring at your neck intensely. You can tell he wants to take a look.

“Do you mind?”

“Nope,” you answer, pulling your hair to the side.

His fingers are gentle on your neck, as they graze the bruise forming there.

His voice is tight, like he's still barely containing his anger, “It looks alright. It'll just be slightly bruised.”

You nod, “Thank you. For everything.”

Your hand finds his, interlocking your fingers. He brings your joined hands up to his mouth, to place a chaste kiss onto the back of your hand. You grin, and finally look up from the spot on your carpet you’d been staring at.

There's a cut on his cheek, still bleeding. You bring your other hand to rest on his cheek, pressing your mouth to the skin beside the cut.

“Let me take care of that for you,” you offer.

It's almost like he didn't even hear you, though. “You probably shouldn't go to work tomorrow.”

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, probably.

“Can you stay?” you propose, barely louder than a whisper.

You're asking because it'd make you feel safer. He can tell. He agrees, immediately.

You pull your hand away to go grab the first aid kit in your bathroom cabinet. You're also rehearsing how you're going to convince him to sleep in your bed with you, instead of the couch. He ends up being very easy to convince.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott fanfic #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot drabble #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot imagine #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #the pitt show #the pitt x reader

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v4mpyyr-exe · 4 months ago

Text

DONT LIKE, REBLOG

so people who do this may see it.

The growing problem of "they" for trans people

Something I've noticed growing more common in my life recently has been people using exclusively "they" when referring to binary trans people who don't use "they"

Why is this a problem?

Using "they" when referring to someone when you don't know is seen as "better" in a lot of spaces now, which I can agree with as you don't know what their actual pronouns are. The problem I've noticed is that when meeting a trans person, a lot of people seem to default to "they" even after being told what pronouns they actually prefer. This can be for a lot of reasons, but the most common ones I hear are "I didn't want to assume" and "its not misgendering, they is neutral!"

Example situation

Person A meets person B, a trans woman. A doesn't know B's pronouns and so refers to B as "they." B corrects A, saying she prefers "she," but A continues to say "they" because its gender neutral. However, A does not do the same to cis women.

Do you see the problem now?

The use of exclusively "they" on trans people but not cis people, no matter your excuse, shows that you don't really see them as what they identify as and is quite transphobic since you're literally ignoring their identity and not seeing them as how they want to be seen.

"Okay, what should I do?"

Simple, just ask them their pronouns and then ACTUALLY USE THEM!! If he says he, DONT USE EXCLUSIVELY THEY! If she says she, DONT USE EXCLUSIVELY THEY! If they say they, well. yeah, use they, obviously. If xe say neopronouns and you don't know how to use those, just ask! If any part of someone's identity confuses you, just fucking ask them instead of assuming, for the love of god, and once they tell you, don't ignore what they said.

That's all. Just please stop calling people who don't use "they" by that.

Edit:

I got this comment and thought I should clarify and add on some MORE things you should avoid doing now that this post has aged a bit, and I've had more time to think!

Please do not attack this person, i dont think they meant it in any bad way

Clarification on the term 'misgendering'

While yes, 'gender' does not directly tell you someones pronouns or what terms they're comfortable with, but misgendering doesn't only mean calling a man a woman or a woman a man. Misgendering is usually thought to only mean using a trans person's assigned sexs' pronouns or deadnaming, but it's actually more than just that, it includes what terms you use for them, how you group them, and what societal expectations you put onto them based on their assigned sex, not just their gender.

Other things you should avoid

* These DO NOT apply to every situation! These are just general rules UNTIL YOU KNOW THE PERSON, then do what they ask

Calling all gender non-conforming people 'it' (again..not. universal.)

Deadnaming, obviously

Using gendered pronouns for a non-conforming person

Arguing with someone over the validity of their identity

Automatically introducing someone as trans

Assuming someone is out to other family or friends

Using incorrectly gendered terms, including when referring to a group

Exclusively using gender neutral terms/compliments

#trans pride #trans #transmasc #trans man #trans male #transfem #trans woman #transgender #lgbtq community #lgbt pride #lgbtq #lgbtqia #queer community #queer #queer pride

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buckyalpine · 8 months ago

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18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

just an idea.

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justaz · 26 days ago

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I beg. Please. Reread the books. I need the reliance on fanon to stop. Canon is right there.

No one “debated saving Nico”. They all agreed immediately to save him:

When Percy was dreaming of Nico trapped in the jar he said: “‘Nico,’ Percy said, ‘where is this place? We'll save you....’” - Literally the first time he sees Nico, he decides that they’re going to save him

Then after Percy tells everyone at the table, their reaction is: “‘The giants are trying to lure us," Annabeth said. ‘They're assuming we'll try to rescue him.’ / ‘Well, they're right!’ Hazel looked around the table, her confidence apparently crumbling. ‘Won't we?’ / ‘Yes!’ Coach Hedge yelled with a mouthful of napkins. ‘It'll involve fighting, right?’ / ‘Hazel, of course we'll help him,’ Frank said. ‘But how long do we have before... uh, I mean, how long can Nico hold out?’” - Of course Hazel agrees immediately, as does Coach Hedge and Frank

After discussing the seeds, Piper says: “‘That's not much time,’ Piper summed up. She put her hand on Hazel's shoulder. ‘We'll find him. At least we know what the lines of the prophecy mean now. 'Twins snuff out the angel's breath, who holds the key to endless death.' Your brother's last name: di Angelo. Angelo is Italian for 'angel.'’” - Piper agrees immediately and brings up the prophecy which reaffirms the importance of Nico and a key part he plays in the quest, which means they need to save him

Percy introspection and final vocal agreement: “Percy stared at his jelly donut. He had a rocky history with Nico di Angelo. The guy had once tricked him into visiting Hades's palace, and Percy had ended up in a cell. But most of the time, Nico sided with the good guys. He certainly didn't deserve slow suffocation in a bronze jar, and Percy couldn't stand seeing Hazel in pain. ‘We'll rescue him,’ he promised her. ‘We have to. The prophecy says he holds the key to endless death.’” - Which is the set up for what people are actually in such an uproar about, the questioning of Nico’s loyalty even though the question is completely valid as Percy points out here. Nico is more a rogue agent, he does his own thing like when he lured Percy down to the Underworld to receive information about his mother. Sure he didn’t know what Hades would do, but Percy didn’t know there was a deviation to the plan in the first place - a plan in which he was already risking his life, trusting in Nico only to be betrayed even if Nico didn’t mean for it to be one.

Argo II scoreboard right now is 5/8 vocally agreeing to save him, no matter what the rest say, the votes are in favor of a rescue mission, especially with the importance the prophecy places on Nico. The only ones who haven’t vocally agreed to save him are Annabeth, Leo, and Jason.

Leo starts the vocal questioning of the safety and security of the plan: “‘Uh...’ Leo shifted in his chair. ‘One thing. The giants are expecting us to do this, right? So we're walking into a trap?’ / Hazel looked at Leo like he'd made a rude gesture. ‘We have no choice!’” - Leo is simply questioning the plan and Hazel reacts viscerally because she’s so focused in on Nico being in danger that the slightest hesitation seems like a worse problem than it is. Nothing against Hazel, I’d react the same way if it was my brother, but still Leo never said “let’s not save this emo loser” he’s just saying that there is a clear threat posed here that they’re walking right up to

Leo and Jason voice the same opinion: “‘Don't get me wrong, Hazel. It's just that your brother, Nico... he knew about both camps, right?’ / ‘Well, yes,’ Hazel said. / ‘He's been going back and forth,’ Leo said, ‘and he didn't tell either side.’ / Jason sat forward, his expression grim. ‘You're wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.’” - They don’t question saving him, they question the plan and Nico’s loyalty. For good reason. Again, Nico is established more as a rogue agent. Who’s to say he didn’t side with the giants and is in cahoots with them to lure the Seven into this trap for Gaea to bring Bianca or his mother back? They’re pointing out concerns and questions, it’d be idiotic to go into this situation with a half-baked plan and no backups if they don’t consider all possibilities and Nico’s loyalty has always been up in the air which is a huge red flag in this situation

Climax of the “debate”: “Hazel shot to her feet. ‘I don't believe this. He's my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don't want to help him?’ / Frank put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Nobody's saying that.’ He glared at Leo. ‘Nobody had better be saying that.’ / Leo blinked. ‘Look, guys. All I mean is-‘ / ‘Hazel,’ Jason said. ‘Leo is raising a fair point. I remember Nico from Camp Jupiter. Now I find out he also visited Camp Half-Blood. That does strike me as... well, a little shady. Do we really know where his loyalties lie? We just have to be careful.’” - And then Hazel blows up and storms off. Frank reassured Hazel that no one was saying that then gave Leo the push to make it clear that wasn’t what he was saying and that’s what Leo was going to do (clarifying his point) before Jason cuts in and defends Leo from the offense that Hazel is on. He reaffirms that they’re just questioning his loyalty, they have to be careful when going to rescue him, they never said they would leave him to suffocate and rot.

Please stop this propaganda and reread the books or at least the wiki. I swear fanon has y’all in a goddamn chokehold.

Anyways, here’s the apology scene so y’all will maybe shut up:

“‘…Sometimes demigods make bad choices.’ He looked sheepishly at Hazel. ‘Like sometimes we're too suspicious. And we speak without thinking.’ / Hazel stared at him. Slowly it seemed to dawn on her that he was apologizing. / Jason elbowed Leo. / ‘Ow!’ Leo yelped. ‘I mean, yeah...bad choices. Like not trusting people's brothers who, you know, might need saving. Hypothetically speaking.’” - Apologizing for being suspicious and not trusting Nico, not apologizing for not wanting to save him, apologizing for their suspicious words against Nico’s loyalties hurting Hazel

#pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #heroes of olympus #heros of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #mark of athena #moa #jason grace #leo valdez #argo ii #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #piper mclean #piper mcclean #percy jackson #frank zhang #coach hedge #canon

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sundrop-writes · 10 months ago

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BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

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pythonmoth · 3 months ago

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cw: suicidal and homicidal thoughts. johnny is jealous and inconsistent. brief infantilization by tf141. reader is angry and pissed. author is projecting their own likes, sorry. pretty chill update. johnny is a simp loser.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 11

He wants the world to eat him alive, to swallow him and to forever keep him down underground so he never makes a single mistake in front of you ever again. To see you running away in panic because of him is something he will probably never recover from. He barely has the time to grimace when he hears you rushing away, someone right behind you; he just assumes it's Simon.

Johnny decides to just take a moment to clean up before going after you as well, when he hears someone getting into the kitchen. He looks up, expecting the Capt'n to be here to scold him, but when he sees Simon instead, he raises an eyebrow.

"Ah, it's you. I tripped" Johnny grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You hurt yourself".

"Just a tiny cut, 's nothing. Where did she go?" Johnny questions, bringing his thumb to his mouth, licking the drop of blood clean.

"I don't know. Practically bolted when you dropped the plate".

Johnny stares at him with slowly growing irritation. "And what are you doing here? I must've scared her" he sighs, standing up. "Where to?"

"Garrick already went after her".

"So?"

"They're getting along. A lot".

Johnny blinks again.

Smack.

"What the fuck? What was that for now?" Simon growls out, rubbing his head. Johnny shakes his head, still expecting an answer. Simon sighs. "Over there. Come on".

Simon guides him, their feet barely making any noise, used to being quiet and, also, because they don't want to spook you any longer. When Johnny sees, however, you're… being taken care of, he curses quietly. Gaz is cupping your cheeks, kissing you. And he feels like he just died inside a little bit.

When the Lieutenant doesn't move, seemingly not breathing, he grips his arm, whispering to him to move. They can't just invade your privacy like this, especially not when it's clear they aren't needed.

At least, Johnny knows so now.

He can't manage to take Simon with him so he walks away alone, his eye twitching in annoyance. Really, he doesn't mind you're with Gaz; they all know what's happening between the whole team, and it's not a secret they've very little boundaries. It was gonna happen one way or another, so that's really not the problem. Sure, he's pissed and a little jealous, but the problem is that he is not there.

He can't hold you in his arms and protect you from the panic if he's the reason for it, if Simon is the reason for it. He's aware of that, he's just fucking pissed. Pissed at himself, pissed at the Capt'n, pissed at the bastard who framed you and fucking pissed at the higher ups. If he could, if he's given a single opportunity, he won't hesitate to grab his rifle and smack them with the heel so hard that their noses cave in so he can watch them choke in their own blood.

For now, though, he goes sit in the living room, watching as the Capt'n snores, the movie still rolling in the back, his mind a goddamn mess. He can't stop his mind from going back to you crying in Gaz arms and him kissing you like that. Again, he's jealous for so many reasons. It's just… odd.

You've never been interested in Gaz, as far as he knows, and Simon looked so surprised that it's obvious you didn't tell him anything either. You're supposed to talk about those things! He can't blame you, he obviously understands why this connection is happening right now, but—

He barely registers Simon's grabbing his shoulder and pushing him out of your house until he's inside of the car, his mind locking away his own fear of scaring you now that he's out of your space, and allows himself to be pissed at the whole situation with Gaz.

Hell, if you talked to Simon about him, why couldn't you do the same thing with them?

Simon drives them away, clearly needing a moment. Johnny's hand is shaking over his knee, and only when Simon stops the car in a random parking lot, does he say anything.

"I'm gonna kill him" he says, not really meaning it. He does want to punch him, though.

"No, you won't".

"So what? We say nothing? We can't even fucking look at her and she's—"

"That's none of our business now" Simon snaps, getting out of the car. Johnny follows right away, both of the doors snapping shut harshly enough to echo in the parking lot.

"You can't possibly be okay with that" Johnny groans, tugging on his hair as he starts pacing next to the car. "Fuck that!"

Simon sighs, lifting his mask just enough to rub on his face. "Like hell I am, Johnny. We don't have the face to call them out on it. We've no right to be jealous".

"And why the hell not? She's ours, not his. Like hell I'm sitting here doing nothing".

That makes Simon's eye twitch, but he fights hard to ignore it. "She's not, Johnny" he reminds him, crossing his arms. "Not anymore. She was clear about it".

His heart pounding in his chest, denial burning deep in his core, Johnny marches up in front of Simon with a snarl, gripping the Lieutenant’s collar. "We made a huge mistake, aye. But I thought we were okay now. We've been talking, she's been great. Why she suddenly freaked out is what I just can't understand".

He remembers, just like Simon, falling asleep to your breathing, to your snoring, to your shuffling in the bed. Even if it was through the phone, it had meant something. Why is it that now—

Simon smacks his hand away. "Stop that. Maybe it was easier on the phone. You saw how she reacted when you dropped the plate".

"Ah. So it's my fault then? It started ever since she saw your fucking mask" Johnny snaps. Immediately, he regrets it. He knows it's not fair. Not fair on him, not fair on Simon and definitely not fair on you. It's like he just can't think about what he's saying.

"Calm the fuck down, Johnny. It's our fault she's like that. We've enough shame and guilt to share so don't come and dump it all on me" Simon states, firm. His tone might shake a little, and Johnny wants to cry, but his mind is spinning with so much guilt that he can't focus. "We went through this with Price. We knew it'd take time".

"Aye! I know that! But why him? And why are you so awfully calm about this?" Johnny snaps at him, gripping his collar again. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're giving up on it. On us".

Simon's shoulders slump, looking at him in a terrible, heavy silence. There's no need for words. Simon doesn't stop him as Johnny grips his tshirt and pins him against the car, looking like he's only bracing himself for an angry punch or a beat up.

"You can't be serious" Johnny snaps again, his hands shaking where he's holding Simon, his own eyes burning with unshed tears, his throat closing up. "Where does that leave us?"

"That leaves us wherever she wants us to be" Simon mumbles, a hand coming up to rest on his nape, gripping him tight, seemingly uncaring of how aggressive Johnny feels. "You get that, don't you? We hurt her, Johnny. We're lucky she wants to talk to us at all".

That does it for him.

Unable to control it, he lets the regret, the pain, and his heartbreak take over, and finally bursts into tears, head falling against Simon's chest as his body breaks, sobbing. He knows he's being unfair, he knows he should be just wanting you to be happy and to enjoy yourself, even if it isn't with them. He knows. He's just… so hurt. He feels like he's being thrown away like an unfitting piece in the puzzle you're slowly building again, along with Simon. He's scared they won't be accepted back, afraid they’ll no longer be necessary in your life.

He doesn't want to be the only one, at all, he just wants to be there for you, too.

A while later, his body finally goes slack after crying so much, and Johnny wipes his face clean, looking up at Simon. Wordlessly, the Lieutenant presses a comforting, deep kiss to his lips before he slips his mask on again, sighing. "Well. Let's take a little drive before going back".

"This fucking sucks" Johnny mumbles, absolutely defeated. He can't keep on denying the situation, and he just… has to accept that this is what it is.

"Very much so".

"I still wanna punch him".

"I know".

Johnny hesitates, but he doesn't hold it back. "I'm also kinda jealous".

"I know" Simon grumbles quietly, his eye twitching behind the mask. Johnny can truly understand the feeling.

"We should drive off a cliff and die".

"Noted".

In the end, they just sit inside of the car for a while, both of them silently going through the whole situation. Johnny's mind is silent for once, as if he had needed a good sobbing session to ease himself into no longer denying the consequences.

The drive back to your home is quiet, but it feels... peaceful. Johnny's shoulders are relaxed, even if he feels himself snarling slightly as he thinks of Gaz. It's just great, but… he's got no right to question you.

So when they're back, Gaz’ lips split in a bright grin as you place gummy bears all over Price's face, they both can't help but smile at them, hearts full.

You seem happy.

You look up at them, your eyes wide. This time, however, you're not afraid. You raise a hand and motion them to be quiet and come over, Gaz handing them the whipped cream.

This is enough, Johnny thinks. He gets to see you smile, enjoy yourself, even if he isn't allowed to be there with you like Gaz is.

Deep down, he can't be upset.

After the Capt'n uses you as his personal napkin for being a brat, your high pitched screeches of delight making his heart pound, you invite them to sleep over. And you're really serious about it. He doesn't even mind it when you hand them those stupid pink pajamas you bought them for your 5th anniversary with the team; they “forgot” about them every time they came over, so they've never truly left your house. Now, however, Johnny will personally skin alive anyone who dares denying you this little thing. Fortunately, they just sigh and change.

Blankets over the carpet, over the couch, bodies a lot closer than before, the pink of the pajamas actually look pretty good when illuminated only by the movie. Johnny doesn't even know why you chose them. They're… ponies. One has wings. Why do they have such crazy blowouts and why does the rainbow one look like a lesbian?

Of course, they want you to feel comfortable, so when it comes down to choosing the movie, they all turn to you, but Johnny isn't sure he likes that grin.

Sure enough, more ponies.

“That's a mustang, and he's a great horse so mind your manners” you scold him when he complains, handing him the popcorn. He wouldn't mind watching ten hours of paint drying if you're willing to talk to him, even if it's to call him an idiot.

As the movie slowly comes to the end, Johnny sees the Capt'n wiping his tears in silence, even Simon's eyes are a little shiny, and cheeky, annoying-as-hell Gaz? He's sobbing, muffling his mouth with a hand. You're no better, your bottom lip trembling as fat tears stream down your cheeks.

“It's just a movie” Johnny sighs, crossing his arms.

The rest do not hold back their retorts at all, calling him hypocritical and heartless. Even Simon doesn't back him up, pointing at his face.

“We can see the tear streaks. You ain't fooling anybody”.

“It's the allergies!” Johnny yells over their loud voices, shamelessly reaching up to wipe his face.

That gets a loud laugh from you, and that's enough for him. Johnny doesn't mind being the target of their teasing, as long as you're part of it.

As they slowly settle down, munching on crisps and some baking goods you made a few days ago, the Capt'n asks what everyone's been dreading to mention. The Question.

Johnny almost throws a pillow his way, but he swallows thickly and discreetly places a hand over Simon's tense thigh, all of them waiting.

“Will you be changing teams?” the Capt'n questions, his shoulders forcefully relaxed, his mouth stuffed with a creamy tart. Johnny can see how hard he's trying to be calm, not wanting to force an answer out of you. “I can… well, recommend a few other teams. Or I can show you a few options, I just need a few days to go over the files”.

You wave a dismissive hand, shaking your head. Everyone's heads whip in your direction, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Listen, I know… I know what I said, but I already know how we all work, and I'm already comfortable with you. Starting over, with the weight of the reason why I would be changing teams… I don't want that”.

“What did your therapist say?” Simon asks directly, his eyes firm on yours. “Did you discuss it with them?”

“I did. She advised me against it, but… I think I can handle it. Maybe it's gonna take a little while, but—”

“What if it's too much? Trust is very important, and we… we can't blame you for not trusting us. Look, maybe you should reconsider it” Johnny interrupts you, his chest tight. He doesn't want you to leave, but if you get hurt because you can't trust them and accidentally do something to put you in danger… he'd rather avoid that. “It's an important decision”.

“I understand that” you insist, your left eye twitching a little. “I'm aware it could be difficult if I panic again. That's why I'm in therapy, after all, so I can–”

“Therapy can only help so much, anyway. We can train together, and then see if you're feeling up for it. If not, I can always check the files” the Capt'n interrupts you, mostly talking to himself, his lips pursed in thought.

“Besides, the higher ups probably won't want anybody talking about this. Maybe they won't even let you change teams at all” Gaz adds, rubbing his cheek.

“That's why I'm trying to–”

“If they don't let her change teams, we could always call them out on their bullshit” Simon huffs, crossing his arms, now focused on the rest of the men. “What are they gonna do? Kill us, send us away? People will talk”.

“Aye. We can always do it ourselves after all”.

"Good idea. We could—"

“Enough!” you snap, making them all turn to you at your outburst. "I've been with you idiots for nine years! Do you seriously want me to leave?”

“No!” Johnny shrieks, alarmed. The rest shake their heads, Simon's hand halfway to rest on your arm, as if wanting to sooth you, but you pull your arm away.

“Then stop questioning me, goddamn it! I'm not a child, alright?” your voice raises, your eye still twitching. "And I'm not dumb, you big, stupid idiots".

For a moment, everyone's silent.

"You're right" the Capt'n says first, his cheeks a little bright for being yelled at. He's probably not used to that, not by those who aren't his superiors. Right now, he's not just the Capt'n, but also John, anyway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your decisions, I'm just... worried".

"And I appreciate that" you grunt, rubbing your forehead roughly. "I just... stop trying to make this decision for me".

With your words now deep in their hearts, they all go quiet for a long moment, awkwardly looking anywhere but in your direction.

Johnny is incredibly happy about it.

He knows it's selfish and awful of him to be happy you want to stay with them, but he also knows it will probably be difficult at first, especially when you see them with their uniforms again. He wants to help, to be there.

Eventually, they all fall in a comfortable conversation again, Johnny pressed against the armrest of the couch, you squeezed between him and Simon —much to his surprise and contentment—. Gaz and the Capt'n are bickering over something Johnny doesn't really catch as they sit on the blankets in front of them. He's just so aware of you being next to him, willingly, that nothing else matters for now.

At some point, he sees you yawning.

It doesn't take long for you to excuse yourself, leaving them to get comfortable in the guest room. Johnny decides not to focus on Gaz and you being in this room just a few hours ago. With a little look in Gaz’ direction, you give them your goodnights and walk up the stairs.

They're sharing the bed, since it's easier and better than to sleep on the floor. Still wearing those ridiculous pink pajamas —they are very comfortable, if you ask him—, they set their bags filled with clean clothes on the side and start getting ready to sleep. Of course, that doesn't happen right away.

The Capt'n scrolls down his phone, resting against the headboard, and when Johnny and Simon get lost in their conversation, they both notice Gaz discreetly leaves the room. Simon throws a little look his way, and Johnny can only nod slightly. Reaching out to grab the man's hand, he just keeps on talking, distracting both of them.

Despite looking fully focused on his phone, Johnny can tell the Capt'n is listening and very much alert, because everytime they both complain about anything, and everytime Simon hums instead of giving him a real answer, the Capt'n's lips curl in a very subtle smile.

The door to your room gently creaks open, two dark eyes staring at you. You grin from your bathroom, your face white and soapy as you wash it with your fingertips, foam up to your hairline and down your throat.

“Come on in. I’m almost done” you say, leaning down to rinse your face. With closed eyes, you hear as Gaz’ moves over to your bed, laying down on it with a low groan, his back cracking.

As you go on with your skincare, carefully massaging your skin, Gaz lays there, watching the video that’s playing on your tv, even if you know he doesn’t understand a single word. You take your time, content to just let him hang out with you. His eyes leave the screen when you get closer, opening his arms for you, like all those months back in the clinic.

With a mischievous grin, you drop all your body weight on him with the intention of making him groan, but he only wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your neck, nearly flipping you onto your back, mumbling something about how nice you smell. Gaz pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, smelling the watermelon lip balm on your lips, studying how the creams you used just now make your face look shiny. He doesn’t tell you, but your eyebrows are also a little funny looking, brushed in many directions, but Gaz does reach up and uses his thumb to brush them back in place.

With no need for words, he just curls around you, his nose buried deep in your neck as he stretches, an arm comfortably sneaking under the pillow. That’s when he pulls back and raises an eyebrow at you, lifting the pillow under his head.

“What—” he grunts, incredibly amused, as he looks down at the knife that’s not-so-safely hidden.

With a grin, you shift and reach down between the headboard and the mattress, showing him another big knife that’s hidden there. You aren’t allowed guns until the psychologist says it is okay, so knives it is. Gaz only rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around you again. “Fair, I suppose” he mumbles, burying himself in your neck again.

You just let him, caressing his arms and enjoying the closeness until he falls asleep. He looks peaceful and content, and you really, really want to sleep next to him, but your mind is working a little too much, so you slowly get up the bed, quietly walking around the room, hoping it will tire you again.

It’s something that often happens to you. You’re tired and sleepy, until you’re in bed and then you can’t sleep for hours and hours on end.

You stare at the paintings you’ve gotten, the ones you painted yourself. Looking a little to the left, you can see the music albums you got when you were in your early twenties, now mostly a good memory, and something nice to listen to when you’re feeling low. As you get closer to your bookshelf, you pick a random book, vaguely remembering how many times you’ve read it in the past.

Lost in thoughts you can’t even begin to understand and organize, you turn to the guitar in the corner of the room. It’s been there for over ten years, and you never learned how to play it. With a soft huff of amusement, you walk over to your desk, looking down at the pictures you have there. Your parents, your siblings, the team, and the girls… you didn’t even say goodbye. You hope they aren’t so mad they weren’t invited today. You make a mental note to contact them after the guys leave.

Besides, Simon, Johnny and Gaz aren’t your friends. Not really, at least. And Price is basically like your dad when you’re around him, even if he’s fun to talk to, and reliable.

You reach out to take one of the pictures in your hands. A simple black frame, Johnny and Simon on either side of you, all of you wearing your uniforms, Simon’s mask in place. The sight of the mask makes your eye twitch, but it’s nothing too bad.

Setting the frame down, your thoughts become a little more overwhelming, memories of the whole team chatting by the mess hall, munching down on stale bread and days-old tea that made Simon scowl. You grin as you remember Johnny sprinting after you when you took his clothes from the showers a couple years ago, giving the soldiers a whole show by running entirely naked, only to slip and end face first against a wall. He had thrown you into the showers with your uniform, messing with your already rusty hair. Really, you had it coming. You couldn’t even be mad.

Your shoulders slumping, you turn to Gaz.

Your feelings for him have been changing for a while now. The first kiss was innocent, calm, and now, you couldn’t lie to yourself. It isn’t in your plans to deny yourself a true connection, but you had been a little hesitant, because of Johnny, because of… Simon.

You miss him. Dearly. Sometimes it feels like your heart can’t take it, like you’re dying every time you aren’t in his arms, but the panic hasn’t left. The fear is small, less… destructive and loud, but still there, regardless. You’re aware they will never hurt you again, not like that, not after everything, not with the knowledge that they were manipulated once. You know they will forever doubt the higher ups, even Price. That doesn’t mean your fear is irrational.

That doesn’t mean it makes them less guilty.

For months, you’ve wished it’s all over. It wasn’t entirely difficult for you to understand and, in your heart, you’ve already forgiven them, but… forget? That will never be possible, and you’re aware. Perhaps hugging Simon will never feel the same, but you also haven’t given yourself the time to savour it again.

Lost in thought, who knows for how long, you accidentally hit the chair with your toes, hissing loud enough that it startles Gaz awake. He sits up in alarm, but when he realizes you’re physically okay, he stretches and calmly walks over to you, smiling when you give him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry I woke you up” you hum quietly, placing your hands on his shoulders when he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Hm, ‘s alright. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’ll get going” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It makes your heart tremble with contentment.

After he leaves, the exhaustion hits you like a truck, as if your mind was no longer in alert. You barely manage to turn the lights off, before you curl into your bed, body melting into your bedsheets, Gaz’ scent all over the pillow.

Just a little while after Gaz comes back, Simon turns onto his side, his back using his arm as support, and starts snoring pretty quickly.

Johnny always teases him about it. He falls asleep like a dad. He’s out not even two minutes in.

He wasn’t sleepy yet, and fortunately Gaz wasn’t either. They talk in low mumbles so they don’t wake Simon nor the Capt’n up.

Gaz is still pretty flustered because he was called out on dating the Capt’n, but Johnny doesn’t understand why. Did he really think nobody knew? Everyone with eyes —and, much unfortunate, good hearing—, could tell.

“She was in a pretty bad shape” Gaz mumbles quietly, his breath brushing over Johnny’s lips. “I think she snapped out of the panic because I hugged her. Dunno, maybe compression helps?”

Johnny makes a mental note to get you a weighted blanket. He would take his phone out to do it right now, but Gaz is still talking, and doesn’t want to interrupt.

“I kinda fell asleep on her bed, so we didn’t really talk” Gaz admits, scrunching his nose up. Johnny’s eyes are immediately fixed on the movement. “But she looked a little better”.

“I’m happy she can rely on you, Gaz. You can actually help right now, and she… she needs that” Johnny hums lowly, his lips pursing slightly as his eyes burn. He’s too embarrassed to reach up to wipe the single tear away, but Gaz beats him to it.

“C’mere” he huffs.

A little surprised, but fully willing, Johnny accepts the hug. He holds Gaz’ head against his chest, both of them groaning quietly at the instant warmth between them. Johnny is hyper aware of Gaz’ heartbeat against his own, but they remain in silence, comforting each other. It’s not the first time they’ve cuddled to sleep, but… to Johnny, it feels different. He can only hope it isn’t in his mind only.

Next to Gaz’, Price’s shoulders relax very subtly, lips curling up as he also lets himself fall asleep.

The next morning, Johnny wakes up earlier than everyone else, feeling energized and content. Who knew he actually needed a good cuddling session with Gaz to fix his problems.

Wearing only those pink pajama pants, he makes his way to the kitchen, carrying one of his backpacks to take his headphones out, not wanting to disturb anybody. As silently as possible, he brews coffee and some tea, washing his hands as he starts preparing a few ingredients to cook breakfast. Head in the fridge, music echoing in his brain, he has no idea someone is sneaking up behind him.

He jumps off his skin when he feels a cold hand on his bare back. Johnny hisses as he hits his head with the fridge, rubbing it as he straightens up, turning so he can snarl at whoever startled him.

All he sees is a messy head, pillow-marked cheeks, and a bright smile. Your eyes are twinkling as you look up at him.

Johnny forgets it all about being embarrassed.

You join him so easily, stealing some of the coffee as you help him cook. It is your kitchen, after all. He lets you take his headphones, watching as you shake your shoulders to his music, his eyes filled with hope as he tries not to end up cutting his finger off because he can’t stop staring. It’s more than enough for him to see you humming the song very quietly, sipping your coffee.

It’s domestic. Warm. It feels like he’s finally home. He doesn’t even care if you haven’t really said a word, because the way you trust your back to him tells him enough.

At some point, he catches Gaz getting out of the guest room, his eyes still very misty with sleep. You’re facing somewhere else so you don’t see him, but Gaz realizes it’s just the two of you and grins at Johnny, quietly shuffling back into the room, leaving them alone. He’s very thankful for that, because right away, you turn to him, taking your headphones off.

“It’s done. Let’s eat!”

Much to his contentment, you two end up having breakfast alone, even if it’s obvious to him the rest are already awake and starving, but he enjoys this little moment, your soft voice and your happy humming as you eat. Johnny tries not to be too creepy by staring at you so intently, but he loves the way you sip on the coffee he made, the way you munch on the salted veggies he made for you.

The door of the guest room quietly opens after half an hour, maybe, and Simon’s face stares at him from behind it. Johnny gives him a grin.

Not even twenty seconds later, they’re all filling your kitchen.

It’s so perfectly domestic that Johnny can only grin. He watches you talking to Gaz and the Capt'n while Simon is a little busy cooking for the rest. Sometimes you flinch when Simon moves a little too fast, but you relax almost instantly, even if your eyes follow his hands for a few seconds.

This is his family, he realizes —not for the first time—.

Maybe it’s a little complicated, but it is his.

And that's enough.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 12

Buy me a coffee

I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm glad bc it took me like eight days to finish the outline. it's been a tough week, you guys.

ANYWAY, so progress 😌 why did they have bags w clean clothes if they didn't know reader would invite them over? they were hopeful. little soap went skipping to the car to grab the bags btw

we've officially reached this part... I cannot add more people to the taglist in a single post. man, I love you guys sm ♡

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

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rheeblogs · 6 months ago

Text

★ — PIT STOP

★ — pairing: trucker!abby x fem!gas station clerk

★ — your boring job brought old men, homeless people, and little kids maxing out their parents cards on candy. but when she came in, your stomach turned inside out. | fyi, i'm aware most trucks don't have backseats or anything 😭, but let's imagine for the plot period

★ — warnings: southern!abby, strap-on sex, car sex, dirty talk

🔖 — moodboard by me :)

The hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly as you stood behind the counter, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. The little gas station was quiet tonight, save for the occasional car rolling in to fill up. You didn't mind the solitude, though--it gave you the chance to enjoy the peaceful hum of the night.

But that peace shattered when the low rumble of a diesel engine filled the air.

You looked up just as a massive, dusty, semi-truck rolled into the parking lot. Its headlight cut through the darkness, and it came to a halt right in front of the store. Moments later, the driver's door creaked open, and down climbed a woman who seemed like she'd stepped right out of a trucker-themed romance novel.

She was tall, built like she spent half her life wrestling grizzly bears, and had a confidence in her swagger that could stop traffic. Blonde hair peeked out from under a well-worn baseball cap, and her Southern accent was thick as molasses when she spoke.

"Evenin''," she drawled, stepping through the glass door. Her blue eyes locked onto you immediately, a slow, crooked grin spreading across her face.

"Good evenin," you said, smiling politely, though you couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat. She was... gorgeous, in a rugged, intimidating kind of way.

"Damn," she said, stopping in her tracks as she looked you over. Her eyes roamed shamelessly, lingering a second too long on the curve of your hips and the swell of your tits before flicking back up to your face. "Didn't think I'd be gettin' a view like this at sum' gas station inna middle of nowhere."

Your cheeks flushed immediately, and you stammered. "I--I think you're lookin' for the snacks. They're over there." You pointed toward the aisle, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

Abby chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Oh, darlin', I'm not lookin' for snacks. Especially when somethin' as sweet as you is in front of me."

You blinked, your lips parting slightly in surprise. Most of the truckers who rolled through were gruff and standoffish, more interested in their coffee than conversation. But this one? She was relentless.

"I, uh..." you trailed off, not sure how to respond.

Abby stepped closer, leaning an elbow on the counter. The scent of diesel fuel and a faint hint of cologne wafted off of her. "You're a pretty lil' thing, ma'am."

"Thank you," you said, almost too softly.

"It's no problem, honey. You got the kinda face that can make a girl forget she's been drivin' for sixteen hours straight," Abby said, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "And don't even get me started on that body of yours. Lord have mercy."

You couldn't help it--you laughed, a flustered, nervous sound. "Do you always flirt with gas station clerks, or am i just special?"

"Oh, you're special, all right," she said, her grin widening. "Reckon I'd remember a face like yours anywhere."

You shook your head, biting your lip to hide your smile. "What do you want, Abby?"

Her eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "What makes you think my name's Abby?"

"Your truck's got "Anderson's Logistics'' painted on the side, nd' your nametag has an 'Abby' patch in bold letters." You said, gesturing to the embroidery.

"Sharp, too. I like that," Abby said, straightening up. "But if you must know, I came in for a coffee. Black. And maybe your number, if you're feeling generous.

Your face grew hotter at her boldness. "Coffee's over there," you said, pointing to the back.

Abby chuckled again but did you said, sauntering over to the coffee machine with the same easy confidence. She poured herself a cup, took a long sip, and then returned to the counter.

"Not bad," she said, placing a couple crumpled bills on the counter. "But I think this place just became my new favorite spot. Couldn't imagine why."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Whatever, Abby."

"You wanna take a ride?" Abby asks you abruptly, gesturing to the door.

"In your truck?" You asked, a sly smile creeping on your face.

"Sure, that too."

----

"God, honey. Your body fits my lap perfectly, huh?" Abby teases, as you adjust yourself on her muscular thighs, the friction from your jean shorts making you eager.

"You do this every pit stop?" You ask, your hands placed on her shoulders to hold your balance.

"No ma'am. I told you, you're special, darlin'." She tells you, looking you deep into your eyes, hers a piercing blue. "But enough talkin'. I got sumthin' in my back seat, if you're down for that kinda thing."

And with that, you climb out of her lap and into the backseat, your cheetah print thong peeking out, following a smack to your ass from Abby.

She damn near tears your tanktop off, leaving your chest clad in your matching cheetah print bra, and the shoulder tattoo with words 'Angel' black and bold, close to your collarbone.

"Angel, huh?" Abby says, biting her lip.

You nod, tilting your head, giving her access to you neck. She starts to kiss it slowly, taking in your scent of woody vanilla, getting sweeter everytime she works her way up or down.

"You smell s'good, honey." Abby says, easily lifting you back onto her lap. Her hands fly to the back of your bra, unclasping it with ease.

"Fuck, Abby. You're s'strong." Her hands are on your hips, forcing you to grind on her lap, making your pussy wetter by the second.

"Lay back, honey."

----

Abby's kisses are tender, yet demanding. She kisses with so much passion, like you were the only girl she needed in her life. Who knew a pit stop would make her this crazy?

You're laying in her backseat, leg propped up over her shoulder, as she grips your thighs and sloppily eats you out.

"Pussy's sweeter than honey, darlin'." She says, her voice sending chills into your clit, the vibrations stimulating you more than she was alone.

"Mmm..--just like that, Abby, fuck." Your manicured hands scratch her scalp, the semi-neat braid coming undone in the process. Abby makes eye contact with you, gripping your thighs tighter.

It's almost as if Abby learns your body quickly, the way her tongue thrusts in and out of your pussy, leaving your legs quivering after every movement.

She stops, leaving you confused.

"Under the seat, that box. Grab it." You look around for a second, spotting a black box covered by a jean jacket under her seat. You move the jacket and open the box--revealing a seven-inch clear strap.

"It's new, I promise. Haven't gotten a chance to use it yet."

You look at the strap and back at Abby, who has a very convincing look on her face.

"Then, fuck me with it, Abby."

----

Abby secured the harness around her waist, trying to make sure not to hit her head on the roof of the truck in the process. It was veiny, girthy, and looked like it could absolutely ruin you.

She grabs your hips, letting you hover over her lap, watching you let your panties that originally were pooling at your ankles, fall to the truck's surprisingly clean floor.

"You wanna' ride this shit, honey?" She says, still holding your hips steady.

You nod your head up and down, and slowly sink onto her strap.

"Yeaaaah... sink on it, darlin'. Just like that." Her praises were making your head spin, and the way her strap felt so deep inside of you almost felt like it was attached to her.

Abby jerks up, letting the rest of her inches sink of inside you.

You grind against her, the pleasure almost bringing you to tears. Your rhythm steadies, the rocking of your hips sending Abby into orbit. The base of the strap is hitting her clit, causing her hands to grow tighter around your ass.

"Fuckin' me like you mean it, huh baby?" Her voice. Her accent. Her everything. You were so close, beginning to go from grinding to practically jumping on her dick, feeling your stomach start to heat up.

"Mmmph.., I'm--fuck, Abby.. close." That's all Abby needed to hear. She takes a firm grip on your hips, and roughly fucks her strap inside of you.

"Yeah, angel. Take this fuckin'.. dick," Abby starts, throwing her head back as the base of the strap hits her pussy just right.

"I'm--Abby.." You manage to moan out.

"All over me, honey. Fuckin' cum on my shit." She pounds into you, the both of you gushing, all over her lap.

"You truly are an angel, miss." Abby says, holding you close as you catch your breath.

You put your clothes back on, checking your phone's time. Twenty minutes. Not too bad.

"I really gotta get back on the clock." You say, giving Abby your phone to insert her number in.

"I understand, darlin', so do I. I had a great time." She smiles, fixing her tight white tee to put her jacket back on.

"I did too, Anderson." Abby leans in to kiss you, almost as if she could get used to doing this more often. You climb out of her truck and make way back into the gas station.

"Drive safe, Abby."

"Oh, don't you worry about bout' me, honey," she said, tipping her hat slightly as she started the engine. "I'll be back here soon enough. Just don't go breakin' hearts in the meantime, alright?"

"I'll call you after my shift, Anderson."

"Perfect."

And as the roar of her truck faded into the distance, you realized you were already looking forward to her next pit stop.

🏷️ — @rosemariiaa, @d3arapril

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #kennedy’s works ⋆·˚ ༘ *

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darkmatilda · 4 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when an unsub hunts their victims in a casino, choosing couples that fit a specific pattern, spencer has no choice but to once again ask his friend for a little favor.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!female reader, undercover as a couple, reader wearing a dress, header and summary FAKE AF bc literally casino scene is like 5% of a fic, the rest are just preparations, kind of like this friends episode where they're just getting ready lol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @mggslover <33 u don't know this about me, but that ep with reid in the casino had me barking like a pack of german shepherds, so i just couldn't stop myself from adding it

"So, we already have a profile. The unsub is a man between twenty-five and thirty years old. A gambler who has lost his entire fortune, yet he still plays, desperately trying to surround himself with luxury, refusing to accept his reality. His victims are men just like him—young posers, living beyond their means. They all had partners, attractive and confident women who belonged to the social group they dreamed of, unaware of who they were really dating. The unsub probably used to date someone like that as well. By getting rid of them, he experiences a deep sense of purification. He believes he is killing the part of himself that he sees as false, when in reality, that part is his true self," Morgan recited, pacing in circles around the office, gripping a black marker in his hand—the same one he had just been using to write on the whiteboard.

Suddenly, he stopped and let out a chuckle. "I think I know what we need to do to catch him. It's actually pretty obvious."

Everyone watched him with intrigued expressions. Usually, it was another team member who had these sudden bursts of verbosity, but that didn’t mean the others were immune to them from time to time. For the sake of maintaining balance in the universe.

"Enlighten us, then," Prentiss urged him, perching slightly on the edge of the table with her arms crossed over her chest.

Morgan spread his arms as if accepting a challenge. He paused for a moment, as if building suspense, then stated simply:

"Undercover agents who fit the profile of his victims."

His gaze swept over the team members, observing their reactions. Everyone focused on his idea, weighing the chances of success.

Reid noticed the concentration on their faces—right at the moment when his eyes accidentally met Morgan’s, who had been watching him for quite some time. He didn’t even have the chance to sigh before his friend asked the question Spencer knew was coming.

"You know how to play poker, right, Reid?"

"Well, turns out I’m banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump for card counting..."

"So that’s a yes," Morgan cut him off, nodding in satisfaction. He looked fully committed to his plan—determined to see it through and catch the unsub. "Alright, great. That leaves us with two things."

He paused dramatically. Prentiss arched a brow.

"Go on, enlighten us again."

"One of them is money," Spencer guessed without difficulty.

Morgan waved a hand dismissively. "Rossi’s got it covered."

"Oh, do I now?" Rossi leaned back in his chair, giving Morgan a pointed look. "Did it ever occur to you to ask me first? Do I look like some random ATM to you?"

"So Reid goes in as a potential target, looking for the unsub among the players," JJ cut in, slowly and logically summing everything up. "Makes sense. But there’s still one problem. Every victim had a partner. Without one, he won’t fit the profile."

It looked like he had been waiting for this to come up. The moment it did, he locked eyes with Reid without a word, certain that his friend would immediately understand what was going through his head.

Spencer remained still for a moment before shaking his head as realization hit him.

"I need to ask you for a favor."

“No way,” he scoffed. “No. Just no, this is—”

♠

Just some subtle foreshadowing.

Before those words were even spoken, Reid had to catch up to her first. And that was no easy task—she was making her way to her lab at an incredible speed, her elegant heels clicking sharply against the floor as she walked, nose buried in a stack of papers she was analyzing with deep concentration. She wasn’t even looking where she was going, something Spencer noted with a tinge of jealousy. If he attempted the same maneuver, he’d undoubtedly trip over the most random object right before the stairs, tumble down ten flights, take twenty people with him on the way, and, at the very end, someone would accidentally kick his broken body and spill their coffee on him. Black. No sugar.

She was walking so fast that he had to break into a light jog just to stay a step behind her.

"Hey," he tried to get her attention.

He was already embarrassed by how out of breath he was.

She didn’t stop, but she did slow her pace significantly. Instead of responding, she simply raised a finger, signaling for silence, and continued analyzing whatever it was she was analyzing.

Spencer sighed, irritated as always by her sense of superiority, and simply took the documents from her hands.

It was so unexpected that a startled, deeply offended sound escaped her lips.

"Can’t you see I’m a little busy?"

"This won’t take long. I just need to talk to you."

They both came to a halt. She folded her arms across her chest, raising a perfectly arched brow. Beneath her white lab coat was, as usual, an elegant outfit, and the rest of her appearance hardly needed describing—stunning, as always. Spencer would never admit it, not even for unlimited access to the Library of Alexandria, but every time he was within her orbit and his eyes landed on her, he had to blink and remind himself she was real. Even if they’d already seen each other multiple times that day.

She pressed her lips together, visibly impatient.

"You’ve got a minute. Two, if it’s something sufficiently interesting," she said, waiting for him to get to the point.

And the moment she did, Spencer’s slightly labored breathing from his earlier exertion became embarrassingly audible.

The corners of her lips curled into a smirk.

"Someone chasing you?"

"Actually, I need to ask you for a favor." He ignored the comment, hiding his embarrassment behind a mask of irritation. He sighed, partly to calm his breath, partly to prepare himself for the next words. While he thought the first part of Derek’s plan was good, the second, in his opinion, left much to be desired.

Any other agent could’ve gone with him—there were two or three in the team, counting Garcia. And she wasn’t even accustomed to fieldwork. She just happened to fit the profile they’d created. Incredibly attractive and confident to the point of being borderline cocky. Morgan had insisted on her, but when it came to convincing her, he’d passed it off to Spencer.

"If I remember right, and I’m pretty sure I do, you already owe me for checking that last piece of evidence. You really want to add another one to that?"

"No, but I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice. So...would you pretend to be my partner while I play poker at the casino, and try to spot our current suspect among the other players?"

He figured it would be easier if he just said it outright.

The woman didn’t even flinch.

"Can you play poker?" she asked, eyeing him carefully. She scoffed. "I want to see that. Fine, let's do it."

Spencer's eyes went wide. He had a hundred arguments ready, but he didn’t expect her to agree so easily.

"What?" she asked, noticing his reaction.

"Just like that? No questions? Doesn’t it bother you that you'll have to pretend to be...my girlfriend?"

He shook his head.

He tried to sound as if it were something completely natural, just another surprising element of the job he encountered all the time. However, he couldn’t help but swallow at the end of his sentence, an entirely involuntary reflex, betraying the hint of nervousness that had settled inside him.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, stopping only when she was uncomfortably close, slightly tilting her chin up. Her expression remained unreadable, not even a hint of a mocking smile.

"I mean..." Reid began, but the thought he wanted to express got lost, his focus slipping. Of course, he got distracted. He broke eye contact, shifting his gaze to some random spot on the wall behind her, silently cursing his own reactions. When he looked back at her, he forced himself to maintain the illusion of normalcy. "What I meant is, this could be dangerous. After all, it's a serial killer. You don't have to agree to this if you're having doubts."

She didn’t seem at all disturbed or frightened. She barely shrugged.

"So what? You’ll be there too."

Deep down, he felt like someone had just handed him a medal for special services to the country and shaken his hand, congratulating him. He called himself an idiot and made a mental note to retake the IQ test sometime soon.

“So you trust me?” he asked, driven by some strange impulse.

She simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is there a dress code I need to follow?”

He felt like squeezing his eyes shut out of embarrassment. Instead, he just shook his head in denial.

“No…also…actually…no. Just be yourself.”

She nodded as well, and he had the feeling something shifted at the corners of her lips. A hint of a smile, maybe. Then she moved even closer. Surprised, Reid opened his mouth, and she reached for what he’d forgotten he was even holding—documents he’d almost torn from her hands earlier.

So that’s why she’d been so close.

“See you then,” she said, brushing past him toward the direction she’d been heading before he stopped her. The scent of her perfume wafted into his nostrils as she did. “We’ll see what kind of poker player you are.”

The urge to turn around over his shoulder was overwhelming. And to speak up, almost painful.

“The best,” he added.

“Do we look natural? You know, like a couple?” Spencer asked with concern.

There was something sweet in her laugh.

♠

His hand was stiffly resting on her waist, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't relax it. She, on the other hand, standing right next to him, touching him and fitting against his body like a puzzle piece, didn’t have the same problem. She sighed and took his hand, guiding it lower down her body to make it look like a natural position.

“Not at all,” Prentiss said bluntly, shaking her head.

“You look like siblings who were forced by their mom to pose together for a picture,” Morgan added, watching them with a hint of dread. It was starting to sink in that this plan had way less chance of success in reality than it did in his head.

“So that means no?”

“Of course, it means no, idiot,” the woman hissed at him. Suddenly, she stiffened, as if surrendering, and pulled away from him.

Spencer raised his hands in a defensive gesture, looking at his teammates. They’d met in the office that evening, the day before the planned operation. The unsub always struck on the same day of the week, so they had to wait for the right time. Their task was simply to practice pretending to be a couple. Sounded easy enough, right?

"I don't get why everyone's so upset!" he said, looking at them. "Is it really that weird that groping a colleague doesn't come naturally to me? I think, honestly, it’d be worse if the roles were reversed—"

"Not in this case, man," Morgan replied, shaking his head. He rubbed his forehead and straightened up, as if washing his hands of the whole thing. "I’m exhausted. You two can practice this on your own. I don’t care how long it takes, you can sit here all night if you need to. Just remember, tomorrow you have to act like you’re dying to rip each other’s clothes off at any given moment."

Spencer felt warmth on the back of his neck. She rolled her eyes.

"And if it doesn’t work?" she asked. "What then? Can’t another agent take his place?" For a moment, she stared at Morgan before shrugging. "You, for example."

Spencer shot her a wounded look.

"Et tu, Brute…"

She glared at him.

"You want me to play Brutus with you?"

Meanwhile, Prentiss and Morgan had slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. Spencer sighed heavily. He was really starting to worry about the coming day and the undercover mission ahead. They both fell silent for a while, he rubbed his tired eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to rationalize it to himself.

"You know, I wouldn’t stress about it so much," he finally spoke up, glancing at her and her arms crossed over her chest. "I mean, tomorrow I’ll be sitting at the poker table, focused on the game, so I won’t be thinking about how to act natural. And because of that, it’ll be easier to actually act natural...you know what I mean?"

She probably knew what he meant, but that didn’t stop her from letting out a small snort at his convoluted explanation. Instead of answering, she stayed silent for a moment before slowly walking over to one of the chairs and dragging it to the center of the room.

She had to know Spencer was staring at her, completely puzzled by what she was doing, but she didn’t bother explaining herself. Letting go of the chair, she moved away and then gestured toward it with her hands, like she had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat during some magic show. Spencer felt like he was watching something exactly like that.

"Well, go ahead. Sit down," she said.

"What?"

"You said tomorrow you'd be sitting at the poker table and it’d be easier for you to focus. So, let’s see how true that is."

"That’s not exactly what I meant—"

"I’m not sitting here all night. I'm telling you that right now. So just sit down and let’s find out if this whole plan even has a chance of working. Because, right now, with your behavior, it doesn’t have any."

Reid remained still for a moment, almost holding his breath. She had hit a sensitive spot—the success of tomorrow's plan and catching the unsub. Reluctantly, he trudged over to the chair. He glanced at her. She urged him on with a look.

He sighed and sat down. As soon as he did, she settled herself—not anywhere else—but right on his lap.

Due to the surprise, he took a slightly too deep breath. Hearing this, she looked at him from beneath her raised eyebrows.

"Sure, keep reacting like that," she said, sarcastically. She adjusted herself, one hand resting on his shoulder. Once she was sitting comfortably, her soft body pressed against his, she moved her hand to the back of his neck, her fingertips brushing through his hair. "Very natural. Very convincing."

"We don't need to be that convincing."

"If we're going to draw the unsub's attention, then yes, we do. Otherwise, what's the point?" She scoffed. "So you can dig up your poker skills?"

"My poker skills are fine, I don't need to dig them up," he replied almost automatically.

"Confidence. I like it. Seriously. Just try to put it into something else. Into your partner, for example," she began, in a lecturing tone. As she spoke, her face was very close to his. She had an expressive face, moving it as she explained, and Spencer followed her every motion with his eyes, almost as if she were a medallion in the hands of a hypnotist. "According to the victim profile, you're supposed to be a bit insecure. And you know what insecure people do, especially in environments like this? They pretend to be confident. So do it. Hold me tighter, show those guys on the other side of the table..." She gestured behind her as if someone were actually there, "...that this beautiful woman is yours. And they can only look."

His own pulse was treacherous, thankfully she couldn't hear it. Spencer felt slightly dizzy, suddenly way too aware of how she was positioned on his lap, the scent of her, and the delicate brushing of her hair against his neck when she moved.

"There are no guys," he mumbled dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

She flicked him on the forehead.

"Then imagine them."

Spencer felt hyper-aware of the spot on his forehead where she had touched him. For a moment, he tore his gaze away from her, which was difficult when she was literally on top of him. He did it, though, to take a calmer breath before what he was about to do next.

He started by adjusting her on his lap. She might have been comfortable, but he certainly wasn't. He felt like she was about to slide right off him. He placed his hands on her waist—not like she was a delicate porcelain figure, though. Not that he grabbed her roughly or tightly. He just did it the right way. One of his arms wrapped around her for better stability. She watched him, almost without blinking, with genuine curiosity. The corners of her lips slowly turned upward.

For a moment, he disconnected from his thoughts, not worrying whether it looked natural for any imagined people. He just wanted them both to be comfortable.

"Is it better now?" he asked, not teasing, but with genuine curiosity.

He felt the muscle in her thigh move, the subtle tension rise as his hand rested on that part of her body. He relaxed his fingers, letting them cover most of its surface.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breath escaping in a soft, quiet rustle.

"Almost," she said.

Without breaking her gaze from his face, her hand found his, the one resting on her thigh, and guided it higher, increasing the pressure. Spencer had no idea how he was still managing to control his breath so perfectly. Maybe he was too dazed to focus on his own reactions. Maybe he'd surrendered to the situation, not overthinking it, just letting it flow. Where to? He didn't know. Where did he want it to go? He didn't know that either.

"Now," she began, releasing his hand from her grasp and sliding her fingers along his forearm. "Now it's perfect."

She shifted. Gently, probably an unintended twitch. The weight of her body lifted and then settled again, rising and falling on his lap, almost on his hips. The surface brushed against another surface. Body on body.

They were silent. Why were they silent?

If someone had asked him about the capital of Sri Lanka, he'd probably say Fidel Castro.

The emptiness that filled his mind almost embarrassed him, while she looked at him from under slightly raised lashes, her gaze as usual strong, seeming to pierce right through him. He had to break it, he had to stop this before the physical closeness pushed him into doing something foolish.

“So,” he began suddenly, throwing the words out before he'd even prepared the rest. He blinked, trying to focus. “Did you know that originally, poker was played with 20 cards, not 52 like it is now? In the earlier versions of the game, it was usually played with fewer people. It was only with the evolution of poker, and the rise in its popularity, that the full deck was gradually used, allowing for more variety in hands and more complex strategies.”

For a moment, she just looked at him in silence. He held her gaze, doing his best to stay composed. It wasn’t that he was denying his awkwardness—he was well aware of it. And he knew that if she didn’t get off him soon, things were going to get really out of hand.

She sighed and ruffled his hair, like she was petting a dog.

“It was almost perfect,” she murmured, shaking her head. She pointed at him with a warning finger before slowly moving off him. She didn’t seem affected at all, like the whole thing hadn’t fazed her one bit. At least not in the same way it had shaken him. “Tomorrow, no more talk like that, understood?"

Spencer nodded, completely agreeing.

The casino was a blend of intense red and deep gold, popping from nearly every corner. It also radiated from her—her dress and accessories made her look like a goddess dedicated to the place, reigning over it with authority.

♠

"So, there's something we forgot to discuss," she said as they made their way to the table. Spencer kept his gaze straight ahead, his arm around her, while she was looking at him, specifically his profile. She wasn’t watching her feet, clearly relying on his guidance. Lowering her voice, she leaned in. What from the outside might have seemed like a flirtatious whisper with a sly grin and fluttering eyelashes was, in fact, a serious question. "Do you want me to keep an eye out for your unsub while you're busy with the game?"

Reid shook his head.

"You’re not a profiler."

"Doesn't mean I can't tell when some guy's staring at me."

"Everyone stares at you."

She focused on his words, puffing her lips as if conceding the point.

"Fair point," she muttered, pulling her face away from his neck.

His words weren’t an exaggeration in the slightest. She really did have that effect on people, especially men, but not only them—like the sound of a siren, immediately drawing attention from all around. He felt almost strange walking arm in arm with someone like that. He didn’t know what kind of primal territorial instinct had awakened in him, but he felt the urge to pull her closer. He shook his head disapprovingly at his own thoughts, and she tilted her head at him, questioning. Nothing, he mouthed silently.

He didn’t need to do that, pull her closer, of course. They quickly took their seats at the table where the game was about to begin. She lowered herself onto his lap just as they had practiced the day before. Thank God they had done that. Otherwise, his mind would have started spinning like plates in a microwave, feeling it all somehow more real, then, under the watchful eyes of strangers.

She glanced at his face, a slight tension in her expression. He realized she was tense again. He took a breath and adjusted her position, lifting her slightly, holding her as if it were an established routine, following the instructions. When he thought of it that way, it was actually easier.

She gave him a gentle smile, weaving her hands together at the back of his neck. He responded, honestly.

And then, there were only the cards.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t afford for it to be just the cards. His job was to spot the one right face among dozens, not to win. That part had become her priority—she kept whispering hints into his ear, as if she still wasn’t fully convinced that he actually knew what he was doing.

“We should play against each other sometime,” she suggested.

“Don’t think for a second I’d go easy on you.”

“You think I’d need you to?”

Her question—well, more of a scoff—barely registered in his mind. Because just then, he caught an unfamiliar gaze lingering on them, watching for longer than the rest. And not just at them, but at one very specific spot.

She sat on his lap, completely at ease, not even noticing how the hem of her short dress was riding up a little too much.

It had caught the attention of the man sitting directly across from them—who was staring, shamelessly, at that very spot.

She must have sensed the way he tensed slightly because, within a second, her lips hovered near his ear.

“What is it? Did you spot the unsub?”

Spencer met the man's gaze and, with a natural movement, reached for the hem of her dress, tugging it down into place.

“I did,” he replied.

Then, without hesitation, he turned his head slightly to the side—locking eyes with the man who had been watching them from the very start.

by the way, happy women's day! <33 u are all incredible and invaluable (never forget that)

#criminal minds #criminal mind #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #doctor spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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lovemebutleavemewild · 1 year ago

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Wasn't actually going to do a part 2 to this mafia!Price x pregnant reader drabble but a few people requested it so ...

I don't think this will be a long fic or a series or anything but if anyone has by particular requests for scenes, let me know!

You take the table's orders quickly and almost trip getting away from them.

John follows you immediately, of course, but if you can just get to the kitchen, he won't be able to follow you.

Or so you think.

The doors don't have time to swing shut behind you before they burst open again and you feel a hand on your waist, spinning you around to face him.

"You're taking your break," he tells you.

"I can't yet, I have tables. And-"

You see your manager approaching and brace yourself for the tirade.

"Sir, you can't be in h-"

He stops when he gets a proper look at John.

"Oh. Um, is there a problem, sir? Or some way I can-"

"She's taking her break," John tells him, jerking his thumb at you. Your manager just nods mutely and John takes your hand, leading you out the back entrance.

"Beat it," he tells the line cook, smoking by the bins. The man slinks back inside without a word.

As soon as you're alone, John shepherds you against the wall, arm on either side of you so you're walled in.

"It's mine?" he asks and you try not to be offended. It's a fair question, you suppose. You just nod, looking at your shoes. He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. You can't read the look on his face.

"Finish your shift. I'll wait."

+++++++

He takes you home, makes the others take a cab wherever they're going, and just gives you a look when you suggest you can take the bus.

He also insists on walking you inside. Your face warms at the way he's analysing your apartment building. When you hold the door to your place open for him, he rubs his hand along the doorframe, studying the lock, heads straight for the windows to do the same once he's inside.

"We'll need to get you moved out of here," he says when he finally turns around. You raise your eyebrows.

"Is that right?" you ask. If he notices the sarcasm, he doesn't comment.

"Mmmhmm. Could get the lads to pack up your stuff for you, handle the movin'. We could have it done tonight"

"And where do you suggest I go?"

John smiles and sidles towards you.

"I could think of a few places," he says, raising his eyebrows. You huff a laugh.

"Hmm. But there's nothing wrong with my apartment."

John just hums.

"Not a good area," he tells you.

You start to feel your temper rise a little.

"Think whatever you want of the area; You don't get to walk in here and tell me-"

"Well I am telling you darlin'. I know these parts and 'round here isn't a good place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" you ask flatly, crossing your arms. You force yourself not to move away from him as he gets in your space. You can smell him from here, the scent of his cologne, and doesn't that bring back memories.

He leans down so he's looking into your eyes properly.

"A good girl," he says.

You snort and turn away.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

In a second, you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest.

"Worked before, didn't it?" His voice is raspy in your ear.

"You didn't mind being my good girl the last time we spoke, did ya, sweetheart? Or can you only be good when you're stuffed full?"

He presses harder against your back and you can feel the length of him now.

"'Cause I can help you with that, love, just you say the word."

You pull away, turn to look at him, with your chest heaving.

"Place like this could be dangerous for a girl like you," John says and it sounds like a warning.

"Aren't men like you what makes places like this dangerous?" you whisper.

He steps towards you again, slower this time, puts a hand on your hip. You don't pull away.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Not always. Need to make sure you're taken care of, from all the bad things out there. Goes for both of you."

"I don't need taken care of," you tell him. It would sound more convincing to your own ears if you could find it in yourself to pull your hand off his chest.

"No?" His hand suddenly dips between your legs and you jolt forwards into him.

"You been taking care of yourself here, hmm?" He starts to rub, over your work leggings, leans down so his head is nearly on your shoulder.

"Been taking care of this pretty pussy like it needs?" he asks, voice rough. "It was so needy that night we met, I was sure we'd go a few rounds. Why'd you run instead, sweetheart? I didn't even get a chance to taste it."

You can't answer, can't think, especially not when he shoves his same hand under your pants, sliding your underwear to one side for better access. Your head falls back when he touches your clit.

"Need me to take of you here, darlin'?"

You can't help your moan.

"Not good enough," he grunts. "Need you to say it, love. Say you need me to take care of this pussy."

And you've been so stressed for so long and, really, at this point, what harm could it possibly do?

"Please, please, John, I need you. I need-need-"

He quietens you with a kiss, leaning down to lift you by your thighs. The bump makes it a bit awkward but he doesn't falter as he makes his way to your room.

"All you needed to say, mama."

#call of duty #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #john price smut #captain john price #john price #mafia boss john price #call of duty smut #cod smut #my drabbles

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hairmetal666 · 1 year ago

Text

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #angst #angst with a happy ending #getting together #falling in love #protective steve harrington #oblivious eddie munson #mutual pining #steve harrington is bad at feelings #not quite rivals not quite enemies but a secret third thing to lovers #it's angst but then it's sweet #we're all traumatized here

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kazumist · 4 months ago

Text

SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him.

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent.

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question.

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries.

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays.

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment.

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks.

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with.

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.”

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?”

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it.

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant.

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies.

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies.

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?”

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off.

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.”

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why.

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne.

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place?

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.”

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this?

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him.

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago.

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said.

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to).

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you.

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t.

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that.

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know.

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late.

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you.

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now.

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.” zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

“then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

#( writings )#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x you #l&ds zayne #zayne #x reader

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