#but dammit this take a while to type

[jackass-jones]

My madoka magica hot take is I like sayaka/kyoko as a ship more than madoka/homura

[averysmolkirbo]

guess what everyone today is national coming out day and while i have technically already come out as a lesbian i have found a way celebrate this very important day

at 11:30pm but shut up

i am officially coming out as a supporter of bedehop

[skrunksthatwunk]

mr president a fourth major assignment has hit the two days before a mandatory friday road trip nobody bothered to tell me about until yesterday

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[kctsukii]

the first time he sees your blush, he wanted to kiss you right there. He is the type that take things slow and go with flow, he doesn't want to force you to try anything, being near you and helping your daily stuff are enough for him. But.. That night when you study with him in his room, cheeks red because he compliment your training become better, he can't help but starring to your face.

"Katsuki? There's something on my face?"

He shook his head while grumbling softly with frown on his lip. "Nothing it just... Your damn cheeks is distracting me."

You raised your eyebrows confused. "What's wrong with my cheeks?" You said and Katsuki detect a sad voice from your lips.

He sigh with his ears tinted red. "No! That's not what I meant dammit...!" He rubs his face with his slightly sweating hands and looking at you with soften eyes. "You're so cute, can I kiss you?"

[mirainwonderland]

Content: MDNI, jealous Leon, afab sub, m dom, Leon x reader, cunnilingus (f receiving), unprotected, p in v, smut with some plot

Words: 3.4k

A/N: via request to expand on my headcanon of jealous Leon I come bearing this offering. (Thank you @daliastar) I hope I expressed how I think he would react well. If you enjoy it pls like and let me know, I love hearing from people ☺️ oh and if you have a request, send it over, I love ideas! :D okie bai have fun RIP you

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“What was that all about?” Leon tries to make his tone sound controlled and unbothered. It’s not working out so well. He tugs off his jacket trying to feign nonchalance, but there’s a fire burning beneath his rib cage.

“Hm?” Your oblivious little response makes the jealousy flare up even hotter, but he bites it back. It’s not like it was your fault. He doesn’t want to be that kind of guy anyway—that immature little prick that takes his insecurities out on his girlfriend.

You turn toward him, unbuttoning your dress as you do, and he finds his gaze drifting low over the sliver of your chest and bra that’s becoming visible with each button freed.

Goddammit. That’s his. That’s all his! Every inch of that goddamn gorgeous body is his and his alone, and nobody or nothing is gonna get a sneak peek at his girl.

He snaps himself out of it before you notice his internal petulant tantrum that he’s desperately trying to keep just that: internal. He takes a deep breath and tosses his jacket onto the back of the chair, reaching for his belt next, hoping you won’t notice how he’s all but yanking it off like a sulky kid.

You haven’t noticed a thing. Hell, you’re not even looking at him as you focus on changing out of your outside clothes.

“That guy we ran into.” He tries not to spit out the words and make it obviously venomous. “Where do you know him from again?”

He’s attempting to sound interested rather than interrogating. And thank god you’re not paying close enough attention to see the boiling jealousy behind his eyes.

“Oh. I told you. Knew him back in college. Same classes as me or something. Can’t really remember, actually.”

Leon watches your back as you walk over to your vanity and pull your hair back, dress hanging open.

“You… go out with him or something?”

Your little laugh tells him that you haven’t caught on to the slight cyanide in his tone.

“Oh god no! He wasn’t really my type. I don’t think he sees me like that anyway.”

Leon stares at your reflection in the mirror hard, like he can’t even wrap his head around how fucking dense your big beautiful brain is sometimes.

“Oh he definitely sees you like that.”

You pause in taking off your makeup to look at his reflection in the mirror with that dry, disbelieving expression you give him. The little pink on your cheeks that’s not from your blush doesn’t make him feel any better. You shake your head with an unconvinced smile.

“Don’t be silly Leon.” You return to scrubbing off your makeup.

He watches long and hard while you do your skincare. Your face glows as your delicate fingers apply that face oil you love so much. He feels his dick stiffen with mixed feelings of jealousy, possessiveness, and thoughts along the lines of, Only I get to see her naked like that. Face, body, everything. Just me.

Dammit, he hates himself. More than anything right now, he hates himself. But it’s like something else is possessing him as he watches you slip out of your dress and go into your closet for something more comfortable to wear.

That’s it. He really can’t stand it anymore. He tosses aside the belt in his hand, not caring where it lands, and follows after you. He corners you in the closet, approaching from behind you where you can’t see him just as you’re pulling a pair of your favorite lounge set from your drawer. He catches you, big arms wrapping around you from behind.

“No.” He says, voice sounding tender in your ear, but laced with an intensity you pause for. He intercepts your hand, taking the pjs from you and tosses them back in the direction of the drawer. “Don’t put on anything else.”

His lips trail over the back of your neck.

“Leon…” You kind of laugh, bewildered. Your hands come to wrap around his forearms. “What are you doing?”

One hand reaches behind your hair to pull out the clip you’d pulled it back with and let your soft strands fall down around your face again.

Beautiful.

“You didn’t see the way that guy was looking at you?” He forces his voice to sound more concerned than jealous. “He was undressing you with his eyes.”

His lips and nose brush your temple as he stares straight ahead, remembering the interaction from earlier.

“You really need to be more careful, Y/N. Guys do stuff like this all the time.”

He gives your temple a kiss. He feels the jealously bubbling in his gut, making him clench his teeth and hold you a little tighter.

“Leon, he wasn’t—“

His jaw clenches so hard, he’s surprised that his teeth don’t shatter in his mouth.

“C’mere.” He says more lowly and calmly than he even expects to. He tugs you around to the mirror he’d hung in your closet, just for you. He makes you look into it with him behind you, your body clad in nothing more than the bra and panties you’d put on this morning.

“Look at her.” He refuses to let go, even a little bit. He nuzzles the back of your neck again, mouth at the skin there and nuzzling your hair aside so he can reach more.

“Watch her face.”

He slides a free hand around the front of your throat, holding your jaw securely in his hand to make sure you’re watching. You watch as your eyes lid and your cheeks flush the color of obscenity. Your lips part but nothing comes out. He noses your hair aside and nuzzles the side of your neck.

He bites down on the skin, and holds you a little tighter when you jerk. Your mouth opens in a silent ‘Oh!’.

“Leon, what are you-“

“Tell me to stop.” He blurts, cutting you off. His face is lifted from your neck and he’s staring you down in the mirror.

“I-“

“Tell me. To stop.” He says, slower this time, emphasizing every word. He feels like an absolute asshole. He feels like even if he asks for consent a million times he’ll never truly make you realize that what type of feelings you allow him when you say yes. Do you know you’re consenting to his jealous tantrum that makes him wanna smother you with his body?

“You… don’t have to stop.” You say carefully, a little curious and bewildered of whatever this is that seemed to come out of the blue.

It didn’t really of course, you’re just a sweet little oblivious girl—his girl, and he loves you to death. But sometimes. Sometimes he wishes you could know how he feels. Not to make you feel bad but so that you can give him the reassurance he doesn’t know how to ask for.

But he’s too good at hiding things from you.

He grits his teeth, studying your expression in the mirror.

“What am I gonna do with you…” He sighs, shaking his head almost disappointedly. You feel a pang in your chest. He’s not disappointed with you of course, but with himself.

He grabs your jaw with more intensity than before and forces it to tilt to the side so he can kiss at your neck. You grimace, waves and waves of shivers migrating down your spine to pool in the bottom of your panties.

He wants to prove it to himself. That he’s it. That he’s the one you come to for everything. That you won’t ever need another man again. He knows it’s awful, but he wants you to rely on him for these things. He wants to be the one you come to at the end of the day and curl up with, or take your clothes off for. Whichever one you’re in the mood for, he’ll be here. He’ll do it.

He kisses your neck and your shoulders, and massages your skin with a firm touch of his hands. You wince a couple times when he’s too forceful, but you never open your mouth and say anything. You never complain. Secretly, you kinda like it; and part of you can sense that this is something he needs.

He’s too lost in his own internal conflict and jealousy to even register his own strength. He can’t stand it. He didn’t want to be so direct and vulgar, but you’re not moaning enough. You’re not squirming enough. Not making enough of those faces he loves to see.

His hand slides down your stomach and disappears into your underwear. You gasp and stiffen when you feel his fingers brush you, and wide eyes meet his blue ones in the mirror.

“Tell me no.” He whispers, his breath fluttering your hair. His heart thuds so hard in his chest he fears you might feel it. He’s challenging you, but deep on the inside he’s afraid he’s pushing it. He almost wants you to push him away and smack some sense into him.

But you don’t. You just maintain eye contact with him and slowly shake your head.

“Fuck.” He breathes, low and drawn out in your ear as his hand cups your mound and his thumb brushes over your clit.

Your reaction sends waves of satisfaction through him, and for a moment it’s enough to numb the feelings of self-loathing and jealousy. You jerk against him, letting out the sweetest moan as your face twists into one of those expressions he loves so much. His arm muscles twitch, holding you a little harder to keep you still and anchored to him, unable to bear the idea of you even having a millimeter of skin not touching him.

“How are you already wet, baby?” He hums in your ear, almost not sure how to feel about it. Was it him? Idiot, of course it was. But… you didn’t like that guy at all… did you? That guy didn’t turn you on, even a little bit, did he?

With all his compliments and flattering language and-

He grunts again, this time a more aggressive, irritated sound. He shoves his nose against your ear, breathing heavily into it. Your spine twists in his hard grip.

“It’s me. I made you like that. Didn’t I, hm?” He feels stupid. He know’s he’s out of his head with even thinking this, and he feels so guilty. He almost feels like he’s not even worthy to be touching you.

Almost.

“Tell me baby.” He growls into your ear.

“Y-yes, Leon. Wh-“ You don’t even know how to react. You’re sort of lost on what’s going on. Why he’s suddenly like this out of the blue. Who else would do this to you?

“Damn right I did.” He stuffs two fingers into you, loving the sharp little cry you make and the way your body snaps in his arms. He tightens his grip and brings you back against his chest.

“Leon, what the hell!?” You cry out, but it comes out on more of breath of ecstasy than any real sort of scolding. What the hell has gotten into him?

“Don’t question it, baby. Just tell me how good it feels.”

You moan again.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

He grunts in frustration as he watches you in the mirror. As he watches the way his hand moves underneath your panties and how he can’t see anything with the fabric in the way. He pulls his hands out just long enough to tug the cotton down off your legs and watch them slide down around your ankles. Then he’s plunging the two fingers back inside you.

Your back curves against his chest and he catches you, wrapping his free arm around your chest, pinning your arms with it, and dragging his nose and lips up the side of your face.

“That’s it.” He praises as he closes his eyes for a minute, just listening to you and breathing you in. He opens them to look back in the reflection and watch his fingers slide in and out of your twitching channel. He watches with tightening jeans how willingly you take his fingers.

He feels a pang of insecurity. He knows his brain is feeding him lies, but he thinks about how easy you are for him. Would you be easy for someone else?

That’s stupid, Leon. You idiot. He scolds himself for having the intrusive thought. He immediatly feels horrible for even thinking it. He knows you’re not that kind of girl. He remembers how hard it was to get you to open up to him when you guys first started exploring intimacy together.

That coaxes a sense of pride into his chest. How willingly you give yourself to him. No other guy could be as lucky. No other guy would ever have this. Such a pretty girl, moaning and clenching on his fingers. His pretty girl.

“Look at you, dripping down those pretty legs.” He breathes in your ear, making you shudder. He pulls his fingers out with a little whimper from you.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?”

He licks his fingers clean.

He spins you around and sinks down to his knees, letting your back hit the cold surface of the mirror. You writhe and pant against it as he throws a leg over his shoulder and licks up all the trickles of nectar down the inside of your thighs, making his way centerward. He nibbles on the soft skin as he goes, making you gasp and choke and shudder, over and over again.

He places a confident, flat tongue against you and licks the entire surface of your opening. The tang of your juices slides down his throat, and the noises you make force his eyes closed as he savors taste and sound.

“Leon!”

“Easy, baby. I know it feels good.”

He does it again a second time. Fucking hell, you taste good. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. It makes your insides clench, and you double forward at the intensity, catching yourself with a hand on his shoulder. You grip it, hand fisting into his shirt.

“Mm.” He moans against your heat, sending vibrations through the already swollen and puffy bundle of nerves.

He’s determined. It’s the only revenge he knows how to enact at this point. It’s too bad you’re on the receiving end since you didn’t even do anything wrong. But he knows that you’re not ever gonna actually complain about this later.

He swirls his tongue around your clit, bringing two fingers to prod more gently into you than the first time. He takes his time, gently probing around inside you for that sweet spot. He knows he finds it when you practically melt on him like ice cream.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give me more of that. C’mon.” He pulls away from your puffy clit long enough to murmur that gentle encouragement. He returns to sucking and biting gently on the sensitive nub, as he rubs his fingers encouragingly against the spot inside of you.

If he can’t make you cum with nothing more than his mouth and two fingers, he isn’t a man worthy of the title.

Every breath is a moan from your lips at this point. You feel the tension in your tummy growing tighter, and you’re desperately trying to reach that peak. You focus on his ministrations and his coaxing words, chasing that illusive feeling.

“Leon!” You’re fingers fly to fist into his hair for something to anchor to and feel like you have a little bit of leverage; even if control is just an illusion at this point. But you’re okay with that, you don’t want control.

You want to lose it.

“Please please please please!” You chant quietly under your breath as you focus on the rise. It climbs higher and higher and each breath fills your lungs to bursting as your mouth falls open wider.

“That’s it, baby. Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”

He can’t take his eyes off your face. He grinds the pads of his fingers down on that sweet spot inside and sucks on your clit with everything he’s got. And he watches you explode.

It’s mind-numbing. Your body jerks hard and suddenly against the mirror and your wails of ecstasy fill the small walk-in like a symphony to his ears. He laps up your release like it’s a fountain of water and he’s a man dying of thirst.

He stimulates you through it until you grow limp against the mirror. He’s on his feet as you pant against the reflection and his mouth is on yours in a blink, forcing your taste into your mouth as he grips your arms tightly.

All the fight has gone out of you anyway, and you feel weightless. You just take it, allowing him to hold you there as long as he wants. You gasp for a deep breath when his lips finally release yours, and slump into his arms.

Fuck. He looks down at you all dazed in his arms, and he immediately feels like such a dick. He does feel a little self-satisfied though as you nuzzle your face into his chest and cling to his body like you need him to stand.

Because you do. It’s all thanks to him and he feels good.

“I’m so sorry baby.” He murmurs in your ear as he gathers you up in his arms, because he knows it’s not over. He can’t just leave it here, much as he knows in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be so pushy and cruel. But he just can’t help it.

He carries you over to your guys’ bed, and lays you down more gently on it. His clothes are abandoned on the bedroom floor and as he sheds the remainder of yours off you, he kisses your forehead.

Your hands slide gently up over his arms, and it makes him feel so strong and powerful, and desired.

“You want me?” He whispers softly against your lips.

“Mhm.” You nod your head against the pillow as he positions himself over you.

“Spread them a little wider for me then, baby.” His hand grips your thigh.

You obey and he settles between your legs. You feel his tip brush against your sensitive folds and you jump.

“Shhhhh…” He hushes, his hand coming down to grip your jaw and run his thumb over your cheek. He takes your bottom lip between his in a deep but gentle kiss, and holds you there as he slides himself in.

You gasp into the kiss, twitching and sucking in over-sensitive breaths through your nose as he takes it inch by inch. Your toes curl, and your nails dig into his biceps. When he bottoms out, he finally releases your lips, letting you pant beneath him and catch your breath and your bearings.

“Mm… nn-… Leon.” You breathe, your tongue feeling thick and your head feeling numb. All you can do is breathe heavy and look up at him through pleasure-lidded eyes.

It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos as he gradually starts to move. He leans down to kiss your lips again, to leave them all over your cheeks and jaw.

“Tell me how you want it.” He rumbles against your skin.

“I don’t—“ Your head lulls back and forth on the pillow as breathing takes precedence over words. “—I don’t care. Jus’… it jus’ feels so good.”

God, he could explode right now. You feel him twitch inside you when you give him free rein to do what he needs to do.

His hips speed up a few notches. Skin slaps against skin as he pushes your legs open wider to an intense moan from you. Then he increases the harshness of his thrusts, slamming into you until he feels like it’s a rhythm that matches his frustration with every bit of himself that’s afraid of another man taking you away from him.

He nips your kiss swollen lip.

“You’re my baby.” He breathes.

“Your baby.” You echo, eyes as starry as your brain feels. Not a thought in your head except how he feels inside you.

“Mhm. Fuck— yes you are, aren’t you? My good girl.”

“Your good girl.” Your arms come up to wrap around his neck. “For nobody else.”

The tightness in his chest soothes a little bit, the tension he’d been carrying pushing out through his lungs. He watches as you succumb a second time, crying out his name as you shake underneath him and cling to him like he’s your anchor.

He doesn’t even mind the scratch marks. God knows, he loves them.

A semblance of peace washes over him, and he almost doesn’t even care about the release when it washes over him too, a moment later.

He got the release he was looking for.

[7ndipity]

Them With A Plus-Size Partner

Ot7 x Plus Size Reader

Summary: What the members would be like with a plus-sized partner

Warnings: mentions of body image issues and fatphobia (I tried to keep it light tho), slightly suggestive, swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to my darling @bethanysnow for this request. This is something I’ve actually wanted to write for a while but for some reason hadn’t gotten around to. It’s essentially just more dating headcanons but with a focus on plus sized partners bc we need more representation in the fandom dammit!

Masterlist

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Jin:

He’s said in the past that his ideal s/o was someone on the chubbier side, but I honestly think he might struggle a bit with what all that actually entails? Not that he’s shallow or anything, but with the Korean beauty standard as harsh as it is, I think he would be confronted with a fair bit of internal stuff he needs to address.

He would absolutely adore you, though. I see him becoming friends first, just based on his personality, instantly becoming each other's comfort person, but I also think it takes him a while to fully trust and let himself be open with someone. He tends to internalize a lot in favor of keeping things light and unserious, so if he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, you’re a member of one of the most elite clubs ever.

I know a lot people think he would maybe have quite a bit of ‘culture shock’, for lack of a better term, when it comes to things like the treatment of plus sized people, but as we’ve seen on his more recent solo content, he’s a lot more observant than we realize. Not to say there won’t be moments where he’s caught off guard or misses something passive aggressive, but I think he’s a lot better at navigating those situations than we’d expect.

Like, we’ve seen how he handles a lot social conventions and pressures, he very polite but genually dosen’t give a fuck. He’s really good at casually reassuring and defending you(like when he shut down the guy on run!Seokjin who was teasing his co-host). He knows what it's like to be judged only by how you look, and so I could see him being pretty defensive/protective over you at times because of that.

Would be the type to discreetly have clothes at his place that would fit you and waits to bring them out when the opportunity presents, like “oh you’re cold? Here, have this sweater!”

If topics like diets and weight loss make you uncomfortable, he would be very diligent about changing the topic, regardless of who was around. Your comfort is always his top priority no matter what.

He would love date nights in together where you can cook together. Even if you’re not into cooking necessarily, he’ll happily turn it into your own personal cooking show,(he would totally have one of those ‘kiss the chef’ aprons)

He’s surprisingly touchy-feely with you. Like it’s not even in a sexual sense, he just takes a great deal of comfort in feeling you in his hands. Love love loves laying on you, you’re his new favorite pillow, and he loves having you lay on him as well. He won’t hear of you trying to argue and say you’re too heavy, he thinks you’re perfect and he wants you on him at every possible opportunity.

Yoongi:

It’s well known that Yoongi’s very introspective and understanding. He’s the type of person where body size either doesn’t even cross his mind or he’s very conscious of it.

Not in a bad way, though. It’s moreso in the sense of yeah, he’s aware you’re bigger, but it’s usually just a simple detail about you like your hair or eye color. But if you’re having a bad body image day or someone’s trying to give you shit, he’s all over it before you can even blink, hyping you up and shutting down any negative comments.

On a more intimate one-on-one level, this mf doesn't give a single fuck about how you look. You could be dressed to the nines or vegged out in sweats on the couch and he would still be swooning over you

He loves how soft and squishy you are? Like we’re talking peak cat behavior with him laying on you, doing the squishy paw move as he buries his face in your chest. You’re basically his favorite napping spot and stim toy  

Always encourages you to eat well and not waste a thought on diets. You’ll come home after a shitty day and your favorite food/dessert will just be waiting in the fridge for you. He’ll play it off though if you ask him. 

“What’s this?”

“It was on sale at the store,” He replies, barely looking up from his phone. “Why? Do you not like that one anymore?” 

“No, I do-” 

“Good.” 

And that’s it, no questions, no admitting he went to three different stores to find it, just his secret little grin when he sees how happy it made you.

If you’re feeling bad about yourself, he always addresses it very quickly and simply, not wanting to dignify them much by giving them more of your time than absolutely necessary. Just "That's bullshit. I think the real issue we need to worry about is your eyesight, because if you think you’re anything other gorgeous, we need to get you some fucking glasses.” And that would be it, he’d give you a kiss on the head and walk away.

If it was really serious tho, he would listen and try to help and comfort you. He knows he's not gonna change how you feel with some grand gesture, it takes slow, consistent work, and he's committed to being there with you every step of the way reminding you how much he loves you.

He would 100% make sure that there are clothes you can wear in his closet but will never say anything about it. 

I imagine him being very clingy in the mornings, arm looped around your waist keeping you close. If you try to get up, he’ll yank you back into the bed, half-laying on top of you now like a stubborn cat, face buried in your chest as he grumbles about it being too early and you ‘can’t leave him here like this’(this being alone in bed).

Hobi:

As soon as he laid eyes on you, he was smitten. Everything about you just drew him in. Your eyes, your smile, your curves. God he bet you look beautiful when you danced…

Cut to Jimin smacking his arm to snap him back to reality and him immediately coming over to introduce himself.

There would be no friends first phase this time with Hobi, or if there is, it’s extremely brief because he genuinely can’t keep a secret worth shit, especially not when it involves how head over heels he is for you. Like, even he doesn’t fully understand it, you’re like his muse or something(Mona Lisa starts playing lol)

All that aside tho, I think he would have the most like random(?) hurdles to get over in regard to dating someone bigger? Not that he’s oblivious or anything, but I think growing up with the Korean beauty standard being drilled into their heads so much, he’s gonna have some slightly skewed perceptions and ideas about bigger bodies that he’d have to unlearn in order for the relationship to grow properly.

Like, there are just so many little things that affect bigger bodies that some people don’t seem to realize, like even something as simple as whether or not the chairs at a restaurant have arms, or if a shop has really narrow pathways can affect whether we can navigate those places or feel comfortable? Once he becomes aware of those things tho, he’s watching for them everywhere.

Is appalled at how restricted and isolated plus size fashion is. Like excuse the fuck outta you, his baby will be wearing whatever designer brand they want, even if he has to threaten a few of his brand deals to get his way(lowkey mafia au Hoseok right here, just saying)

I think the main place he might struggle would be if you had trouble with keeping up with his lifestyle. Like he’s constantly on the move, going to events, working on new projects, touring. It’s hard for even the fittest person to keep up with, let alone if you have mobility issues or get tired more easily. It might take some work to figure out the balance between the two of you, but it honestly helps him remember to breathe? Like it’s okay to not go at breakneck speed through everything,

Is your biggest hype man ever tho, always gushing over how gorgeous you look and how lucky he feels to have you in his life.

Gives you soo many happy squishy hugs. He’s such cuddly softie and you’re literally the perfect hug shape in his opinion, so you’re getting cuddled, snuggled, and squeezed at every opportunity

Namjoon:

Man has written too many lines about bigger/thicker partners in his songs for him not to be into plus sized partners, alright? Like the proof is literally there in black and white.

He’s definitely the type to be friends first, not for lack of interest in you, but because of his own hesitancies and trust issues. He’s had his trust betrayed enough in the past that he tends to keep people at arms length at first till he knows that he’s safe with them.

Once you’re together though, the man is obsessed with you. Like his hands are constantly resting or holding onto your hips and thighs or caressing the sides of your waist. Like for someone who’s claimed to not be very into skinship, he’s very into it with you.

It’s no secret that this dude is BUILT, okay? Like those arms are made for lifting and manhandling you about. And he loves that with a bigger partner he doesn’t have to be worried about breaking you. Goodness knows one good spank from him would probably send a person flying across the room if they don't have some sort of padding.

On a more innocent level though, he’s also very soft with you. You regularly end up staying up half the night talking about thoughts and feelings that you don’t usually feel safe or comfortable sharing with anyone else. He values intellectual intimacy even more than physical intimacy. 

I really see him dating someone in the arts, but maybe not necessarily in the music industry. He would enjoy a slight level of separation between your two worlds. Like if you’re an artist, one of the things he loves about going to events to support you is how in your spaces he’s “Y/n’s boyfriend”. Not RM, not BTS, just Namjoon. Your Namjoon.

I also think despite how observant and in tune he thinks he is, he would still catch himself falling for and having to unlearn certain fat stereotypes. Just like “My being fat does not inherently mean that I can cook.” “Right, sorry…”

Honestly I think he’s the most casual with his partner? Like he will accidentally call your bro or dude(or not accidentally, if you’re cool with it). There will be moments where he needs to talk about something and he'll just be like “Can I have a bro moment?” “Sure, *makes show of dabbing him up* whatcha need?”

He’s also soo fucking protective of you though, like he will not tolerate anyone even looking at you the wrong way. If you’re having a tough day or not feeling your best, he will do everything in his power to make you feel better, or at least make sure you know that he’s there for you.

Jimin:

Tbh, I think out of everyone, Chim would struggle the most with dating a bigger person. And most of it is because of his own internal complexes. 

Like he grew up doing a lot of martial arts and dance where there is such a focus on what your body can do and how it looks. That combined with how he’s been critiqued in the past for looking ‘chubby’(which is such bullshit, but anyone who has rounder features is labeled that way regardless of their actual weight bc people are dumb) it’s made him think far more critically and not constructively about body.

Despite his own issues, he has a very soft image about what he sees as beauty. One of my favorite clips is him telling Joon about how he saw this elderly couple and how their soft, caring manner for each other really resonated with something in his heart, and I think he really wants that for him and his partner as well. He wants a love that is gentle like that, where you are each other’s safe landing point.

Which is why I think that he would date a teddy bear. Like I’m picturing soft, kinda nerdy science teacher/librarian vibes(totally not leaning into his kindergarten teacher vibes lol). He’s drawn to your cozy aura, and loves how comfortable and safe you make him feel. Lowkey think it plays a little bit into a noona thing? But that’s a topic for another day lol.

Y’all definitely have the whiny boyfriend - calming partner vibe(I just picture that meme of Grizzy from we bear bears crushing NomNoms to his chest lol)

He’s lowkey soo protective of you tho? Like he knows that you can technically take care of yourself, but if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable, or if someone is treating you poorly, he’s stepping in and quietly, but effectively, shutting it down.

He borders on overprotecting you sometimes, though. Like how he doesn’t like anyone talking about dieting of things like that around you, because he’s aware of how toxic these cultures can be and how easily they can get under your skin, so he doesn’t want to even give them the chance. Doesn’t matter how many times you tell him you’re okay, he still worries and watches out for you everywhere you go.

He loves how casually intimate the two of you are. He’s always touching and caressing your hips or waist or arms, and is soo happy if you’re the same with him. Similar to Jin, there’s nothing even sexual about his touches(most of the time) he just loves feeling you close, each little touch is like a silent message between the two of you like “I see you, I love you”

Taehyung:

I totally see Tae dating a muscle mommy, bc he is baby. Like if you can carry him? Ooooh he’s gonna koala you soo fucking hard, lol. Loves being wrapped up in your arms more than almost anything else in the world.

He doesn’t really pay too much mind to your size honestly? At least on a surface level. He falls in love with your energy and personality first and then your body. Which yeah sounds cliche and a little frustrating honestly, but that’s just how he works. It might take him a while to realize that comparing you to statues and paintings from the renaissance doesn’t quite answer your question of if he finds you hot, but he catches on eventually.

He’s kinda obsessed with you tho honestly, he’s always touching and cuddling you, nuzzling into your chest or tummy, and leaving little kisses on any bare skin he happens across.

Gives extra love to the places he notices you’re more self-conscious about, tracing over your stretch marks or caressing your rolls with an almost reverent tenderness. 

Being with him is just so domestic tho? Like he is just this big ol' teddy bear(especially now that he’s bulked up from the military). He brings you flowers all the time, takes you out for brunch dates every weekend, buys y’all matching pajamas, etc

Loves how you take care of him, whether it’s making him dinner or just holding him when he’s feeling down. He feels soo safe and protected in your arms.

He really loves it though when you’re open and vulnerable with him. Being plus size, you tend to develop a thick skin to protect yourself because people, and society at large, can be ridiculously cruel. And so it’s a little harder to let people in sometimes. But with Tae, he wants nothing more than to be your soft safe place where you don’t have to pretend. It doesn’t matter what’s bothering you, he’s always ready and waiting with a hug no matter what, and it makes his heart swell with so much pride and love when you let be there for you. 

So soft and encouraging. He’s always doing cute little gestures to cheer you up, like the ‘when life gives tangerines’ pose thing. Anything he can do to get a smile out of you is worth it.

Jungkook:

I honestly think he would be in denial that he likes you at first? Not because of your size, he’s like this with everyone he likes. Like he flirts with you constantly, teases you, even engages a lot of casual skinship, but he always holds off on calling it anything more than friendship. He’s just afraid of commiting and then fucking things up, so he thinks it’s better to stay as just friends, until you finally corner him and get him to fess up.

I feel like he thinks he’s above having any sort of toxic perceptions of bigger bodies, until you call him out one day for some offhand joke or comment that he made. He may not have meant anything by it, just trying to tease you like he does his other friends, but once you explain how those comments come across and how they’ve been weaponized, he’s horrified and begging forgiveness. 

But once you get through those early rough patches, you have the biggest dork and hype man on your hands.

Quietly squeals and does lil happy hands every now and then because he randomly remembers like “omg, I'm dating this person!!”

Quietly supports everything you do. Like, he’ll hide outside the door when he hears you singing, having his own mini hype party for you, bc he knows if he comes in, you’ll get shy and stop.

He dotes on you all the time and is soo fucking touchy. He loves just laying on you, squishing your face in his hands and kissing you whenever you start to complain. He can’t help it, you’re just so soft and warm, he’s practically addicted to touching you.

He would work really hard to better educate himself about that actual science and facts about plus size bodies, and to try and be more in tune with your needs and any subjects that are particularly sensitive for you. 

But also, everybody know that boy is soo fucking strong. Like he we’ve seen how much time he spends training and building up his body, he would love being able to show off to you by picking you up and manhandling you just a little bit(or a lotta bit, hehe)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[aquarius-johnny]

“tats & tulips” | johnny suh

𝜗𝜚 genre: fluff, soft smut/suggestive | wc: 7k | au: strangers to lovers 𝜗𝜚 pairing: tattoo artist! johnny x afab florist! reader 𝜗𝜚 warnings: mutual masturbation (like quick mention), other names included for writing purposes, other members mentioned (yuta), full sleeve tatted johnny, he’s also shy and slightly awkward and artistic 𝜗𝜚 summary: a love story between an ‘intimidating’ tattoo artist and the ‘preppy’ florist who just so happens to have their shops next to each other. 𝜗𝜚 aimee's thoughts 💭 : i’m fully aware of johnny having tattoos, but i imagine him to be fully tattooed in this fic. requested by @lovesuhng 𐙚

check out my other work here! → m.list navi

When your family business got passed down to you to run, a part of you couldn’t be happier. Sure, you ventured off to do other things in the time being, but to come back and be part of the floral shop your late grandmother graciously raised you in, it truly felt like your life had come full circle. 

Adjusting the vases to your liking, your employee, Hana, makes her way to the display window — something you notice she does at the same time, every day. “Looking for someone?” You playfully tease as you make your way to her, scanning the outside of your shop. 

“You haven’t met the tattooists next door, have you?” She smirks. 

“No, I have not. Why?” You look at her suspiciously.

She smiles. “There’s this specific artist. I see him every morning and it brightens my day even when he’s quite the opposite,” she jokingly retorts. “He’s intimidating, like really intimidating. He’s tall, tattoos all over his arms from what I can see, definitely seems like the brooding bad boy type of guy, rarely seen him smile, but he’s oh so cute.”

“Ah, so we have a brewing crush don’t we?” You giggle, before gently pulling her away from the window to which she gladly follows you.

“Not a crush,” she shakes her head. “He’s more like eye candy. I don’t see myself dating someone so brooding like him. But seeing him made coming to work a little easier…before you came, obviously.” She nudges your arm. 

“And yet, you’re still searching for him?” You chuckle as you watch Hana’s cheeks blush in embarrassment. 

“Force of habit.” She giggles. “You’re single, right? He seems to be around your age.” Hana smirks.

“Alright that’s enough from you. Go and get ready for opening,” you playfully scold with a gentle tap to her arm.

Hana scurries off to the back room while you set out more pottery displays near the front entrance. As you stand near the display window, you feel the warmth of the sun shine through before disappearing behind a temporary cloud. 

You see a car drive into an empty parking spot across the street. A tall man, dressed in head to toe black clothing, steps out of the driver’s seat. He throws a backpack over a shoulder and pushes the sleeves of his black cardigan up to his elbows, exposing his heavily tattooed forearms. When he makes it to the edge of the sidewalk, you both make eye contact with each other before he turns his attention away — eyes refocusing on the tattoo shop he was entering.

Hana meets you by the window and lets out a disappointed groan. “Dammit, I missed him.” She pouts. “Did you see him?”

You nod, clearing your throat. “Yeah. I can definitely see what you mean when you say seeing him makes your day.” 

Hana stifles her laughter. “Come on,” she nudges you. “It’s time to open.”

The first few weeks of business went extremely well as the profits slowly made up for the loss from previous management. 

As you and Hana, along with another new employee you hired named Wren, get ready for the day, you allow Hana to take the new employee under her wing for training while you water the white tulips in its planter outside the display window. Wren and Hana join you, finishing everything needed inside. 

“There he is,” Hana harshly whispers, pulling Wren’s arm. You turn in the direction she’s looking in to find the mysterious tattooed man emerging out of his car. “He opens today and tomorrow.” She giddily remarks.

“I see she’s told you about her little dose of serotonin every morning, huh?” You look at Wren who giggles. 

“She kept telling me I needed to see how attractive he is,” Wren rolls her eyes. 

You turn your back towards the tattoo shop, reaching over to water the flowers behind the two younger girls. 

“What do you think?” Hana whispers, careful not to let him hear or notice they were talking about him. 

“He looks scary,” Wren replies. “Like he looks like he’d break your heart if you gave him a chance. But he is attractive for sure. I can see why you look forward to seeing him.” 

“Not your type?” Hana asks Wren, who glances over towards the direction of the tattoo shop where the tall man is near the  front entrance. 

“Not my type,” Wren replies. “But it seems like our boss might be his.” She whispers quickly before turning around as Hana looks at him.

You’re too busy and preoccupied to notice how the mystery tattoo artist fiddles with his keys a little longer than usual. He quickly steals glances at your attire, eyes wandering up and down your body before he notices your hair is done up into a new hairstyle. When he finally opens up the front door to the tattoo shop, he shuts it behind him before letting out a small sigh. 

When you’re done watering your pride and joy, Hana begins to tap you on your shoulder. You look at her to see a wide smile on her face.

“He was totally checking you out.” Hana gushes. 

“You’re just seeing things,” you rationalize, heading back into your shop to put away the watering can. Both Wren and Hana follow closely behind you.

“Oh come on! Whenever he goes for lunch, he always passes by and I see him try to hide the fact he’s looking in.”

You open your mouth to defend him, but she shushes you.

“He’s never done that before. The past five years I’ve been here, he’s never been this interested in the shop but he suddenly is when he sees who our new boss is?” Hana reports. “Can’t be a coincidence.”

Wren nods her head, approving of Hana’s observations before giggling.

“Maybe he’s surprised with how much the shop has changed?” You move from behind the counter where Hana moves toward you. She opens her mouth to say something before you stop her. “Anyway, it’s time to open,” you smile. “I’ll be in my office!”

You take a deep breath, grab your belongings, and step out of your car. Closing the distance between you and the tattoo shop, you feel your nerves heighten when you step into the space.

The buzzing of needles and laughter fill the room. Another tattooed man greets you from behind the counter, recognizing you from the shop next door. 

“Hey, you work next door right?” He asks with a smile. You feel eyes on you, seeing a few employees lift their heads to get a look at you. 

“Mhm,” you nod.

“You work for…” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember the old manager’s name before you swiftly cut him off.

“No. It’s my shop, actually. Family business and all that stuff,” you smile.

“Nice!” He grins. “Thank god the guy isn’t there anymore, he was a massive dick.”

You can’t help but giggle at his comment. 

The tall, good looking, and mysterious tattoo artist emerges from a back room, quickly catching your attention. When you catch his, his brows lift in surprise before quickly turning his back to you — refocusing his attention on the needed items for his next client.

“I’m Yuta, by the way. Thought I’d introduce myself since we’re neighbors.” He turns to name the other employees working before he lands on the tall man who caught your attention. “And that’s Johnny. He owns the shop.” 

You smile at his kindness, easing your nerves a little before you tell him your name. 

“You have an appointment, right? I think I saw your name in our system.” His eyes quickly scan the computer screen in front of him, searching for your name. “Okay, yeah, I found it. Johnny will be working on you today.” 

You quickly thank him before taking a seat on the black sofa against the wall. You see Yuta playfully nudge the guy you’ve been checking out for the past few months before your tattooed crush nudges him back, seeing a glimpse of a smile dance on his lips.

Looking at the full length mirror on the opposite wall from you, you realize how much you stand out against the darker walls. You scan your white tennis shoes that’s paired with your light green pleated mini skirt and white camisole top that’s under your light green cardigan. 

You hear your name and you look up at your tattoo artist standing behind the counter. “Come on back,” he smiles, tilting his head towards his work area. 

Your heart pounds against your chest as you get up. You follow him, scanning his tall frame up and down before he turns around to face you.

“Have a seat,” he gestures. He sits on a rolling stool and places himself in front of you. “I’m Johnny, by the way. You work next door, right? I don’t think we ever met.” He extends his hand for you to shake.

You grab his hand, giving him a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.” Your hold lingers a little longer than it usually would before you pull back. “It’s nice to finally put a name to a face.”

Johnny shyly looks down, chuckling at your comment. Grabbing his iPad, he pulls up the reference photo you sent in. 

You both discuss the intricacies of your tattoo, adjusting the image to your liking before he walks you through the process and has you sign consent forms.

“Where do you want it?” Johnny asks, his eye contact causing heat to flush against your cheeks. 

You quickly remove your cardigan and point to your inner forearm. 

He quickly stencils the medium sized design that starts at your wrist and runs up your entire forearm. He gets your approval of the placement before beginning the fairly lengthy process. 

“Let me know if you need a break,” he softly says before the vibrations of the needle is heard — adding to the other noises that filled the room. 

As the needle punctures your skin, your mind strays away from the pain and instead notices the way Johnny’s gloved fingers press against your soft skin and how you could feel his breath as he moves closer to your body. You feel your heart race being so close to him. 

When the needle moves over tender spots, Johnny notices the way your body tenses. 

“Try to relax,” he softly, but sternly instructs. “You’re doing a great job so far.”

You feel your stomach do backflips at his words.

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“So, tell me.” Johnny clears his throat, eyes still fixed on the lines of the stencil. “What made you want to work at a flower shop? I’m assuming you love flowers?” He questions, referring to the intricate design that includes flowers.

“My grandma opened up the flower shop next door, so I grew up in it while my parents were at work. She taught me about different flowers and even taught me how to customize a bouquet,” you giggle, seeing the corner of Johnny’s mouth lift into a smile after hearing your laugh. “My grandma told me that flowers make people better and happier, like it’s medicine for the soul and it stuck with me. I saw flowers differently growing up and I wanted to do something that genuinely makes me happy, hence becoming a florist. When she passed, my mom couldn’t run the shop with her job so she hired someone else to do it and that new manager took what my grandma built and ruined it. So, I finished up getting my business degree and my mom passed the shop down to me.”

Johnny lifts his head to quickly look at you. “I think your grandma was right.” He nods. “You’re also doing great keeping your grandma’s legacy intact.”

“Thank you,” you shyly reply. “So tell me, what made you want to open your own shop instead of working for someone else?”

Johnny gives you a chuckle. “Honestly?” He smiles before returning to your design.

“Yes, honestly.”

“It was a compromise I made with my mom. She wasn’t the biggest fan of me becoming a tattoo artist, so she said that if I major in business while in university, then she’ll get off my back.”

“Did she?”

“No,” Johnny laughs. “She then said to put my degree to use. She probably meant to get into some boring corporate job, but I opened this shop instead.”

“Has she finally gotten off your back?” You giggle.

“Kinda,” he smiles, slightly shaking his head. “She still isn’t used to me being covered in tattoos, but she understands how much I love what I do, so that’s enough.”

After a few hours, the studio was cleared out of clients. During your session, Johnny’s employees let him know they were leaving, eventually leaving you two alone in the shop.

He finishes up, reminding you of the aftercare process, and you both walk over to the front counter. 

“Sorry I made you stay past closing,” you apologize, preparing your payment method. 

“You’re good, sometimes it happens.” Johnny grins, presenting you with the service amount, causing you to question how low the payment amount is. 

“I expected to pay more,” you furrow your brows a bit, looking up at Johnny who raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, uh,” he chuckles. “Think of it as a discount for other shop owners.” 

“You don’t need to do that.” Your eyes soften at his words, unknowingly making his knees weak.

“Perks of being the owner,” he shyly smiles, biting his bottom lip nervously.

“Thank you.” You tap your card against the card reader. “Are you leaving after this?”

“Gotta close up first. Probably gonna grab dinner then head home. You?” He pauses, realizing you are in fact going to leave after this. “I mean, do you have any plans after this?” You see his cheeks burn a rosy pink flush.

“Probably just grab dinner and head home too,” you nod. Your mind races as you debate on whether or not to invite him to get dinner with you. “Actually, there’s a restaurant a few stores down. If you want, we can get something to eat, my treat. A way for me to make up for making you stay here so late.” You suddenly feel heat run under your skin. “If not, I totally understand.” You stammer over your words. “It’s late and you probably already had a really long day.” 

“I don’t mind,” Johnny chuckled, lifting his hand to the back of his neck. “Give me like 15 minutes to clean and close up.” 

“Take your time,” you nod. “I’m gonna go quickly check on my employees next door. I’ll meet you outside?”

Johnny nods. He nearly stumbles over a chair behind him when he walks backward before he catches himself, shyly turning away from you to cover his embarrassment only to be betrayed by the way his ears flush a red tint. 

You quietly laugh to yourself and quickly disappear into your shop, your employees shocked to see you. 

“Hey, I knew that was your car I saw when I came back from lunch,” Hana says, wiping down the clear glass table and closing up for the night. 

Wren emerges from the back room and greets you with the same shock as Hana did. 

“I got my tattoo done next door,” you share, trying to keep your excitement contained. “Your eye candy has a name and it’s Johnny. He’s the owner of the shop.”

“Was he the one who did your tattoo?” Wren questions, restocking some of the pottery items that sold out during the day.

You nod, earning a squeal from both of them. “I’m actually going to that restaurant a few stores down for dinner with him.” You share. “But it is not a date.” You playfully point at Hana who you could already see going on and on about it being a date.

Before they can respond, a knock on the entrance door is heard. You turn to see Johnny wave at you with a kind smile, letting you know he was ready to go.

“That’s the first time I saw him smile!” Hana shares through clenched teeth, thankful for the four walls that made Johnny blissfully unaware that you were all talking about him. 

“I gotta go.” You make your way to the door, opening it, and turning to wave the girls goodbye.

“Have fun!” Hana and Wren shouts, earning a small wave from Johnny who is silently thanking them for letting him steal you away from the conversation.

“That was fast. Must be really hungry, huh?” You playfully comment that earns another shy smile from him. 

He sticks his hands into the pockets of his black cardigan. “Yuta actually did everything else, I just had to clean and lock up.” You feel his arm brush against yours, realizing you both were a lot closer to each other than you thought you were. “I’m sorry if I interrupted the conversation you were having. I didn’t mind waiting.”

“You’re fine,” you smile up at him. “Just wanted to see how the day went, that’s all.”

Johnny holds the door open for you when you both reach the restaurant. You’re greeted by a hostess who quickly seats both of you. 

You grab a menu that’s laid on the table before watching Johnny push up the sleeves of his cardigan, exposing his sleeve of tattoos on his forearms before picking up the menu for himself.

“Any tattoos you have that you’ve done yourself?” You ask, eyeing his arms. 

He looks down, smiling to himself. Setting down the menu. “There’s this one,” he says, showing you a simple ace of spades card tattoo. “And this one.” He points to another small tattoo of a ramen bowl with noodles and chopsticks. 

“Cute,” you giggle. “Your girlfriend must really love your tattoos, huh?”

Johnny picks up the menu again, scanning through it. “I’d hope so,” he pauses.

Your heart quickly falls to the pit of your stomach, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking he was single.

“If I had one.” He continues, one finger tapping against the menu before he closes it, assuming he’s finally decided on what to order. “I don’t date much.” 

“Oh?” Your surprised tone makes Johnny lift his gaze to meet yours. “By choice?”

“I guess you can say that,” he softly chuckles. “I’ve been told that I’m unapproachable, so I guess women don’t come up to me a lot.”

When you finally decide on what to order, you stack your menu on top of his. “You don’t ever make the first move?” You question before taking a sip of water.

“No, not really.” He clears his throat. “I guess if I really like someone, then yeah I’ll make the effort, but if I’m being completely honest with you, I’m really shy when it comes to things like that.”

The surprised look on your face catches his attention.

“Does my shyness surprise you?”Johnny chuckles in amusement, slightly cocking his head to the side, leaning into the backrest of his chair.

“Yeah, kind of? You’re just really intimidating,” you softly let out, leaning onto the table, elbows and arms resting on the table top. “I don’t think you being shy would be my first thought when looking at you.”

“What were your first thoughts of me?” He asks curiously.

You shake your head, a cheeky grin appearing. You definitely aren’t sharing the thoughts you had when you first saw him, so instead you keep it general. “I mistook your shyness for aloofness,” you share. 

He smiles, looking down at his fingers before  mimicking your body language. “I should probably fix all of that, right? If I want to get a girlfriend.”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “It’s not a problem, you just have to find someone who can get through that tough looking facade. I have a feeling you’re gentle and sweet, so I don’t think it’ll be hard for you to get a girlfriend just by being you.”

The waitress stops by to take your order, pausing your conversation for a moment. When she walks away, you catch Johnny looking at you.

“You think your boyfriend is gonna like your tattoo?” He asks, glancing down at your index finger tapping against the table top. 

“I’m sure he would,” you pause, taking a sip of water. “If he existed. Like yourself, I don’t date much either.”

“Why not?” Johnny questions, attempting to hide his shock.

“Honestly? People don’t really ask me out.” You chuckle, pushing the sleeves up to your elbows. “I don’t think I catch people’s attention,” you giggle. 

“I’m sure you catch people’s attention.” He gives you a bashful smile. “Maybe they’re just too shy to say anything.”

Since dinner, you and Johnny have been more friendly when you see each other. 

You find yourself near the display window whenever it’s near Johnny’s lunch break just so you catch his attention, making him give you a small smile and wave when he sees you. While Johnny always makes sure to grab something to eat at the bakery that is a few stores down from your shop, so he could see you even if just for a moment when he passes by. 

“I’m going on break,” you tell Hana who nods as she greets a customer who regularly comes by the shop.

You walk over a few stores down to the bakery you always go to. The aroma of freshly baked goods makes your mouth water. As you’re waiting in line, you feel a presence behind you. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice says, bending forward towards your ear.

You turn to see your tattoo artist, sporting him wearing the black cardigan he loves to wear but this time with a white t-shirt underneath. “Hey Johnny,” you smile, turning your attention back to the moving line.

“What’re you getting?” He asks, standing next to you. He looks at the menu above the workers, deciding on what to get. 

You tell him your go-to order before you watch him nod his head. 

“How’s your tattoo healing, by the way?”

“Really well,” you proudly smile, lifting your cardigan sleeve to show him your forearm. “See?”

“Yeah, looks good.” He smiles down at you, but you’re too busy admiring your tattoo.

You both step forward as the line moves and the cashier greets both of you. 

Johnny orders for you and him, swiftly pulling his phone out to pay for the pastries. “Could you bag those separately, please?” He asks the woman in front of him who simply nods. 

“You didn’t have to,” you nudged his arm with yours. “But thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, nudging your arm back. “Are you heading back after this?” He asks, waiting for the baked goods.

“I was actually going to stay for a bit. What about you?”

“I was planning on staying, too.” He grins, extending his hand out to grab the paper bags filled with pastries and iced coffees he ordered. “Can I join you?” 

“Of course,” you giggle, leading him to an empty table. He takes a look into the bags, giving you the pastries that you ordered along with the iced coffee you wanted.

You both talk about your day before laughing and giggling when one of your pastries is almost stolen by a passing baby in a stroller. The child’s mother profusely apologizes for her child’s curiosity, only to have the toddler give you a gummy smile. 

You don’t notice how Johnny looks at your interaction with the child. His eyes sparkle when he smiles, admiring your playful demeanor around the kid and the calm demeanor with the mom. He watches you wave goodbye to the child who squeals in excitement as they leave the bakery. You miss the opportunity to see him admiring you — this time, right in front of him.

You both finish eating before walking back to your respective shops together. You stop in front of yours. Before you could thank him for paying for your lunch again, he asks if he could ask you something.

“Sure,” you nod. “What is it?”

“I know you're busy and I probably should’ve asked sooner, but do you think you could make me a bouquet of flowers? It’s my mom’s birthday today.”

“Ah! This is why you bought me lunch today,” you playfully remark. “Butter me up before asking me for a favor.” 

“Damn, you read me like a book.” Johnny giggles, playing along.

“Yeah, I can definitely make one for your mom.” You smile. “Any flowers in particular she likes?” 

“Sunflowers and tulips.” 

“When do you want to pick it up?”

“Think it can be done by 4? I’m leaving a little before the shop closes for the day.”

“Yeah, for sure.” You smile. “I’ll see you around 4. Thanks for the treats, again.” You wave him goodbye and head into the store.

“Pretty,” Hana smiles as she looks at the vase of flowers, meeting you behind the counter.

“Thank you,” you smile. “Johnny asked if I could make it for his mom’s birthday.” 

Hana playfully gushes, nudging you in the arm with her elbow. “Speak of the devil.” She smirks, eyeing the entrance where Johnny walks in. 

The colors of your shop's wall contrast heavily against the dark clothes Johnny wears. 

He radiates a bright smile upon seeing you as he makes his way to the front counter. 

“Wow,” he grins. “So pretty.” 

Hana glances over at your interaction with Johnny. She quickly notes the way he looks at you when he compliments you only to notice that you were looking at the flowers — her heart screaming out in frustration that you missed his compliment.

“Here, write a quick note to your mom.” You slide a small card with a pen in his direction. He pushes his sleeves up his arms before writing a quick note. 

Pulling out an already prepped gift bag from under the counter, you place it next to the vase. 

Johnny slides you the note and you carefully place it between the plastic card holder that’s in the middle of the bouquet. 

“I also added one of our best selling ceramic cups for her as a little gift from us.” You smile, sliding the items towards him.

“That’s very kind of you.” He smiles, watching as you fiddle with your register. 

You show him his total cost, watching him knit his eyebrows together in confusion. “I expected to pay more,” he giggles, repeating the same comment you made when you got your tattoo.

“Think of it as a discount for other shop owners,” you tease.

“I can pay for it in full. I made you do it last min-”

You cut him off. “Perks of being the owner, right?” You giggle.

Johnny quickly accepts defeat and pays. He grabs the vase and gift bag, then proceeds to walk away only to stop in his tracks. He hesitates for a moment before turning to face you again. 

“There’s another thing I want to ask you,” he softly lets out, setting down the items back onto the counter.

“Need another bouquet?”

He softly giggles and shakes his head. “Are you free Friday night?” He nervously bites down on his bottom lip. 

“Yeah.” You slowly nod your head. 

“Do you maybe wanna go see a movie with me?” He pauses. “Like on a date?”

Your brows lift in surprise. “Yeah, I’d love to,” you smile, feeling your heart swell tenfold. You watch a sense of relief wash over his face, confidence quickly returning to his tall frame.

“Great,” he grins. “Can I get your number?” He pulls his phone out and hands it to you to input your number. 

You hand his phone back to him after saving your number in his contacts before leading him out, opening the door for him. 

“Thanks,” he grins. “I’ll call you.”

During the movie, you watch Johnny’s fingers tap against his dark colored jeans as he bounces his knee. 

“Nervous?” You lean over to whisper in his ear.

“Maybe a little,” he weakly grins. He sharply inhales, trying to calm his nerves. “Sorry, I’m distracting you.”

You reach over, gently grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers between his. “Better?” You smile, shifting your body to rest your head on his broad shoulder.

He quickly relaxes, tightening his grip on your hand. “Much better.” He gently rests his cheek against you.

You stroke your thumb over his hand as you refocus on the big screen. A few minutes later, your attention is pulled away when Johnny softly whispers your name. 

“Hm?” You lift your head to look at him. You could feel the air thicken around the two of you.

Tension builds when his hand gently cups the side of your neck and your lips part at his touch. Your heart thumps hard against your chest. He leans into you and his lips gently press against yours. A spark in your stomach ignites and you feel nothing but pure bliss. You move your soft lips with his, feeling him deepening the kiss before slowly pulling away. 

Johnny tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing you again, this time, slowly delving his tongue into your mouth and gently rolling it over yours. Your hands grip onto his shirt, pulling on it to keep him close to you. He tugs on your bottom lip as he pulls away, causing your stomach to flutter immensely and leaving you breathless.

“Do you still wanna watch the movie?” He whispers, stroking his thumb against your cheek, his lips just centimeters away from yours. “We can grab something to eat and head back to my place instead.”

“After you,” you quickly reply.

Johnny chuckles. He quickly finds your hand, leading you out of the theater and back to his car.

You unbuckle your seatbelt when you arrive at his apartment building after grabbing a pizza of your choice. Your hand reaches to open the passenger car door until Johnny gently grabs your hand.

“Just so you know, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Please don’t feel like we need to do anything other than hang out.” His reassurance lifts a weight off your shoulders. 

“Thank you for saying that,” you smile. 

You follow him up to his apartment. Settling in his living room, he places the pizza box onto the coffee table and grabs paper plates from his kitchen cabinet while you wash up in his bathroom. You join him on the sofa, grabbing the plate with a slice of pizza on it that Johnny hands you. 

“Can I ask you something?” You ask Johnny, who leans his back against the sofa’s armrest with his legs pressed against his chest. You mimic his seating position on the opposite end of the sofa. 

“Sure,” he takes a bite of his pizza. 

“So, what made you want to ask me out?” 

He nearly chokes on his food before washing it down with his drink, clearly finding your question unexpected. 

You give him a moment to recollect himself while giggling at his reaction. 

“I, um,” he stammers. “I enjoyed our conversation we had over dinner that day you got your tattoo.” He shyly smiles. 

“Oh?” You grin. “Why did it take you so long? It’s been like two months since then.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you were interested. Like I told you that night, I don’t usually ask people out.” He blushes at you. “Speaking of that day, can I admit something?” 

You nod, taking a bite of your food. 

“I was surprised you came into the shop when you did.” He bites back a laugh before swallowing. 

Your brows shoot up in shock. “Why’s that?” You cock your head to the side, a smile lifting from the corners of your mouth.

“You don’t look like someone who would get a tattoo.”

“There’s a specific look?” You tease.

“No, no,” he giggles. “You just look like someone who wouldn’t want one or didn’t care to get one. I guess I didn’t expect you to see you and talk to you that day either.” 

“But you’re glad I came in?” 

“Definitely,” he lightly chuckles before taking a sip of his drink. 

“I’m glad I did too,” you take another bite. “I’m able to get to know you and I got the tattoo I’ve always wanted. It’s a win-win situation for me, really.” 

“Any more questions you wanna ask?” He teases.

You ponder his question, thinking of something to ask. You nod your head when you finally think of a question. “Can I see your sketchbook?” You ask, sweetly.

“How do you know I have a sketchbook?”

“Before I got my tattoo, I would see you at the bakery on your lunch breaks with it. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“Oh? So you’ve been watching me?” He teases, placing his slice of pizza onto his plate on the coffee table. “Let me go grab it.” He disappears into another room and returns with a black sketchbook in his hand.

You extend your hand out as Johnny hands it to you. You reposition yourself so you’re leaning your back on the backrest of the sofa. 

Opening up the sketchbook, you excitedly flip through the pages in awe. Johnny takes a seat next to you, sinking into the sofa.

His sketchbook is full of potential tattoo designs and little doodles that he drew that you recognize he has tattooed on his arms. You lightly graze the coffee stains that paint some corners of the pages, knowing he probably spilled some of his coffee on it while he was on break. You eventually come across portraits he’s drawn of random people. 

“I didn’t know you drew portraits,” you look up at him who shyly looks away when you catch him staring at you. You wrap your arm around his bicep, resting your head onto his shoulder, finding it adorable when he gets shy around you.

“It’s not something I’m super confident in, so I don’t tell people.” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“These are really good though,” you praise. “Do you just draw random people you see?”

“Only ones that spark some emotion.” 

He points to his drawing of an old man having coffee by himself and holding a letter in his hand. “He used to come to a cafe with an old lady every weekend and one weekend, he came alone.” Then he points to a drawing of a little boy with tears brimming his eyes. “He fell and ran to his dad because he scraped his elbow.” And points again to a drawing of the side profile of a girl. “I just thought she looked lonely.” 

“These are all sad pictures,” you let out. 

“It was all I really noticed at the time,” he shrugged.

You flip the page and scan more beautiful drawings. As you’re about to turn the page again, Johnny tugs on the book, swiftly pulling it away from you.

“I think that’s enough,” he nervously chuckles, getting up from his seat.

“Wait,” you pout. “But I wanted to see more. They’re really good.” 

Johnny hesitates. 

“I’m not here to judge it, I find your work incredible.” You tug on his arm, urging him to sit back down. “Please?”

He slowly sits back down and gives it back and you flip back to the page you were on. “Thank you,” you smile, repositioning your arm around his bicep again. 

Turning the page, you find portraits of you that fill two pages. One of them is a drawing of you holding a bouquet of flowers behind what looks like your store’s display window — presumably the same day you first saw Johnny. There’s another portrait of you watering flowers with sketches of tulips next to it. 

“Have you been a secret admirer of mine?” You tease playfully, feeling his body move as he chuckled. 

Your fingers brush over another drawing of you sipping on your iced coffee as you look at your phone. You flip the page again and see another drawing of you eating a bowl of ramen with the same outfit you wore the night you had dinner with Johnny. 

You continue flipping the pages before eventually coming to a blank page. Closing the sketchbook, you carefully hand it back to him who places it on the coffee table in front of you. 

He turns his entire body to face you. 

“You’re really talented,” you smile. “But I’m just a little confused.” 

“About?”

“You said you draw portraits that ignite some kind of emotion right? The drawings of me didn’t look like it invoked any emotions, it’s just things that I do like drink coffee or watering plants.” You laugh, holding Johnny’s hand in yours. 

“It might not seem like it, but it does.” He lifts your hand to his lips, giving the back of your hand a tender kiss. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a really long time.” 

“Felt what?” You smirk, fully knowing what he was talking about. 

Johnny shakes his head, biting his bottom lip with a smile across his face. “I like you.” He admits. “I hope that’s okay. I’m not entirely sure if I’m your type b-” 

You cleanly cut him off. “You’re exactly my type,” you grin. “And for what it’s worth, I like you, too.” 

Johnny leans in to give you a soft kiss on your forehead. Silence falls between you for a moment. “It’s getting late,” he lets out. “I should get you home.” He cups your cheek with his hand and strokes your skin with his thumb. You give his palm a gentle kiss. 

“I don’t wanna go home,” you wearily let out. 

Johnny’s eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise at your words — you would miss it if you weren’t looking right at him. “Do you wanna stay the night?” He asks, heart beating against his chest, nervously awaiting your answer. 

“Yes.”

You both lay in Johnny’s bed, lips moving in sync with each other’s as his hand explores your body. His lips move to the crook of your neck, swiping his tongue against your skin before sucking it into his mouth. 

“Remember when you said we didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do?” You question. 

He lifts his head and nods.

“Would it still be okay if I did want to do something?” 

“Only if it’s something you really want to do,” he clarifies, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “There’s no rush, really.” 

“I want to,” you shyly let out, feeling a hint of embarrassment. “Do you?”

He nods and begins peppering kisses against your heated cheek before capturing your lips once again. Smoothly removing his shirt, your eyes scan the tattoos inked onto his right side of his chest as he hovers over you. 

Your hands cup the sides of his neck, pulling him down to your lips. A low groan is heard from Johnny before he removes his sweatpants, kicking the fabric to the side. 

Quickly sitting up, you lift your arms as he helps you remove your top, allowing the fabric to fall onto the bedroom floor as Johnny presses his soft lips against your collarbone, causing you to fall onto your back again. You undo your jeans and Johnny helps you remove them, throwing it to the side. 

“You’re sure about this?” Johnny questions. 

“More than sure,” you smile, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Johnny carefully removes the fabric covering your core, leaving you completely naked underneath him. He gently strokes your slit, feeling your body tingle under his touch as he coats his finger with your arousal. A quiet moan parts your lips, earning a little smile from him. 

Dipping into his underwear, you gently tug on his shaft. He quickly removes the only fabric he has on, his erection more prominent than ever. Licking your hand, you slowly stroke his length, watching him bite back a moan — his jaw falls open when you rub your thumb over his sensitive tip.

“I want you now,” you softly beg. 

He leans over to his nightstand, pulling a condom out of the drawer before sliding it on. Aligning himself with your entrance, you feel his tip slowly dip inside of you. 

You bite down on your bottom lip as you feel the stretch. Your fingers dig crescent shaped indents into his biceps as he sinks deeper into you. 

Johnny gently moves deeper with every stroke until he’s completely inside of you. He keeps his sights on you, watching your body move up and down with every deep, slow, and sensual thrust. 

You’re inched closer and closer to your climax as Johnny’s tip hits that sensitive spot in you. He swallows your moans as he kisses you before you wrap your arms around his neck and press the heel of your feet against his lower back, keeping him as close to him as possible. 

He’s timing his orgasm with yours, wanting to make sure you reach your climax before he does. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arches, and sweet melodic moans fill his room when your orgasm overtakes your body. Johnny releases into the condom right after you — helping you through your ecstasy as his thick ropes fill up the latex. 

He kisses you, hard. “Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. The weight of his body on top of you warms your naked body as he tries to catch his breath for a moment before slowly pulling himself out of you. 

“I’m great,” you weakly grin. “Are you okay?”

He chuckles, sharply inhaling before another soft laugh leaves his lips. “I’m good.” He removes the condom and tosses it into his trash bin. “Should we wash up before calling it a night?” Johnny stands at the edge of his bed, extending his hand out for you to grab.

You take his hand and he leads you to his bathroom, helping you wash up before heading to bed. You’re cuddled next to him and feel his large hand stroke your back. You lay your head on his chest with your eyes closed, slowly falling asleep to his heartbeats.

Johnny kisses your forehead tenderly. “Good night, baby. See you in the morning.”

[megalomaniacz]

SWEET CHERRY 🍒

camgirl!reader x toxic actually loserish really pathetic!vi

diva mode activated halfway through writing this…guys idk i’m gay okay and if it isn’t good i never wrote it…okay? erm nsfw!! listened to tate mcrae and charli while writing this if that means anything to u. also, my birthday is tomorrow!! might drunkenly pump out a toxic!cait one shot OMG WHO SAIDDDD THAT

PART ONE: $EX. LIE$. UGLY. TRUTH.

the time on her computer screen read 11:07 pm. you were two minutes behind schedule. every regular viewer, including vi, was on the edge of their seat. licking at chapped lips and rubbing lotiony hands together. eyes wide with wonder, refreshing the site every 10 seconds until you popped onto screen.

you were wearing your signature cherry red lingerie, flawless makeup, soft pop music playing in the back. nails sharp and adorned with cherries. you held a sucker that read eat me in your hand, slowly unwrapping it for the camera. “hi cherries, guess what flavor this is.”

vi was foaming at the fucking mouth, adjusting the computer in her lap. eyes glued to the screen while she bit her lip and held onto your every word.

you moved closer to the screen. “grape? chat what do you mean? cmon guess and you get a prizeeee.”

the way you spoke, singing your words. ending the sentence in a suggestive tone. your sultry manner and bedroom eyes. everything was driving vi up a goddamn wall. you were all that and bag of fucking chips. she couldn’t stop thinking about you since she found a video of you fucking yourself with a dildo on an adult site. lezgetbusy or something fucking stupid. scrolled through the comments (5,000) until someone alluded to the fact that you cammed.

then she followed your profile and immediately paid your $50 messaging fee.

in all honesty, she was talking to herself in there half the time. the rare moments in which you did respond gave her a euphoria she couldn’t contain. she wanted to fuck you. no, she needed to fuck you. with her fingers, her tongue, her strap, and whatever the hell else will fit up there. it was driving her crazy.

grandSurpass: grape lol

justmyego: strawberry?

Several_means: lick it again please :(

she rolled her eyes at the screen. “idiotic men, it’s fucking cherry.” she begins to tap in the chat. she presses send, and when she sees you reading it? mouthing her comment? she nearly chokes, feeling her face flush.

“very good, vi? violet22. very good.”

her hands were stuffed into her pants now, legs spread while she toys with herself. you said her name. you said her fucking name! she throws her head back, thinking about how easily it fell off your tongue.

“since you guessed right, you get, drumroll pleaseeee.”

she was close now. pool of wetness filling her boxers. legs shaking, mouth wide open. please keep talking, please keep talking…please…

“a chance to chat with me personally! this stream, and others, will be a bit shorter as i’ve decided i’ll be doing one on one chats with some lucky cherries. congratulations vio-“

she slams her computer shut, takes her hand out of her pants, and jumps off her bed. stumbles into her bathroom, washes her hands and splashes water on her face, then stumbles back to her room. reopens her computer, runs a hand down her face, types in the website url again. logs in. clicks watch stream. and checks under her ass for shit because she swears she just shat herself. just now.

“oh, vi is back. okay guys.” you swish the lollipop around in your mouth a bit before continuing to speak. “i’m going to send you a link in private message, violet22. see you soon!” a toothy and cheery smile spread across your sweet face.

the second the link shows up in her inbox, she clicks it. hits the $200hr pay wall. fumbles in her pockets for her wallet, fuck she left it in the bathroom okay she’s got it dammit she’s shaking. can barely put the card numbers in. she’s making you wait she’s making you wait fuck.

after payment is secured, you in all your sweet glory, pop up on her screen. you’re sat on your bed, sucker hanging from your lips, fiddling with your freshly manicured nails. you hear the ding, realized she’s joined, and lay on your belly. tits squeezing together on the bed.

“hi! violet22? is that you? i can’t see you, turn your camera on!”

oh fucking fuck the fuck fuck fuckity FUCK FUCK. she has no time to fix her face up for you, or change out of her 2 day old t shirt. atleast you can’t smell her through the screen. she clicks on the small camera icon in left corner of the screen, and puts on an awkward smile.

“hi. there you are.” you smile, kicking your feet.

“hi sweet cherry. fuck. i’ve come to your videos so much nothing gets me so worked up. fuck. sorry.”

you giggle a bit and her face visibly becomes 3 shades redder. looks like she’s got some sort of filter on.

“it’s okay. thank you so much, your support means the world to me. do you have any personal requests while you’ve got me? clocks counting down.” you pucker your lips.

the time on the right corner of the screen is counting down 4:56…4:55…

vi’s eyes widen, and she gulps. finding it hard to think of anything to say. she was in complete shock. you’re looking at her. talking to her. you’re talking to her,,,oh fuck you’re talking to her.

“i-i’m- hmmm.” she stutters, picking at a hangnail. the clocks on 4:01 now and her heart seems to damn near be beating out of her chest.

“how about we play a quick game, okay? and next time, maybe you’ll have something thought of. maybe we’ll have more time…” your smile melts her heart. next time? GEE WILLIKERS!!! someone check this bitches pulse.

“okay.” she nods, barely present. still unsure if this is some sort of orgasm induced illusion.

“if you can guess the word i’m thinking of, i’ll take an extra special picture just for you. kay?”

you wink and she feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. she gives you a small nod, and it makes you laugh. she’s so cute and pathetic.

3:48…3:47

“okay. it’s a type of flower.” you lick your sugar ridden lips, putting the entire sucker in your mouth then pulling it out slowly.

vi’s about to piss herself. or is that come? man these boxers are gonna need a deep clean.

“is it a rose? a tulip?”

you shake your head, taunting smirk on your face. “try again, cutie.”

oh she’s so gonna ride a pillow with your picture on it tonight. might even get the picture all wet with her slick, imagine her sweet pussy on your perfectly plump lips. wait what was the question?

“ummm lillies? dandelions? sunflowers?”

you shake your head, sticking your tongue out and directly swiping it over the fading words. eat me do you know how bad she wants to?

“hint, please?” she looks at you with sad eyes. feels like she’s being edged or something. pussy growing wetter by the minute FUCK 2:49…2:48

“cmon, you’re smart. use that big brain of yours.” you follow with a taunting laugh. she’s too fucking horny for this, and you look so good. she wonders how you feel. your skin. bet it’s warm and soft. bet you’d grip the sheets when nipped at your thighs. back arching-

“daises? did i say that already?”

you shake your head and look over at the small timer taking a bite out of the sucker, now it reads at me.

“lavender is a flower? right?”

you sit up on the bed, and she watches the way you widen your thighs. pretty little red bow right above your pussy. you arch your back, ass in the air, chewing on the candy. “close.”

the money she’d spend to have one night with you. ass up face buried in your silky red sheets. cock buried so deep in your pussy it’s kissing your stomach. WHAT WAS THE QUESTION AGAIN?

“aww your time is up.” you pout. there’s five seconds. vi’s drooling, all over herself. like actually. she wipes her mouth, slow blinking, taking mental pictures.

“the word was violet, silly! see you next stream.”

fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck

[godzilla-barbie]

Running Partners [Oneshot]

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You liked jogging, you didn’t enjoy a lot of working out, but jogging felt good. It got your blood pumping, and you always felt more ready and energised for your day. Such a nurse thing to say, you know, but it was true, and besides that… You got to see him everyday.

Words: 10k

Warnings: stalking (not by ghost), mentions of injury, implied uuhhhh murder?

You pass him every day.

Your job started early, the new shifts you’d signed on for at the hospital were regular (thank god), with the only catch being you started at six every morning. It wasn’t so bad. When your lease was up, you’d been able to find a flat barely fifteen minutes from the hospital, which left you with more than enough time to get up early, around four-thirty, and go for a run.

You liked jogging, you didn’t enjoy a lot of working out, but jogging felt good. It got your blood pumping, and you always felt more ready and energised for your day. Such a nurse thing to say, you know, but it was true, and besides that…

You got to see him everyday. Broad, tall as hell, and built like a brick shithouse. You’d never seen his face, he always wore a plain black face mask, a choice you still found slightly questionable, but then again, you were a nurse. You vaguely understood. Still, wearing one while running seemed hardcore, even for one in your profession. It didn’t bother you much. He had beautiful eyes, big and brown and strangely emotive, even though he never seemed to really actually emote that much. The most you ever really got from him was recognition.

It started on your first morning after moving in. You passed him on Gilberton Road, the size of him almost taking up the entire footpath, but he’d moved aside for you as you approached. That early in the morning there hadn’t been anybody else about, and you’d eventually come to know there hardly ever was, but you were English dammit, and the only polite thing to do was to say hello.

The first day you thought he might’ve had headphones in. He always wore a dark hoodie, pulled up, and he eyed you as you passed, your soft ‘Morning’ possibly lost on his plugged ears, but the second morning, and the second greeting, his eyes had shifted to you and he’d simply nodded.

It became routine.

Without even speaking, you came to understand he must have been some type of military. Most days his sweats were plain, dark, but some days his sweatshirts bore an insignia, a few of them unknown to you, but the plainer symbol, the one you recognised as the mark of the British Army, sold the idea to you. Besides, a man built like that, out for a run every morning, his routine mixing with yours like clockwork? He was definitely military. Had to be.

So that’s why when you noticed a car following you early on in your jog this morning, you’d done a few laps of the blocks around your street, and then you’d made straight for him.

You glance back subtly once again, your heart thundering louder and louder in your ears. The dark blue car was still following you. You don’t exactly know when you’d picked up the shadow, but you’d taken a different route upon noticing its presence, a pit opening up in your belly, and a sickly feeling filling your chest. It was definitely following you.

Usually you’d only lightly jog, going at your own pace, but this morning you all out ran. Partly because of the car following you, and partly because you’d already taken a slightly different route, and as you check your watch for the hundredth time since your idea unfolded, you hope to god you haven’t missed him already.

You’re in luck. Though, in the moment you don’t stop to think about how odd it is that your masked stranger has stopped halfway up Gilberton, seemingly standing stock still and waiting for something. You don’t stop to think about how he seems to straighten when he sees you coming, or how his eyes flicker over your much faster pace with a frown.

Your heart continues to hammer, and you tell yourself this is it, this is fine, this is when the car goes away. You slow down as you approach him, and eventually come to a stop.

“Please act like you’re meeting me,” you say breathing hard, your hands shaking as you uncap your water. If your eyes are watering slightly, you don’t notice, but he does. His frown deepens. “Is there a blue car behind me?” you ask, stepping slightly closer, even as you chuck another paranoid look over your shoulder. The stranger's eyes move past you almost immediately, locking onto something else, tracking the movement with his gaze.

“They been following you?” he asks back, his voice deep, almost gravelly, and it suits him. When you don’t respond, his eyes flicker back to you.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “I don’t know anybody with a car like that it’s really–”

“–S’alright, love, follow me,” he says, eyes having trailed back to the car, but he jerks his head along the path you usually take, and waits for you to start moving before he joins you. Your heart still hammers in your chest, your ears, but you practically feel it begin to even out again as you chance a look over at your new companion, and find him focused on the parked cars linging the street, keeping his eyes on their mirrors for the reflections behind you.

“Take a left,” he instructs, eyes remaining vigilant, but nodding in the direction of the forked pathway that leads off into the small park Gilberton Road lines. You follow his directions, relieved when you make it far enough into the grassy plane that the trees block the road, and you can no longer see the blue car, and by extension, it can no longer see you.

You come to a stop, leaning down with your hands on your knees and breathing heavily, shakily, trying to get a hold of yourself.

When you finally look up at your stranger, he’s watching what can be seen of the road, dark eyes scanning the sliver of street, until he appears to be satisfied with what he finds and he turns his head to look down at you.

“S’at why you’re late?” he asks, making you blink up at him in sheer confusion.

“What?”

He turns his whole body to face you now, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“The fucker following you, is that why you were late?” he asks again, forcing you to stand up straight once more, your chest heaving in exhuastion as you feel the adrenaline rush begin to come down some.

“Yes– I– were you waiting for me?” you stutter out, your hands now shaking even harder as you attempt to take another drink from your bottle.

His eyes follow your movements, his brow creasing into an even deeper frown.

“Yes,” he says with no further explanation.

“Oh– I’m– I’m sorry,” you say, trying your best to avert your gaze away from him and place the twist cap back on your water. You drop it, feeling like an idiot, but before you can bend down to grab it, a larger hand enters your vision, snatching up the lid, another hand moving to the bottle in your hand, which he tugs gently out of your hold, and replaces the covering easily, calm as clover.

You look up at him, blinking back the wetness in your eyes, but when that fails, wiping madly at your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, doing your best to choke back the sniffles you can hear in your voice. Your stranger stares at you, an awkward sort of concern in his eyes.

“Nothing to apologise for,” he tells you. You get the feeling offering comfort isn’t usually in his wheelhouse, because he shuffles slightly closer to you, but makes no further movement. He stays holding your bottle as you subconsciously wrap your arms around yourself, doing your best to take deep breaths, still shaky, still sobbed.

“I don’t know if they were following me from– from home or–” your voice cuts out and this time when he steps closer, it's more definitive, more determined, even as his hand comes up and gingerly grips your shoulder, a firm, tight hold that grounds you.

“I’ll go back with you,” he says affirmatively, and all you can do is nod, even when he starts to move, his hand shifting to between your shoulder blades, gently directing you out of the park and back to the main road.

You look up hesitantly, but the snap of your neck left and right makes him answer your question before you can even think to ask it.

“They’re gone,” he tells you firmly, and vaguely you think you feel his thumb sweep in broad strokes across your back. “Which way?”

You direct him quietly as you walk, eventually getting enough of a hold of yourself that he drops his hand from you, though you note he still holds your water.

“I can… I can take that,” you offer, holding a hand out and getsuring to your water. He makes no move to return it, his eyes swivelling down to you almost in a sideeye.

“Hands are still shaking,” he tells you, making you close your fist and return it to your side. “S’normal,” he goes on, like he’s attempting to backtrack. “Adrenaline will probably stay with you for a couple hours–”

“–I know,” you don’t mean to cut him off. “I’m a triage nurse,” you tell him quickly, apologetically. He cocks his head slightly, but nods, turning his gaze forwards again.

“You walk to work?” he asks after a moment.

Your hospital was one of the only big landmarks in the area, you figure he assumes you work there.

“Yeah, managed to get myself stable shifts, couldn’t cut the arse-end hours of the morning anymore,” you’re rambling a little, unsure why you bother telling him all that, but you don’t stop yourself, and he seems content to listen.

“Must be nice,” he says. You have to admit, small talk sounds odd in his voice. He sounds more used to barking orders than chatter, but you appreciate his effort anyway.

“You do shift work?” you venture, nodding to the unfamiliar emblem on his zip-up, which he looks down at almost like he’d forgotten it was there. His eyes shift to you again, and you get the feeling beneath his mask, he might just be smiling wryly.

“Sometimes,” is all he says, not darkly, or finitely, like he doesn’t want to talk about it, so you further distract yourself, pushing deeper.

“What is that? I’ve seen you wearing Army stuff, but I don’t recognise that,” you ask lightly, waiting as he seems to decide whether or not to explain it to you.

“Not supposed to,” he tells you at last, stretching his neck slightly before going on. “S’SAS.”

“SAS?” your voice is coloured with a surprise you couldn’t cover even if you tried. You don’t bother to hide the appraisal you give him either, something he appears all too aware of, averting his eyes from yours, but you see the twitch in the corners, like he’s trying his best not to look back at you.

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” you say at last with a huff of laughter. His eyes do return to you then, a full turn of his head this time, his eyebrow raised.

“S’not usually what people say when they see me,” his voice is amused. You laugh again and shrug your shoulders.

“Maybe, couldn’t think of anyone better to have as a running partner when someone’s following me, though,” you say, trailing off slightly as you remember how all this started. You’re brought out of your spiralling thoughts by the ice cold of your bottle poking you in your side, making you jump and yip slightly. Now he’s definitely smiling under his mask, his cheeks scrunching up his eyes slightly as you blink up at him in faux outrage.

“D’worry about it. Got your back, partner,” he says. You feel yourself grow flustered at the way he says the word ‘partner’, but snatch your bottle back now that he’s holding it out where you can grab it. His eyes follow your movement seemingly faster than you can actually make them, but he doesn’t pull the bottle back, lets you grab it, though doesn’t let go right away, holding on to it for a few seconds longer before finally releasing it.

You ‘humfph’.

“This one’s me,” you gesture as you come to a stop outside your flat–a small-ish, but big enough for you– two story terrace home, one of eight or nine lining your street. Your stranger looks up at it, his eyes roaming over the facade before he nods resolutely.

“Want me to wait with you, walk you to work?” he asks after a moment, like he had to think it over before offering.

“I don’t wanna make you late,” you wave a hand, annoyed to find it still shaky. You drop it quickly, but he’s already seen it.

“Won’t make me late,” he says simply.

You hesitate, before digging into your pocket and grabbing your keys, pursing your lips as you struggle to rifle through them, the jingling from your shaking hands making your difficulty that much more emphasised. Your stranger holds out his hand then, and sighing, you hand them to him.

You watch him climb the four steps up to your door, carefully slotting the key in the lock and twisting, before stepping back and holding your keys out to you, though he does hold them up in such a way it’s clear to you he’s inspecting your keyrings. You shuffle forward, waiting for him to look back at you before taking them from him, opening your door and turning back to him.

“Uhm… do you want to come in? I have tea?” you ask a little nervously. You watch your stranger appear to think.

“Flavoured stuff?” he replies with a sniff that gives you the distinct impression that he does not like ‘the flavoured stuff’. You chortle.

“I have Yorkshire,” you offer, fairly certain you had a box of the stuff somewhere. You drank coffee, but your ex had drank tea, and you’re pretty sure you hadn’t gotten rid of it.

“Alright then,” he says, waiting for you to enter before he follows. “M’Simon.”

–

It becomes the new routine.

At four-thirty on the dot, Simon knocks on your door. You run together. You get the impression he gets his real running done before he picks you up, but you appreciate him keeping pace with you on your jog anyway.

You like Simon. He’s quiet, but doesn’t seem to mind if you make small talk, usually only replying with a few words, or a hum, but you get the feeling he listens to you very intently, cataloguing the things you say or your opinions. He remembers when you talk about work, asking you questions occasionally when you fall quiet. It’s… nice, you think. He’s reliable, oddly communicative for a man of so few words, and you appreciate his sudden but welcomed presence into your life. It’s not hard to have a crush on the man, even disregarding physical attraction, he was smart, sensible, and he often made you laugh, really laugh, usually when he wasn’t even trying to. 

But this morning he leads you down a slightly different route. Simon usually led the way in your jogs, you don't mind so much, you’d been jogging the same route since you moved in, so the change of scenery was nice, but today you stray further from the usual haunts. You don’t even think to ask, but as he slows, he comes to a stop outside a small cafe, the inside of which seems bustling with military folks in their fatigues, and you look up at him questioningly.

“Only place ‘round here open this early,” he tells you, as if that explains what you’re doing here, but your stomach grumbles a little bit, and you follow him inside. It’s just a cafe, but you feel oddly out of place among the sea of uniforms, and you feel Simon’s hand lightly ghost over your back as he ushers you forward toward the counter. You can’t help but notice a few of the soldiers stand up a little straighter in what you’re assuming is his presence, not yours, and several men even throw up salutes, but they’re waved away with an almost annoyed sounding ‘at ease’ from the man behind you.

You shuffle toward the counter and wait patiently as the barista, a rough looking older gentleman comes around to you, his features grim, but friendly, and he nods at Simon as he moves to stand beside you.

“Lieutenant Riley,” he greets with a nod, his eyes dancing down to you, and you swear you see the flicker of an eyebrow raise, but you couldn’t be sure. “Usual?” he asks. Simon shakes his head once.

“Not this mornin’. Just her,” he gestures at you, which makes you blink dumbly up at him for a moment.

“I see. What’ll it be, luv?” 

You rattle your order off, a simple latte, and Simon swats your card away and hands the older man a couple of notes, instructing him to keep the change. You move off to the side, to wait in the queue, and you take the moment, while standing fairly on your own to look up at him curiously. He doesn’t return your gaze, too busy looking around the coffee shop, but he does lower his chin slightly.

“What?” he asks, gruffly.

“Why didn’t you get anything?” you poke his arm, finally prompting him to glance down at you.

“Didn’t want anythin’,” he says. You frown up at him.

“Liar,” you roll your eyes, watching as he lowers his face even further and fixes you with a stare.

“Fine. I don’t wan’ any of these knobs seeing my face,” he tells you.

You study him for a moment, his excuse momentarily sounding ridiculous, but somehow, you believe him. You hadn’t ever really thought about how he rarely, if ever, removed his face mask. He always wore it in public, he even wore it in your home, and you’d only really caught a glimpse of the lower half of his face on the occasions you invited him in for tea before he walked you to work. Even then, you mostly left him downstairs while you showered and readied for the day. You’re not sure you could really describe him if you were ever asked, and you’d be better off recognising him by his build and height than any facial features, aside from his eyes.

You think you would recognise his eyes anywhere.

Your frown deepens in curiosity, and you study the parts of his face you can see while he watches you.

“Is that… a thing for you? With your job?” you half-whisper. He’d already told you he was SAS, and from the light reading you’d done, their whole deal was pretty secretive, you could only really find details about historical stuff. Simon seems to hesitate before he nods. You blink up at him and purse your lips before making a soft ‘hmm’ sound and turning back to the counter.

Behind you, you hear a low chuckle, a rough sound you’d receive on the few occasions he deigned to laugh.

“Usually get more pushback than tha’,” he mutters softly, and still facing away, you shrug.

“You could wear a tutu for your job for all I care,” you tell him. It was a little strange, but from all you know about him, all you’d learnt in the past couple of weeks, you suspect the man had been through a lot, probably still went through a lot, so you’d respect his wishes for extreme privacy if he wanted it.

Your order gets called, and the barista, who Simon thanks using the name Ed, gives you a wink on the way out.

“What was that about?” you ask with a smile, turning back to wait for him as follows you out of the cafe.

“Thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he replies almost immediately. You pause coffee halfway to your lips.

“Wait? I’m not?” you ask, looking up at him with so much faux-confusion you almost believe yourself for a second. Simon nearly stumbles, but he covers it by spinning on his heel and staring down at you, his eyes wide with something akin to panic at first, before they lower into glare. It’s almost intimidating for a second, but the look of disgruntled agitation on what you can see of his face makes you break out into laughter.

“I’m fucking with you,” you manage to get out between giggles. If possible, his glare gets darker. You start walking again, elbowing him in the side as you pass him. “You’d have to show me your face if you want me to be your girlfriend.”

From behind you, you hear a huff, and footsteps following after you.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” Simon grumbles as he falls into step again. “The cheek on you.”

You peek up at him at that, mostly to see if he’s still glaring, only to find that he now eyes you with what you can only describe as fondness.

You soften some.

“I really was only joking, Simon,” you say quietly after taking a few sips of your coffee. You round a corner, and he looks down at you. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“The mask?” he asks. You glance up at him too, and nod.

“Yeah, I get it– I mean, I don’t, not really, but… I guess I don’t know exactly what you do, but it’s probably dangerous, right?”

“Probably,” he agrees.

“And– and you probably don’t want any of that following you home,” you continue on, frowning to yourself even as you look away.

Simon stays quiet for a few moments.

“My other mask might bother you,” he says then, instead of really responding to what you’ve said. You wonder about it for a second, wonder if that really was the reason he covers his face, wonder if maybe, it had happened before, if that was why he was so careful. But then you register what he’s said and you crane your head to squint up at him.

“Your other mask?” you ask, confusion and curiosity mixing in your voice. Simon chortles.

“It’s a skull,” he tells you, bringing his hand up to his face. You think he’s smiling behind his mask again. “Covers everything, protects it too.”

You stare at him for a moment, trying to imagine what that would look like, if you’d even want to see it. You suppose if he was wearing it, that meant he was working, and you’re pretty sure if he’s working, that meant bad news. You don’t say any of that, however, undertsanding somewhere in the back of your mind that he didn’t often talk about any aspect of his job, and even this little detail was probably not something he shared with you lightly.

“I–” the moment you start speaking, you’re cut off, a dark black SUV tearing around the street corner up ahead, and screeching to a halt on the road beside you. Simon’s body language immediately changes into something you’ve never seen before, his arm swinging out and shoving you behind him as he watches the driver’s door swing open.

Almost instantly some of the rigidity in his muscles seem to relax as a young, handsome man with dark, tawny skin steps out, beelining around the side of the vehicle toward the two of you.

“Ghost, you’re needed back on base, we’re headed out,” the man tells him, his accent more Londoner than Simon’s, and you can’t help yourself, you peek around him to get a better look. The newcomer is dressed in what you might describe as ‘tactical casual’, with dark wash jeans, some kind of jacket, and a weapons vest over top. Before Simon has a chance to say anything, the man’s eyes drift toward you, and he blinks, all urgency seemingly forgotten as he takes you in.

“Who’s this?” he asks, voice lighter now, a little cheekier, and you watch as his gaze swivels back to Simon, who stands down completely, though you note, doesn’t step aside to reveal you to the man. He all but ignores him in fact, wheeling around on you, blocking out the other man’s view, though with the tiniest flicker of amusement, you see him shuffle slightly to the side so he can still get a look at you.

“I’ve got to go,” Simon tells you roughly, his voice somehow deeper than usual, gruffer even.

“O–okay,” you respond, not knowing how else you should. He must see your eyes dance worried and intrigued between him and the sight behind him, because he ducks into your vision slightly.

“Might be gone for a while,” he goes on after a moment. “M’gonna text you a number, anything happens, that blue car shows back up again, you call that number immediately, understood?”

You nod, realising you’re no longer speaking with your friend Simon, who even in his rough-around-the-edges manner, was softer than this. No, you realise you’re speaking to  Lieutenant Riley, who was giving you an order.

“I’ll call, I promise,” you reassure him. He nods once, then turns, stepping past the other man, and all but wrenching the car door open. You blink in an almost stunned silence as he disappears into the SUV, leaving you for a moment with his friend– colleague?

“Uh, Hi,” he says.

“Hi…?” you return the greeting. The passenger's side window scrolls down, and Simon is glaring out of it.

“Garrick!”

The man, this Garrick, turns quickly around, like he’s been caught, and then looks back at you, swallowing quickly.

“Ma’am,” he says, nodding once. Must be a military thing, you think. Simon nodded a lot too. You watch him as he then spins on his heel, returning to the driver’s side.

And then they’re gone.

You stand in shock for a moment on the sidewalk, blinking after the black car, only pulled from your reverie by a single message from Simon, with no further words, just a number.

You save it, and walk home.

–

“Ghost,” Laswell comes marching through the hangar on a mission, using that tone that makes him stop in his tracks. They’d just finished their latest op, Ghost had been back on base for no longer than fifteen minutes, but he squares his shoulders and turns back to her, ready for whatever she was about to throw at him now. It had been a full month of this, not that he minded so much, always did feel more at home in the field than back London, but he might’ve been hoping for a little bit more down time as they planned their next move, especially with Gaz out of commission and on his way back for surgery on that broken arm.

“Laswell,” he greets her in kind, but she doesn’t stop, keeps moving right for him, only coming to a stand still when she’s sparsely two feet away. “What’ve you got for me?” He asks.

“I got a call while you were on your way back,” she tells him, and immediately his blood runs a little colder. “It was a woman, said her name was–”

“–What happened?” He cuts her off. He knows what your name is, that's not the part he needs to know right now. Laswell eyes him.

“She said the blue car was parked on her street,” Kate tells him and he has to assume you’d explained the car’s driver following you previously, because she says it with a sort of gravity that never meant good things. “I had her call the police, but apparently it took off before they could get the plates… I had somebody sent out to keep an eye on the place…”

Ghost lets out a string of expletives, looking away from her for a moment as he gathers his thoughts.

“CCTV?” he asks, almost snaps back, but Laswell takes it in stride.

“I looked it up, but the thing must be stolen. Plates belong to a gentleman who died three years ago, registration hasn’t been renewed, and the car wasn’t sold, at least not that I could find a record of,” she pauses a moment, eyeing him intently again. “Simon,” she says then, drawing his attention back down to her. “I advised her not to go to work, or leave the house, but I don’t think she was planning to anyway. She’s scared.”

Ghost almost growls at her.

“Of course she’s fuckin’ scared,” he bites back, but quickly regrets it. He shifts on his feet, antsy and annoyed. Kate’s face softens and she steps in just a little closer.

“Call her,” she says, making him freeze for a moment, hands flexing at his sides. “I know it's a blackout, but we’re grounded until we know our next moves. I can give you a few minutes, but only that,” she cuts him off before he can even argue.

He follows her to her office silently, his emotions a mixture of seething and anxious, but all of that fades away when the line picks up.

“H-hello?” your voice sounds small and he has to forcibly stop himself from grinding his teeth.

“Hello luv,” he hears himself say. He’s not bothered about Laswell sitting on the other side of the desk, listening in, he knows that’s her job. He knows she’s heard much worse than this.

“Simon?”

He shifts in his seat upon hearing the crack in your voice, angry that this has happened to you. Again.

“Thank you for giving me Kate’s number…” you say, sounding like you’re breathing back fresh tears. “She… she really helped me.”

Simon tuts.

“I’ve only got a short time, are you alright?” he asks, trying his best to soften his tone, not let his blooming anxiety feed into yours.

“Yeah, I–I’m fine, just shaken up… I saw them before I left, so I don’t think they know which house is mine…” you tell him, sounding slightly more confident at that assertion. Simon nods to himself.

“Can you do me a favour, sweetheart?” if the pet names register or deter you, you certainly don’t show it as you hum your affirmative down the phone. “Need you to stay at home for a while– Not too long, but just until I know you’re safe, alright?”

Laswell looks over at him then, but he ignores her, continuing on.

“Got a mate that’s gonna be on some leave for a while, gonna send him over to you, can you wait until he’s back f’me?” he asks.

“S-sure. I– I think that would be good.”

He’s glad you don’t argue, though worries about what state you must be in to want that kind of help. Laswell motions to him from the corner of his eye, and he knows what she’s telling him before he even has a chance to look up.

“I’ve got to go, you call again if something happens between now and my mate being able to get to you, alright?”

You confirm with him again, and without so much as a goodbye, Laswell cuts off the connection.

“Any longer than that, I’d have to log it,” she tells him apologetically. Ghost waves his hand, placing the phone back into her possession. He doesn’t stand right away, just sits and thinks for a moment, before he looks up at her properly, meeting her gaze.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. Laswell smiles, small, but genuine.

“Of course,” she says, before spinning back around in her seat and bringing up something on her computer. “I’ll alert Gaz as soon as he’s awake and able… this isn’t… this isn’t related to work, is it?”

Ghost stares at her for a moment.

“No, happened to meet when she was bein’ followed the first time,” he explains, but doesn’t feel the need to give her the full story. It wasn’t important, all she needed to know was this was some regular ol’ stalker, nothing related to their various ops.

Laswell nods, and turns back to her screen.

“I’ll keep in email contact with her and Gaz.”

Ghost feels selfish for the relief he feels at those words. Feels selfish that he's passing off his worry to her, so he can focus. But he needed to, in order to remain at his best in the field. He couldn’t be worried about what was happening at home, and there was a reason he’d given you Laswell’s contact in the first place. Wordlessly, he stands, and leaves her office.

–

You’re wiping down your kitchen counter for the fifth, maybe sixth time today. You could only fill your day with so many chores, so much telly, and so much laundry before you started repeating yourself. So when your doorbell chimes, you almost jump at the chance for something new, even if you know you should be more cautious about opening your door right now.

You’d promised Simon.

Still, you make sure you look through your blinds and your peephole before you answer, but both pre-checks give you the same answer, and honestly, it’s not the one you had been expecting.

“Hello?” you ask, opening the door a crack, glancing out at the familiar man, the same one who had come for Simon all those weeks ago. He smiles at you, and immediately shows you both his hands.

“Hello again,” he says, his voice warm and filled with what you think is genuine friendliness.

“Are you– you’re Simon’s friend?” you ask, opening the door a little further, but not yet all the way. The man nods, and drops his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m Gaz, Ghost sent me, said you might be wanting for a lil’ company.”

You blink at him, your frown dipping further, your eyes scanning his face uncertaintly.

“Who’s ‘Ghost’?” you ask, and for a split second, his smile drops some.

“Sorry,” he says, nodding to himself, as though realising something. “Lieutenant Riley is. Simon,” he tells you, before shrugging. “Goes by Ghost in the field.”

“Oh,” you say, slightly dumbfounded by the information. You stand there for a second longer, processing before you realise this man has come to help you, and you’ve left him on your doorstep.

“I’m so sorry, I’m just a little shaky, come on in.”

You and Gaz get on like a house on fire. He’s overly polite at first, a little formal, but soon enough he eases out, and you find you quite like having him around.

“So, what’d you do to your arm?” you ask a few days later, after insisting he let you look at his injury.

“Not sure I can tell you that, luv,” Gaz responds without missing a beat. Apparently the break wasn’t so bad, a fracture that required a cast, but he seemed to be healing alright.

“I know what you do, Kyle,” you say in a faux-annoyed voice. “I mean, not like, exactly what you do, but you can tell me if you fell out of a window or something,” you continue with a roll of your eyes. Gaz chuckles, and looks up at you as you round the couch and place a cup of tea down in front of him.

His gaze is momentarily sympathetic, before he gets a wicked look in his eye.

“I’ll tell you,” he begins, shifting better to face you where you sit on the other end of the sofa. “If you tell me what’s going on with you and Ghost– Simon.”

You refrain from frowning. It had become rather obvious to you, more obvious than just the impressions you’d gotten in your own experience, that your friendship with Simon wasn't exactly anywhere near the norm for him, which in turn made it all the more interesting to his teammate.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to feel like you’re tricking him.

“Took a crowbar to the arm,” he says with a sigh. “Knocked my gun out of my hands, blindsided me… probably would have been fine if I hadn’t finished out the mission, but…”

You nod in understanding.

“The extra stress on it,” you say, and receive a nod. He looks at you expectantly, and you let out a breath.

“We’re friends,” you tell him, immediately earning a playful scoff.

“LT doesn’t have friends,” he shoots back quickly, though not meanly, you don’t get the sense he’s trying to insult him.

“Look, I– I know what you’re saying, it's not like… it isn’t as if there’s nothing there, I’m not stupid. I don’t think he’d go out of his way for me like this otherwise… but we are just friends.”

Gaz looks at you thoughtfully, pursing his lips as he thinks.

“I believe you,” he says then, as if he’s decided something. “Mostly because that man has never taken a personal phone call in his life, let alone when we’re in a comms. Blackout…”

“Wait, but I thought soldiers could contact their families… and friends?” you tack on the last part quickly. Gaz shakes his head.

“The type of shit we do… it’s better if we don’t,” he tells you solemnly.

“Is… is that why he hides his face?” you ask. Gaz’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You’ve never seen his face?”

You pause, wondering if this is information you should share. You’d gotten to know Gaz fairly well the past few days, but you still weren’t certain of the dynamic between him and Simon, let alone where you stood within that.

“Sort of… It’s not like he was looking me straight on,” you trail off. “Sometimes after our runs, he has tea while I clean up for work, he takes the mask off then, but it’s always back on by the time I’ve come back downstairs,” you almost feel guilty admitting it, given what you’d learnt since then about how Simon preferred to keep his face hidden. “I don’t know if he meant for me to see.”

Gaz snorts and shakes his head.

“Trust me, if he took that mask off anywhere near you, he meant for you to see… I’ve only seen his face properly once,” he tells you. You blink.

“But you work with him!” you argue. Gaz chuckles and takes a sip of his tea.

“So the fact he regularly takes it off around you at all…” he doesn’t finish, just flashes you a grin and bounces his eyebrows.

You huff out a chortle and shake your head at him.

“You boys don’t get a lot of gossip, do you?” you ask, earning a boisterous, hearty laugh.

“Nah, not really. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in years on that front,” he tells you truthfully. You shake your head again.

“When I go back to work tomorrow, I’ll fill you in on all the workplace dramas,” you tell him, reaching out and patting his uninjured arm. Once again, he flashes that bright, boyish grin at you.

“You know what? That’s a deal, luv.”

–

You’ve been back at work two weeks now. You loved your job but you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy the time off with Gaz. Still you got to see him everyday, he’d walk/jog with you in the mornings and then walk you to work, and in the evenings he’d drop by and walk you back. You usually made him dinner, or you’d just talk. You’d gotten him onto ‘Come Dine With Me’, and you’d had a blast replaying the older episodes.

It had been a break at least from the regular ‘missing Simon’ or ‘worrying about Simon’ hours you’d been having. You know you shouldn’t. From everything Gaz had told you or let slip, Simon–or Ghost as he called him most often– was not somebody you should worry about. He was the somebody others should be worrying about.

It goes a long way to comfort you.

It’s not as though you can really imagine Simon at work, with guns and explosives and knives or whatever else, but it isn’t as though you can look at that beefcake of a man and not picture him doing some real damage, it's the whole reason you’d ran straight for him that first day.

He had a dangerous air to him, even the way Gaz speaks about him at times. It was like he was built specifically for something, but you suppose that was what years of training and hard work and a certain mindset would do to you.

You clock out in the main office, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. You’re tired, it had been a long day, but luckily not a very intense one. Sometimes that was worse, though. At least if you were called in constantly for triage, you had something else to focus on, but today your thoughts had constantly drifted back to him.

You chuck a text out to Gaz, who replies immediately, insisting he had a surprise for you. You sigh a little. You know he must sense your growing worry, he’d been suggesting doing more and more things recently in the hopes of getting your mind sof things, you think. You’d gone mini golfing last friday, which had been fun. Gaz was a good mate, and you think you’d really like to hang out with him again, even after all this was over.

You step out the front doors of the hospital, fiddling with your phone in your hand, but looking up sharply when you spot some movement to your left. You see Gaz first, standing against a guard railing, chatting away, and as your eyes drift to the person next to him, you feel your heart speed up and your face break out into a wide, unabashed smile.

“Simon!” you all but shout, moving your way quickly toward them. You want to throw yourself at him, want to toss your arms around him and squeeze tightly, but to be honest you don’t really know what state he’s in. Simon and Gaz stand up a little straighter, a massive grin on the latter’s face. A surprise indeed.

Simon looks weary, looks tired, and you spot what looks like a stitch in his upper brow. It doesn’t deter you though, you meet him halfway and shuffle your bag awkwardly taking him in.

“Y’look good,” he says simply, and you realise how much you’d missed his voice. You can’t help yourself, you move closer, and pull him in, or, really, pull yourself in, wrapping your arms around what you can of his bulk, and smushing your cheek into his chest.

You’re a little surprised by how quickly he hugs you back, it’s not like this was normal for the two of you, but faster than you thought he might, or at all really, his arms are around you too, tight and firm and you can’t help it when your eyes grow a little wetter.

“I missed you,” you say softly, only loud enough that he would pick it up, and he hums against you.

“You been alright, sweetheart?” he asks. You don’t know when he started with the petnames, you don’t think he used them before he went away, but maybe you just hadn’t noticed before. You pull back.

“I’m good,” you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. Simon’s brow furrows, and he twitches a little before he lifts his own hands, gloved in the cold weather, and uses his thumbs to dry your cheeks.

“No cryin’ love, come on now,” he faux-scolds, ducking down a little even as you nod. “Makin’ me feel bad.”

You smile up at him and he seems to pause for a moment, before his own eyes seem to crinkle slightly.

“You want dinner?” you ask quickly then, not content to have him walk you home and disappear again. “I got out a pork roast this morning,” you go on, looking past him to Gaz, who had conveniently been checking his phone until he hears that.

“Aw, come on LT, first night back and you’re getting a home cooked meal? Can’t say no to that,” Gaz teases. If Simon is bothered by it, he doesn’t say, simply reaches out and takes your backpack from you, and jerks his head in the direction of home.

You’re finishing up with the vegetables, the roast just out of the oven and waiting when he enters. You’d left the boys in the other room, to talk about anything they needed to talk about, and also give Simon a bit of a break, considering from what you’d picked up on, he’d literally come as soon as he’d gotten back earlier this evening.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder as Simon moves about your small kitchen, tossing the two beer bottles in the trash, but he’s looking over at you. He has his mask off, tucked under his chin, but you were still trying not to stare too much. Gaz had wiggled his eyebrows at you already, as if to prove a point you’re pretty sure you already know, but if you had any doubts, they’re sated the moment Simon seems to cautiously step up to you from behind.

Slowly you feel his arms move around your middle, and you do your best not stop what you’re doing in awe. You feel his forehead connect with your shoulder and when nothing seems to immediately push him away, he lets out a long, deep breath.

“M’sorry I wasn’t here,” he says almost too quietly. You smile a little, still taken aback by this second showing of affection in one evening, and stop your food preparation briefly to pat this arm circling your stomach.

“You couldn’t help it,” you tell him. “And Laswell checked back in on me, too.”

He raises his head a little at that.

“She did?” he asks, sounding a little surprised. You nod.

“Mhmn.”

He doesn’t respond to that, simply rests his head back on your shoulder and takes another deep breath.

“Missed you too,” he says then, like an admittance, but you only chortle, placing down your tools now, and gingerly reaching back to cup his cheek. He seems to jump a little at the touch, before he leans into it, and you think if a man could purr, he might just start.

“I know,” you say softly.

“You know?” he asks back, his voice laced with amusement.

“You don’t send an SAS mate round to look after your friend you don’t miss,” you poke at his arm with your other hand, and feel the huff of laughter he lets out against your neck.

“Friend,” he says, and there's something else in his tone, but you can’t pick out what it is.

“We’re not friends?” you ask then, forcing yourself not to twist around in his arms, but you do turn your head, a little breathless when you find him, his full bare face, looking back at you, thoughtful.

“No,” he says slowly, but you don’t panic too much, don’t feel your stomach drop. He still has his arms around you. “I showed you my face, that’s what you said, innit?” he asks back, almost huffily. You pause for a moment, brows furrowing slightly as you try to recall what he’s speaking about. “Said I’d have to show you my face if I wanted…” he trails off.

Your face breaks out into a grin as you remember, and you can't help but laugh, your hand shaking where it cups his cheek and you giggle to yourself.

“Well, new clause to that,” you say between pearls of laughter, brought on even more so when his face falls into a little frown that you raise your hand to smooth out from between his brows, his eyes watching you closely. “You also have to tell me if that’s what you want!”

“That’s what I want,” he says quickly, like he might miss his opportunity if he doesn’t get in fast. You chortle again, and can’t resist the urge to tease him, the full effect of his facial expressions now almost a game to you, to see how he looks when it’s not just his eyes you can see.

“You know we could still just be friends,” you say slyly, tracking as his lips turn downward and his glare returns, muscles in his face fighting against the thumb you’d used to relax them previously.

“No,” he says again, firmly, a growl this time, and you laugh. “The gall of you woman, making me worried to fuck, then tryna just be friends,” he huffs out, standing tall, making your hand drop from his face entirely. His hands move to your hips then, shuffling you around to face him and he stares down at you for a beat.

You’re surprised when he drops his face to yours, his lips pressing quickly against your own, pulling back only briefly before he seems to decide that’s not quite enough and he does it again.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” he tells you roughly, lips brushing your own when he speaks.

“My running partner?” you ask breathlessly. He glares darkly at you, and this time he kisses you firmly, slowly, like he’s getting a taste for you. You can’t help but lean up into it, pressing up on your toes.

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and then one of his hands is leaving your hip, wrapping around the back of your neck where he angles your head slightly to the side. His mouth parts, and you take the opportunity to deepen your kiss, seemingly surprising him somewhat, though you feel his lips curl up into a smile, even as his hand tightens on the back of your neck.

He kisses you like it might make you shut up about this whole ‘platonic’ thing, and when he pulls back at last, hand still holding your head in place, he looks down at you for a moment like he’s searching for something.

“Okay,” you say shakily.

“Okay,” he replies, voice much deeper than it was before. You feel his fingers flex against your neck.

“Okay,” Gaz says, suddenly standing in the doorway to the kitchen, grinning like the cat who got the cream.

“Garrick I will break your other arm,” Simon growls, releasing his hold on you and whipping around. You let out a bark of laughter, your hands coming up to rest on Simon’s shoulders, pushing up on your tiptoes to try and whisper in his ear, but you can’t quite reach.

“If you do that, he’ll have to stay home and hang out with me for longer,” you tell him. Simon turns his head to look back at you, practically pouting. “Set the table please, dinner’s almost ready.”

Gaz stands up straighter, and salutes you with his good arm.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

–

“I’ll drive,” Simon tells the rest of 141, already at the car door, leaving the others to simply complain about it. They’re going for drinks, a ritual that took place one week post mission, every mission, and one Simon did not usually lead the charge on.

Price silently takes the passenger’s seat, ignoring Johnny and Gaz as they fight over who called shotgun first, both of them climbing in the backseat huffily when they notice. Simon almost smiles under his mask, shooting Price an eyeroll the older man waves off with a short chuckle.

“Everyone got your seatbelts on?” Price asks buckling himself in.

“Had it on b’fore I got in the car, wha’with Lt. drivin’ an’ all,” Soap says with a snicker that comes to a short sharp stop when Simon briefly presses down the accelerator, then the brakes, jolting his (un)willing passengers testily.

“Simon,” Price faux-scolds, but when he looks over at the Captain, he’s grinning.

“Alright you trollops, ready?”

The drive out is surprisingly peaceful, despite Simon’s rising anxiety. If anybody notices his nervous tapping finger on the steering wheel at every red light, they don’t say anything. It’s not until he thinks they’ve picked up on the fact he’s driven past the turn off for the pub that the chatter in the backseat calms somewhat, a few more lingering silences between the banter until he comes to a stop outside your place. Simon puts the car in park, and he’s never felt a quiet so pervasive before.

It stays quiet until after he’s left the car, taking the umbrella from the foot well with him. The door slams, and he’s never been glader not to hear the conversation that immediately ensues.

“Where the hells’ he goin’?” Soap snaps like a rubber band, never taking his eyes off of Ghost as he stalks around the car and up onto the sidewalk. “Who’s flat is this?!”

Price watches for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest.

“A woman’s,” he says, doing his best impression of being indifferent, but he can’t quite hide the curiosity and surprise in his voice.

“A bird? Simon doesn’t know any birds!” Soap says, before pausing. “Except the ones we work with,” he adds. The Scot looks between Price and Gaz, before he double takes back at Kyle, and narrows his eyes. “Yer aw’ful shifty,” he says, immediately clocking when Gaz puts up his ‘playing it cool’ front.

“Nah mate, I’m as surprised as you are,” Gaz tells him, almost sounding convincing.

“Wha’ makes you think it’s a woman’s house, Cap?” Johnny asks instead of pressing the Sergeant, though he keeps a side eye on him even as he looks back out at where Ghost has knocked on the door and stands waiting.

“Took the brolly,” Price says with a sigh. “He’s not using it, though. Yet,” he nods toward the scene playing out before them, and Soap’s questions come to an end when the front door opens and you appear, smiling up at Ghost.

His jaw all but drops to the car floor when Ghost appears to actually lean down toward you, you raise a hand, hooking a finger over the top of his black cloth mask and pulling it down. And then you kiss him!

“Fuck off!” Soap exclaims. He looks frantically between Price and Gaz. “Get off!”

No one responds as Ghost puts up the umbrella and holds it over your head as you step out, locking your door, before allowing him to escort you back to the car. Soap almost jumps when the car door opens, and Simon ducks his head into the car.

“Move,” he says shortly. Soap just stares, eyes flickering between you and his Lt. in nothing but agape shock.

You elbow Simon, he catches it without looking.

“Hi, s’nice to meet you,” you say. Soap watches Simon roll his eyes. His mask has been replaced, but Johnny doesn’t need to see his face uncovered to know he’s scowling at him. You peek further into the car, and your already smiling face lights up even more.

“Gaz!” You say happily. Soap whips his head back around to Kyle, expression somewhere between betrayal and shock.

“You knew about this?!”

“Move, Johnny,” Simon growls again, though there's a note of exasperation in his voice more so than anger.

Soap quickly slides over to the middle seat, fumbling for the seatbelt, watching as you look up at Simon with a little frown.

“I should sit in the middle, I’m smaller,” you tell him. Simon’s eyes meet yours and he shakes his head.

“Safer on the sides,” he almost grunts.

“Gee, thanks, Lt.,” Johnny grumbles as you take Simon’s offered hand and climb into the back. He waits for you to buckle yourself in before he closes the door.

“Hi,” you say again in the brief moment you’re alone with 141. Price turns around in his seat, and holds a hand out to you that you shake.

“John Price,” he tells you. “Sorry ‘bout this one,” he nods to Soap, who is still somewhere between bewildered and calming down.

“Sorry,” Johnny tells you quickly, shaking your offered hand, looking at you kindly. “Jus’... didn’t realise Lt. had… you,” he seems to cringe at that. “I’m Soap, or Johnny.” 

You smile brightly and shake your head.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him, taking back your hand. “He warned me you’d be like this.”

Soap blinks.

“He talks about me?”

You ignore him with a smile, leaning around to wave at Gaz.

“How’s your arm doin’, Kyle?” you ask warmly. Gaz scrunches his nose and pouts.

“Be better if I had a nurse like you takin’ care of me,” he tells you cheekily, just as the driver’s door opens again and Simon climbs back in.

“Careful, Garrick,” he says warningly, but there’s no real bite behind his words, amusement more than anything else.

The car starts to move once more, and it isn’t lost on anyone but you that the ride is suddenly much more smooth.

“So, you two know each other?” Soap asks the least obvious question first, nodding between you and Gaz. You smile.

“Gaz kept me company while he was on medical leave,” you tell him.

“Oh,” is all he responds at first, clearly wondering ‘why’.

“Some fucker keeps stalkin’ ‘er in his car,” Simon fills in, surprising you slightly. You’d have figured he’d not tell them anything more than absolutely necessary about your relationship, or you by extension.

It hits you then, that despite his seeming annoyance and gruffness with them, these were probably the people he trusted most in the world. It warms you a little.

“Wha’? And you haven’t killed the bastard yet?” Soap asks, immedieatly chilling the atmosphere in the car by a few degrees. Simon eyes him sharply in the rearview, and you feel the held breath by the others like a taute bungee cord.

You knew in the back of your mind Simon was a dangerous man, that when he went away for work, it wasn’t to sit around on a base simply performing requisite duties. But hearing the confirmation of that fact still somehow gives you pause. But only for a minute.

“Sorry– I didn’t mean–”

“–I wish he would,” you cut Soap’s apology, with a short, nervous little laugh. The mood shifts back then, and from the front seat you hear Price chuckle heartily.

Simon’s eyes swivel to you in the mirror, dancing away back to the road a moment later, and he seems to shift in his seat some.

“Is tha’ permission, then?” he asks with a faux-lightness that informs you you should pick your next words very carefully. You shrug.

“Can you get away with it?” you ask, still keeping your voice jovial. Plausible deniability, you suppose. Next to you, Soap lets out a bark of laughter.

“Aye, you bet yer arse he can,” he tells you, gently nudging you with his elbow. “An’ if he doesn’t get the cunt, I will.”

“Watch your fuckin’ language!” Simon barks, glaring at him in the mirrors. Your laugh is somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. You lean forward to the front seats and smack Simon’s arm.

“You called the guy the exact same thing last night!” You say. “And Johnny was being nice!”

Simon’s head briefly snaps back to you, seemingly betrayed that you outed him, before turning back around and grunting. Soap flashes you a megawatt grin.

–

It’s the Saturday after your drinks with Simon’s team, and you’re cleaning up after lunch when you hear your front door open, then close heavily. Despite all circumstances, you aren’t overly worried, you recognise the sound of his heavy footfalls, and the clank of his keys as he drops them in the bowl by the front door.

“Simon?” you ask anyway, moving around the doorway of the kitchen, surprised to find him right there, and even more surprised when he cups your face in both his hands and kisses full and deep half a second later.

When he lets you up for air, you almost gasp with how fervently he coups you up against the kitchen counter, backing you into it quickly.

“S’dealt with,” he says simply, kissing you again. You frown some, confused, and you pull back ever so slightly.

“W–What?” you ask, still a little breathless. Simon looks down at you. His mask is crumpled up, hanging from one ear, and you recognise the slightly wild look in his eye. It was the same as when he’d come back from his last mission. You hadn’t noticed it then, not used to seeing him a little riled up, a little adrenalised, but you reconise it now.

“Stalker. S’dealt with,” he says, his hands on your face holding you just a little tighter, like through touch alone he can convey what he means. For a moment a slightly sick feeling fills your stomach, and you pull away.

“Simon, stop,” you say quickly, placing a hand onh his chest when he all but reels back from you. Your gesture calms his almost panic now, and you curl your fingers into the front of his shirt so he knows not to go far. You scrunch your eyes closed, and take a few deep breaths.

“I–” your voice fails you at first, and you feel his hands move to rest on your shoulder and your waist supportively. You swallow. “I don’t want to know,” you tell him at last, eyes still shut and shaking your head.

When you open them at last, he’s looking down at you guiltily, though you sense no remorse for what he may or may not have done. You shake your head and use the hand in his shirt to pull him nearer once more, tucking yourself against his chest, and wrapping your arms around his back. You close your eyes again and take in another deep, shuddering breath.

“I don’t want to know,” you say again, feeling his arms wrap almost hesitantly around you. One of his hands cups the back of your head, safely, securely, and he strokes it once, twice, before he simply holds it. You feel him swallow.

“M’sorry–”

“–Don’t be,” you cut him off quickly, tightening your arms around him, latching onto his shirt at the back, over where the muscles in his shoulders jut out. “Don’t be sorry, thank you.”

Your voice gains a slightly weepy edge, and he adjusts you, moves so it’s him with his back to the counter, and you all but fall against him, his fingers on the back of your head gripping ever so slightly tighter, but it's comforting. And then you start crying, full, heavy with relief, and you keep crying until all the stress has worked itself out of you.

–

It takes you a while, but you start jogging again. Simon joins you of course, and you find yourself inordinately pleased on the mornings he brings Gaz or Soap (or both) along with him.you start frequenting Ed’s coffee shop until he knows you by name, make it a well trodden spot during the weeks or months when Simon is away.

Life returns to normal.

In some ways at least.

Simon moves in with you when his lease is up, half his time spent with you at your home anyway, it feels natural for him to be there the other half now too. Gaz’s own end of lease, and some jerking around on the part of his new place’s owner see him staying in your spare bedroom for a few weeks before he finally sorts out his own flat, not that it would end up mattering, with both men getting called away two weeks later. They’re gone for three months, in which time you help Collect the keys of his new apartment, and help him move some of his stuff in, a favour he’s all too thankful for when he returns.

You meet Kate, you go for drinks with the boys, and a few years later, you find yourself with a ring on your finger and a tiny little baby girl that loves her daddy and her uncles so much she ceases crying the moment one of them picks her up.

You don't, however, ever see the blue car again.

[kxsagi]

hihii can i req reader that is like academically smart but is also very naive at the same time?? reader would probably fall for the most obvious clickbait or something feel free to do with any bllk characters (especially sae 💋💋) thank youu but also feel free to ignore this if you don't want it

“𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦”

a/n: i read rage bait instead of click bait after writing everything, but decided to keep it since it’s still fitting 😭

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

isagi yoichi

“you’re literally smarter than me, so why are you fighting with an anime profile picture?” 

you’re writing a full essay in the comments under a rage bait post that says “math is fake and only lazy people like numbers.” 

“love. they want you to argue. that’s the whole point. it’s bait.” 

you, while typing aggressively: “it’s the principle.” 

isagi literally has to pry the phone out of your hands. 

“they’re trolling. why are you citing academic sources in a thread about flat earth?” 

alternates between being impressed and deeply concerned. 

“you’re so smart it’s scary. and yet, you just fell for a post that said ‘gravity is a scam made by the big ladder.’” 

will still throw slurs under his fake account at anyone that tries to come after you. 

itoshi rin

“get off the internet. log off. i’m blocking you from twitter.” 

you: reading a post that says “the mitochondria isn’t real.” 

also you: seeing red. 

he watches you scroll past rage bait like, “no... don't take the bait... dammit.” 

“you know better. you literally know better.” 

gets mad with you but refuses to engage. 

he’s just staring at you spiraling over a troll who said “logic is fake” and muttering, “wtf is wrong with this generation.” 

turns off your wifi like a concerned parent. 

“you’re not arguing with someone named @cattboysupreme69. go read a book.” 

kaiser michael

“you’re falling for rage bait again, huh? i love this dumb little hobby of yours.” 

finds it hilarious that you get so fired up over random garbage takes. 

literally records you pacing and ranting about how “emotions are valid sources of decision making, actually.” 

“schatz, you’re a valedictorian. why are you beefing with someone who said ‘plants don’t have feelings so vegans are evil’?” 

fully encourages it for fun. 

“no, no, quote them. let’s go viral.” 

brags to his teammates like, “my girl’s a genius and also beefing with half of conspiracy tik tok. goals.” 

secretly reports every troll you argue with behind the scenes. he’s protective in a petty, passive-aggressive way. 

itoshi sae

“this is why i hate people. and also why you shouldn’t be online unsupervised.” 

you fell into a rage trap that said “women don’t belong in STEM.” 

sae, watching you rage-type a dissertation just said, “block them and move on.” 

you: “no. they need to be educated.” 

he takes your phone. 

“they don’t. they have 12 followers and use comic sans unironically.” 

quietly annoyed but impressed that you always come with facts. 

lowkey reads your arguments later and thinks, “damn. my girl snapped.” 

would absolutely start threatening people if they get too bold with you. 

“she might be arguing like it’s a thesis defense, but if any of you make her cry, i’m breaking your nose.” 

shidou ryusei

“babe, you’re smart as hell, but you’re also fighting with rage bait like it personally insulted your dog.” 

thinks it’s hilarious. 

“they said books are just dead trees. you really gonna let that slide?” 

you: frothing with rage “i will not let that slide.” 

shidou: eating popcorn and hyping you up “go off, professor! educate their ass!” 

he will 100% jump in and start trolling with you. 

“yo, babe, say something about their spelling. that always pisses ‘em off.” 

gives you an award when you get someone to delete their comment. 

“queen behavior. love that for you.” 

nagi seishiro

“can we not. like ever. please.” 

the most done every time you scream: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SUN ISN’T A STAR AND IT’S A PLANET?!” 

he just wants to play games, not watch you get into a 14-comment back-and-forth with a dude named @trumpfan420. 

“you’re literally a genius. why are you arguing with people who think australia doesn’t exist?” 

lies on your lap and sighs dramatically. 

“you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mad.” 

secretly proud of how well you school people, though. 

once tried to help you argue but got bored after one sentence. 

“i told them ‘L’ and left.” 

mikage reo

“you’re academically brilliant. and also very online. it’s like watching an intellectual gladiator fight trolls.” 

every time he hears “REO. THEY SAID SHAKESPEARE WAS MID.” he already knows what’s happening. 

you’re pacing around the house, typing furiously, quoting sonnets and throwing in stats. 

“you’re smarter than the entire room but still letting a 14-year-old with a controversial hot take ruin your night.” 

he makes tea and sits beside you while you rage. 

“need a bibliography link, baby?” 

lowkey brags to others: “yeah my girl just flamed a whole subreddit with APA formatting.” 

you’re his little chaos genius and he loves it. 

“you’re going to be a nobel prize winner and twitter’s most feared debater at the same time.” 

karasu tabito

“you’re out here fighting for your life against rage bait and i’m living for it.” 

watches you with popcorn like it’s live TV. 

“ohhh here they go. someone said philosophy is just overpriced poetry. let’s gooo.” 

he fully instigates sometimes. 

“babe, someone said gravity isn’t real. thoughts?” 

you start ranting, and he just grins like an agent of chaos. 

“why are you like this?” 

“why are you like this?” 

says he’ll block the trolls for you. ends up ratioing them with memes instead. 

y’all are the duo that trolls the trolls and then drops a full essay for fun. 

if anyone dares say “women can’t argue,” karasu just goes, “you sure about that?” and lets you annihilate them in 5k characters. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[chereid]

೯⁺ 𖥻 𝓨𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗜𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 ! ᰋ

ꨄ︎ 𝒫 airing : : 𝒮pencer reid x female!bau!nonverbal!reader

ꨄ︎ 𝒮 ynopsis : : being nonverbal has it's difficulties. you speak with your hands━━SPENCER REID learned them by heart.

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ontents : : nonverbal!reader. reader knows sign language. asl. spencer learns asl. fluff. mutual pining. rossi knows sign language. the reason why reader is nonverbal,, past trauma( the team knows but won't be talked about ). light smut. reader being the one rambling( using sign language ) and spencer focusing on you and your hands alone. teasing from the team. the team didn't know about your relationship for a while(aside from rossi). grammatical errors. ooc.

ꨄ︎ 𝓦ord count : : 1.7k

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ase file shelf.

ꨄ︎ 𝒲hispers of viana : : OKAY. i made this a week ago. also,, this idea popped up after reading,, this by @/mggslover !,, gained the motivation to write it because of a boy my age who is nonverbal !! met him at the hospital && he was sososo sweet. i couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me😭😭 i made him type on my notes,, he didn't seem bothered by it,, so it's okay... ishm I FORGOT TO ASK FOR HIS SOCIALS IM GONNA KMS. also! i mentioned i met the guy at the hospital ,, yeah,, still haven't recovered.. SO THIS WON'T BE GOOD-GOOD I'M SORRY💔 also i still don't know sign language so indented = sign language. i made rossi know asl,, bc yay why not,,, contains too many breaks because i acc do nawt know anything ab sign language but,, wanted to write thistgisthis. and for the last time . I AM MINORLYATFAULT DAMMIT

the first time SPENCER REID laid eyes on you, you were signing with rossi. it was quick, neat, rehearsed. the others were slightly confused, derek arching a brow, jj tilting her head, emily sort of just standing there with a strangely amused expression. but reid? reid was focused. like laser beam concentrated. he was already trying to recall what you had just signed.

rossi had patted your shoulder and left, but you remained standing in the center of the briefing room, notebook held in front of you like a shield.

"she's nonverbal," garcia had whispered afterward, when she added, "not mute, though. trauma-related, i believe. i overheard that from strauss once. she can talk, just. doesn't. or won't."

it didn't make him pity you. he just considered how you spoke. how calculated it was. how careful you had to be, how you hacked out understanding in silence. he thought that was sort of beautiful. he thought it was absolutely beautiful.

so naturally he began learning asl. and not the watered down kind. complete, perfect grammar, complete complications, practiced every night( he read eight different asl books and read each of them three times). he didn't want to ask you to adjust for him. he wanted to be able to meet you where you were.

he began small.

hi.

and your eyes had widened a bit, guarded. but you signed back,

hi, spencer.

and that was the start.

over time, your conversations increased. it became kinda a secret language between you two( if you take rossi out of the picture ). sometimes in the car on stakeouts, he'd ask you questions just to see the way you signed. like the way you'd talk about the stars or the way the wind blew that day. usually it's him who rambles. but he can't help it. and you'd always get a little smile when you saw him staring at your hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the universe.

the team saw something, but not everything. you always signed to them, usually to rossi, but gradually more and more to spencer. and yeah, reid signed back, but they just thought he was being nice. helpful. because he was like that. always happy to learn a new language. especially so he could converse with a friend. and don't take it the wrong way, they're learning. trying. but they aren't spencer reid who could finish reading 20,000 words per minute.

rossi was the one who glanced at you both with that knowing look.

"pretty sure he's in love with you, kid" he told you one morning, dryly, as he was making coffee. you blinked at him. signed,,

how do you know?

he smiled. "because he stares at you the same way emily stares at tequila."

... don't you mean you? you wanted to state, but restrained yourself.

the teasing came later.

morgan began it all. "pretty boy's got himself a signing buddy,"( more like you got yourself a signing buddy. ) he teased one morning. "y'all look like you're passing notes in class."

reid blushed so red it was really alarming.

you just rolled your eyes and waved your fingers:

jealous you can't keep up?

"i━━ okay, okay, she got me. i'm out."

everyone laughed( he couldn't even understand half of what you signed ). except rossi, who sipped his coffee like he was privy to some information they were not.

reid was quiet that entire day. and the next.

of course, he'd eventually snap.

he saw you in the break room, empty. where you typically retreated to escape the commotion. he seemed nervous. restless. hands quivering slightly as if he couldn't help but keep them moving.

can i talk to you?

you nodded, clearing a space beside you. he sat down across from you. deep breath.

i like you. i like you a lot. i think about you constantly and not just in a friendly way. in a.more-than-that way.

he winced a little, as if preparing himself for rejection.

you blinked. heart pounding. giddy. and then slowly, you signed,

me too. i like you, spencer. but. let's keep it private? work is still work.

his entire face beamed. "yes! yes, of course. absolutely. private. secret. top secret. agent-level secret."

you smiled. just a little gasp. no sound, but he could see it in your eyes.

he was already lovesick-looking.

oh, and dating spencer reid was like falling into poetry. he signed you good mornings, good afternoons, and good evenings. he annotated books for you with both little notes and signs he wanted to show you. he kissed your hands sometimes like they were the whole language he adored.

no one knew. or at least, they didn't know know. you were always signing regardless. sometimes you'd touch your fingers against his wrist and jj would just smile, thinking nothing of it. morgan was too busy making noise. hotch, well.. hotch. garcia kept shipping you with literally everyone( mostly spencer ).

the one and only rossi raised an eyebrow whenever reid would look at you for just a fraction too long.

"still think i was wrong?" he whispered one afternoon, walking past you in the corridor.

no. definitely not. but you didn't sign.

"so," rossi asked a week later at the round table, not even glancing up from his file. "you two finished sneaking around yet?"

you and spencer both stiffened.

morgan choked on his coffee. "wait, what?"

"they've been dating. for weeks now. maybe months. i don't know. you all are blind."

emily looked at you with big eyes. "what?"

you just signed,

hi.

spencer coughed. blushed. again.

"man," derek complained. "i knew something was up."

"no, you didn't," garcia chastised. "rossi knew. he always knows."

rossi just smiled, smug. "i read fast."

it was raining the night it happened. spencer had volunteered to drive you home from the jet. everyone else had already separated.

he came up with some reason to come in. books he borrowed? something along those lines( silly of him, you both just left the jet, what books ?).

the moment the door closed after him, he turned to you.

"can i kiss you?"

you nodded. a little too quickly. too eagerly.

and it was soft. soft. but also desperate. like he'd been waiting for years. your hands in his hair, and his arms tight around your waist like he couldn't believe you were real.

you took him to the couch. didn't need to utter a word. he trailed, kissing you once more like a habit. his fingers traced your jaw, your neck, down your back. your hands signed between kisses,

you're so warm.

he grinned against your mouth. "you're perfect."

it became hotter. clothes were not completely vanished but they were. relocated. his lips on your neck. your legs. your belly. and you ━━ you couldn't keep it in.

the moaned. escaped before you could shut them up. breathy, soft, but oh so there.

spencer stopped. eyes wide open. he stared up at you. you freaked out.

i'm sorry.

you signed, panicking.

"don't be," he breathed. "god, don't be. that was the most gorgeous sound i've ever heard."

and then he kissed you again, slow and once again, desperate.

you allowed him to hold you afterward. his hand beneath your shirt was warm but never inched any lower, as if he was scared of rushing you. and perhaps that's why your body trusted him.

perhaps that's why when he asked ━━ with a gentle brush of his lips against your jaw, eyes asking permission more than anything ━━ if he could kiss you again, you let him.

and it was messier this time. not the hesitant type, not the uncertain type. it was desperate, much longed for. his fingers buried in your hair, and yours gripping the nape of his neck, thumb tracing behind his ear. and the way he kissed, god, he kissed as if he was committing every curve your lips held to memory.

his glasses misted, but he didn't mind. you smiled during the kiss, teeth clashing once as he attempted to smile in return. you signed against his chest ━━ adorable. ( adorable. adorable. adorable. ) he only smiled harder.

"you're unfair," he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of your mouth. "you know what you do to me?"

tell me.

he leaned in to kiss you again. slower, softer.

"you ruin me."

in a good way?

"the best way."

somehow, you found yourself lying back on the couch. your fingers intertwined in his shirt and his weight resting carefully over you. you buried your face in his neck and kissed there. slow, soft.

he grunted ━━ not even ━━ but you felt it more than you heard it. you kissed beneath his jaw. again. again. again. you did not say a word but you were loud in other ways. he let you feel safe enough to be loud.

he whispered something akin to "jesus, you're perfect" against your cheek, and it curled your toes. his hand remained at your waist, and your leg touched his. you moved ━━ wanting more, not all, just more.

he drew back only to ask, "are you sure?"

you nodded. signed ,

yes. please.

his lips slammed against yours again.

it was still soft, but different now. a little deeper. teeth brushing, tongue dancing. he didn't force. he let you welcome him. and you did. you drew him in again and again. he kissed you like a man who'd waited months., because he had.

he kissed you until your chest was heaving and your body was warmer than ever.

and when you moved again, thighs touching more, his hand crept up to cradle your cheek.

"we can stop whenever," he vowed. breathless. hopeful.

i don't want to.

he kissed your fingertips for that. soft, reverent. then your knuckles. your wrist. your pulse.

when he finally drew back, both of you were flushed and swollen-lipped. you let out a soft giggle.

so. dating?

he blinked. then laughed. his laugh is also adorable. head thrown back, nose scrunched.

"yes. very, very much dating."

cool.

you attempted to look and act cool, too, but your smile was way too wide.

"cool," he repeated.

the following week at the office, nothing changed. to everyone else.

to rossi, you noticed the smirk you received from him across the conference room table.

to reid, you signed,

missed you.

while getting coffee.

he clenched his lip to keep from grinning. signed back,

me more.

morgan cocked an eyebrow from the hallway. "you two ever gonna share the inside joke or what?"

"nope," reid replied, taking a swallow and not looking at anyone.

never.

but when he strode past your desk, he touched your hand. and you looked at him like he hung the stars.

and yeah, you were still quiet.

but with him, you never had to be quiet.

© reidscherrygirl

[snoopyhq]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ i want your drama, the touch of your hand

type: viktor x reader

summary: making up with viktor after a particulatly nasty fight

warning(s): suggestive/borderline nsfw content after the red line divider !!!

word count: 1320

a/n: literally had this thought occur to me while i was boxing at my job yesterday and bad romance came on shuffle on my phone, MAN... the original version but also think the moulin rouge "backstage romance" version MWAH

Hour two, still no talking. The atmosphere within the apartment was heavy with unspoken resentment and hurt. Both of you had woken up in particularly bad moods, and it seemed that being in each others' presence simply amplified that.

Every little thing he did 'wrong' was ticking you off, and everything you said that was slightly unpredicted or off in tone would set him off, and it finally boiled over during dinner.

"I don't like lemon zest. I thought you knew that," he commented. He twirled a strand of the linguini through the fork, pushing the food around on the plate. In that moment, he looked like a petulant, petty brat, and it took all your strength not to reach across the table and slap it out of his hand.

"Maybe speak up next time. Or better yet, you could cook for a change then, since you seem to always have a smart remark about it!"

Viktor set down his fork. The lines between his brows furrowed.

"Don't speak to me that way please," he said, meeting your gaze. "I understand you may be frustrated, but I was just stating my preference. Something I thought you would know, since we do live and spend much of our time together, do we not?"

Anything else he may have said after the first statement didn't matter. You were already in an angry mood, and very much did not appreciate being told how to act.

"Don't police my fucking tone, Viktor. I'll speak however I want to dammit!"

He said nothing, picked up his fork again, and ate the rest of his meal in silence. The wall was slowly rising between the two of you once more. Viktor didn't wait for you to finish your food. He took his dishes, stood up, and walked off, the sound of his cane tapping against the tiles echoing too loudly in the space. You did your own dishes that night, and he did his.

Now there was a warmth lacking, even as the mattress dipped and sighed with every toss and turn. You were doing your best to keep your back to the other. It hurt, but your prides were nearly as sharp as your minds.

One of you had to break. You didn't want it to be you.

The loud banging noise from your upstairs neighbor finally did something.

"Goddammit, that idiot dropped something again," you complained.

"Someone please ban him from buying anymore hideous garden statues. That balcony is straight out of a post-apocalyptic nightmare," Viktor agreed.

You snorted, and quickly tried to cover it by clearing your throat.

"Am I only useful when I'm entertaining you?" he asked softly.

"Shut up. You know that's not true," you finally turned to face him.

"Then..."

"Viktor, I swear."

"That denial implies you care for me. Please, show and not just tell me," he requested sweetly.

"Oh yeah? Show you how, exactly?"

"I'm cold. I miss your warmth. You are cruel when you take away my routinely expectations."

"Fine. Come here," you finally reached out, and clasped his hand in yours.

This wasn't going to completely fix all the underlying emotional distress you were both dealing with, and it certainly wasn't going to fully rid what had transpired. But it was a start, made all the more worth it when he closed the gap, arms already wrapping around you tightly.

"I hate it when we fight," he whispered.

"Me too. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you."

"I'm sorry too. I should not have nitpicked so much, and I should have realized policing your tone wasn't going to make things go well."

NSFW AHEAD !!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!! MINORS DNI PLS !!!

Viktor gasped, the sound breathy as it fell from his beautiful lips, now slightly swollen from how much you'd kissed and nipped at them. Your hands were in his hair, and you delighted in his reactions with every sharp tug. His amber eyes were dark. They gazed up into yours, practically begging for more more more.

You were happy to indulge.

"Tilt your head back a bit more for me," you rasped in his ear, pushing him back against the pillows. He complied easily.

"Please...," he groaned.

You pressed another kiss to his pulse point. It was one of his more sensitive area, and wasn’t helped when you followed it up with more kisses on his beauty marks.

He sighed.

“You always kiss me like you’re discovering oxygen for the first time again.”

"Because you always take my breath away." You murmured in response. You knew he was going to tell you off for such a stupidly predictable statement, and he did. You shrugged and kept kissing him again and again, silencing any more protests he had with your choice of words.

He nipped at your lower lip, enjoying the small little hiss you let out. He loved that. It never grew old.

His lips left yours, reluctantly, but moved on to your flushed cheeks and down your jaw. Viktor’s hands began gently trailing down your body, tracing and touching and feeling, committing you to memory. Everything about you was perfect, and he was in awe of it all.

As if to translate his thoughts through touch, he squeezed your thighs. He especially had a thing for them, always had. It was like they were made for him to hold.

“You’re so touchy already, Viktor? Insatiable,” you teased.

"But you love it when I can’t keep my hands to myself. You can't lie to me about that,” he cooed in a soft, lilting tone. His fingers traced along your thighs again, digging into the soft flesh.

“Yeah, yeah. enjoy that smug look while you still can,” you grumbled, not denying his words.

You suddenly lunged at him, kissing a trail down his body, giggling to yourself at his surprised yelp.

"Hey!" he laughed breathlessly, his stomach doing somersaults as you kissed along his body. His eyes fluttered closed as he felt your lips press to his skin. He loved when you did this, especially when you would leave soft little marks on his hips.

And speaking of that. You were currently working away at his hips now, trying to hold back the urge to just sink your teeth into him.

He couldn't stop the soft sighs and moans that escaped him. Gods, the touch of your lips on his delicate skin was sending shivers throughout his body.

"You don't have to be ah… gentle all the time." he murmured breathlessly, his fingers now the ones tangled in your hair.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Just bite me already, coward," he demanded.

He liked when you were a bit more rough with him. In fact, he preferred it. You not treating him like he was fragile. It made him feel better than being treated like a priceless doll, hidden away behind locked glass.

“Fuck, finally.” With his permission explicitly given, you finally sink your teeth down into him.

He let out a sharp moan, his hips rolling up a bit automatically.

"Keep going, please." he whispered. “Keep proving to me you’ll keep me warm for the rest of our days.”

You looked up at him, so wonderfully vulnerable and so violently true. His emotions were etched onto every angle of his face. Viktor was never once to mince words when it came to acts of passion, and you were fully reminded of exactly why you adored him so.

“I will. You’re forgiven,” you smiled. “Consider this worship my apology to you, and your acceptance, yours to me.”

You slowly pushed his legs apart, practically aching with the reverence and love and affection you felt for him. You could feel his breath hitch as yours ghosted over his inner thighs.

If this was how you two were to make up after a fight, maybe you should engage in conflict more often, you mused to yourself. It was going to be a slow, feverish night.

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan's status as a body-snatching entity is revealed before the Immortal Alliance Conference can happen.

Maybe the system suffers a glitch while some unforeseen side quest is active, and suddenly Shen Yuan's status is revealed and some of the other peak lords he's with seize the opportunity to exorcise his spirit and put Shen Jiu back in his place.

Shen Yuan has mixed feelings about this development, needless to say. On the one hand, it's kind of not actually that bad? He got caught out like a week away from the IAC and the necessary Abyss plotline, so at least like this, he's managed to give Luo Binghe a slightly better time on Qing Jing for the past few years and equip him more capably to survive the Abyss, but he also doesn't have to personally throw him down there. That's the silver lining.

On the other hand, everything else about this situation sucks! He got attached to his life as Shen Qingqiu, dammit! And now he's been revealed and branded as some kind of horrible demonic spirit thing, and he was rather painfully expelled (even though he wasn't even there willingly in the first place), and so he's been reduced to some a kind of sparkly ghost light hovering on the fringes of existence, highly susceptible to being harmed if any more righteous cultivators get it in their heads to disperse him!

Which is better than just being catapulted back into his rotting corpse in the other world, but not by as big of a margin as he'd like.

Basically, in terms of his ability to influence the world Shen Yuan has been downgraded back to "read only" status. He finds that he can manifest himself in places that he's already been, or around people he has a particular affinity towards, but they can't perceive him and he can't communicate or even do much more than some minor poltergeist type activity. Which he is cautious about anyway, because if he gets caught around Shen Jiu, Shen Jiu is going to disperse him with extra prejudice.

Unfortunately, nearly everything Shen Yuan cares about is in Shen Jiu's orbit.

So he can only watch, metaphorically gritting his teeth as the newly-restored Shen Qingqiu kicks Luo Binghe out of the bamboo house, burns all the bridges that Shen Yuan painstakingly rebuilt for him, refuses point blank to let Liu Qingge help with Without-a-Cure, resumes and even begins taking more frequent trips to the nearest brothels, and neglects his duties to turn into a paranoid wreck as if he half-expects Shen Yuan to steal his body back from him the next time he lets his guard down. Corporal punishment spikes back up on Qing Jing Peak.

Shen Yuan is surprised to hear the whispers of dissent, even so. A spirit possessing a righteous cultivator is a pretty damning incident, and there's no way that he could come out of it smelling like roses. And yet, even though his -- Shen Qingqiu's disciples know enough to be circumspect about saying anything of the sort, there are still murmurs and rumblings about how things used to run, not too long ago.

Ming Fan quiets any such talk as soon as he hears it. Ning Yingying scarcely seems to know how to respond to the situation, except to sometimes plaintively insist that she hadn't even noticed much change between Shen Qingqiu's at all. But Luo Binghe...

Well.

Whenever there are mutterings, it often seems as though Binghe is there. Nodding. Whispering. Carefully putting forth suggestions that others barely seem to recognize as suggestions. Shen Yuan only notices because he knows what Binghe's capable of when he decides to be manipulative, and even he finds himself wondering if it's not just a coincidence, something he's imagining, because Luo Binghe hasn't even blackened through his Abyss arc yet.

Even so, there he is, musing carefully on how strange it was that he's heard that Hong Jing hadn't identified any untoward presence in Shen Qingqiu before, how Shizun had never done anything bad to the peak despite all the claims that he'd supposedly been possessed by a malicious entity for years, and wasn't this new Shen Qingqiu acting much more suspicious? Much more malicious? Isn't is the new Shizun who jumps at shadows and talks to people who aren't there, and seems so uneasy in his own skin?

If one had to guess which version was an unstable monster possessing a human's body, and which was the righteous and noble peak lord... ah, well. It's just surprising, isn't it? Luo Binghe would of course never suggest that this new Shen Qingqiu was in actuality the being that had stolen someone else's place. He's surely never second guess the judgment of the peak lords, who claim to have let an interloper among them for YEARS in total ignorance. It's just something to think about.

Alas for Binghe, though a lot of the peak seems inclined to agree with him, he can't win over enough to inspire anything worse than discontent. The "new" Shen Qingqiu does behave a lot more like the one that most of the Qing Jing knew prior to his qi deviation, after all, and it's no mystery why Luo Binghe -- spurned former favorite, now back to being at the bottom of the pecking order -- would be unhappy with the change. Shen Yuan appreciates that this is at least doing a good job of setting up Luo Binghe's altered opinion on his shizun, and he's touched that he made a good enough impression for Binghe to be mad about the sudden regression, but he wishes he could tell Binghe that there's simply nothing to be done about it. That is the real Shen Qingqiu, and Binghe ought to concern himself more with the upcoming conference!

At least, despite being kicked out of the bamboo house, Luo Binghe managed to farm enough good opinion with some of the other disciples during his tenure as Favorite that he doesn't go back to sleeping in the woodshed. Without Shen Qingqiu expressly demanding it, no one would dare, just in case Luo Binghe might regain his status one day. There seems to be an awareness that "evil" Shizun would have made them run laps, but "good" Shizun would now probably whip them half to death in a fit of temper. No one wants to take chances.

Finally, the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around. Shen Yuan can only watch and cheer Binghe on as best as he's able to, even knowing the probable outcome. And Binghe does so well! He fights bravely but also smartly. When Shen Qingqiu arrives, Binghe doesn't lose an ounce of his caution, though he does still nobly defend his master even though the good feelings between them have dried up. He correctly identifies Without-a-Cure's flare up and silently helps compensate for Shen Jiu's weakness, and sticks by him even though the Original Goods is hardly appreciative.

When the Abyss opens up, and Luo Binghe's demonic seal is broken, Shen Qingqiu seems almost relieved to have this information brought to light. He accuses Luo Binghe not only of orchestrating the invasion of demons at the conference, but of arranging fro Shen Jiu to be replaced too.

"Of course, for a demon like you, summoning some wicked force into this master's body would be easy!" he spits.

Luo Binghe looks bowled over by the accusation. But rather than defending himself, he latches onto it as if it might be some kind of lifeline.

"For a demon like this one... it would be possible?" he echoes.

Shen Jiu hurls more accusations. Of course it is. Luo Binghe is not just any demon, but the most powerful, dangerous, and destructive sort there is. Little is beyond the scope of a Heavenly Demon's power, or wretchedness. Luo Binghe must have uncovered his heritage and seen a convenient means of ridding himself of an inconvenient master. Wherever that horrid spirit is now, it's probably just waiting for the next chance to leap back in at Luo Binghe's call!

"Shizun's spirit... that spirit from before, it still exists?" Luo Binghe catches.

"As if you don't know. Beast. Even the sect leader could not destroy your minion completely," Shen Jiu sneers.

"And it would be within my abilities to put it back in your body. Instead of you."

"You won't get the chance."

Shen Jiu stabs Luo Binghe before throwing him into the Abyss. Binghe fights back, but he seems reluctant to injure his shizun, even now.

Shen Yuan supposes that such reluctance won't survive the Abyss. Still, it's emotional for him. That such a little kindness could cause Luo Binghe to hesitate, even at this point, it really speaks to the resilience of hope in Binghe's heart.

Shen Yuan's little ghost light almost follows him down. But the Abyss would be too dangerous for him, even as he is now. He'd be a little mote of spiritual energy, easily gobbled up by any number of creatures in that place, if he wasn't just swept up by the chaotic ambient energies themselves. So he can only stay behind and think some very colorful swear words in Shen Jiu's general direction, until the rift closes and leaves no trace of Luo Binghe behind, except for the shards of Zheng Yang.

The shards are left behind. Shen Yuan finds that he has a little bit of spiritual storage space. Just enough to maybe fit all of them, so he goes and painstakingly uses his limited powers to lift up each piece and drop it in. It takes him hours and hours, but luckily the clean-up of the whole disaster is something that will take months. No one seems inclined to go reclaim Luo Binghe's shattered blade or risk getting too close to the remnants of the rift, even closed. So, Shen Yuan manages.

The next few years prove difficult. Shen Yuan finds that it's hard to retain his presence in the world. His little spirit has dampened considerably, and few things seem to perk him back up. He has more troubles following anyone who isn't Shen Jiu now that Binghe is in the Abyss, and Shen Jiu is depressing as hell to spend time around. He's rotten with kids, sucks at teaching, he has no friends, his health is deteriorating, and Shen Yuan has no interest in seeing what he gets up to in the brothels.

But Binghe is definitely coming back, and Shen Yuan wants to see him again.

His patience is rewarded the first time he finds his consciousness drifting, only to snap back to awareness in a place that's not Qing Jing Peak. He instead finds that he's in an unfamiliar patch of wilderness along a river, watching as Luo Binghe fights a small pack of demonic beasts.

It's definitely not the Endless Abyss. Has it been five years already...? Shen Yuan hadn't thought so, but then again, he's not the best at keeping track of time in this state.

Luo Binghe defeats the beasts, but they land more hits and wound him worse than Shen Yuan would have anticipated. The wounds aren't healing as quick as they should either. Was Binghe poisoned? Or is this a remnant of Shen Yuan's own poor teaching, the clumsiness in sword practice he never totally managed to correct leading somehow to this?

He gets it when Qin Wanyue and several other Huan Hua cultivators show up, however, and Luo Binghe manages to play the righteous cultivator who just survived a harrowing battle role to the hilt. It takes him very little effort to get the Huan Hua disciples to take him back with them and help "patch him up", and soon enough Shen Yuan has front row seats to watch as Binghe ingratiates himself with the sect.

Mostly, Shen Yuan is just relieved to confirm that Binghe did indeed survive, and glad that he's out of the horrible Abyss and in a place where he can rest and eat decent meals and be fawned over by his well-deserved admirers. Though Luo Binghe seems colder even than Shen Yuan expected, especially in some places where a bit of charm would serve him better. He declines outright to address the Palace Master as "shizun", even though he accepts the offer to stay as a guest disciple at Huan Hua Palace, and he is abrupt and aloof towards both Qin Wanyue and the Little Palace Mistress, despite their obvious interest in him.

Binghe doesn't seem to sleep as soundly as he should either. At night he often brings out a dream stone, which Shen Yuan recognizes as an amplification tool from the novel, but it seems that whatever Binghe is trying to search for with it is beyond his reach. Sometimes Shen Yuan imagines he can hear his disciple's voice calling Shizun at night. But always, Binghe is asleep, and there's no one in Huan Hua Palace he has deigned to address like that anyway. It's a trick of his own imagination, missing the days when Luo Binghe could call out and he himself could answer.

Things go mostly according to the plot, with a few disruptions here and there. Luo Binghe seems to be lagging behind on the romantic subplots, but rushing ahead on the vendetta against his old teacher. The Trial of Shen Qingqiu takes place at Jinlan City, with demon instigators who work for Luo Binghe accusing the peak lord of colluding with demons and setting him up to seem like he was involved in the sower attack. Shen Yuan knows, from watching Binghe, that the sower thing was mostly taking advantage of an existing situation to frame Shen Qingqiu. Binghe himself didn't have anything to do with Jinlan's suffering, but is obviously not above using it to his advantage.

Combined with Qiu Haitang's testimony, Shen Qingqiu is arrested and locked up where Luo Binghe can torture and dismember him at will.

However, Binghe... doesn't do that?

Instead he swiftly relocates Shen Qingqiu to a prison in the demon realms, and seems to abandon his concerns with Huan Hua Palace and the righteous cultivation sects altogether. He just leaves them to fight it out amongst themselves, as if he's got no concern with who comes out on top, and in the meanwhile he keeps Shen Qingqiu locked up but surprisingly well-treated?

Despite Shen Qingqiu's obvious terror and vitriol towards him, Luo Binghe forces him to eat nutritious meals, and attends to his health problems, and makes no move to injure him at all. He has nothing good to say to Shen Jiu, but he doesn't hurt him. Yet there is something distinctly weird about the whole dynamic, not at all like someone who has decided to keep a prisoner under ethical conditions for moral reasons or something like that.

Shen Yuan's not sure what to make of it.

In the end, Shen Jiu himself illuminates the situation.

It happens after Shen Jiu has rejected food. Luo Binghe tuts and asks if Shen Jiu suspects it would be poisoned. Shen Jiu sneers at him.

"I know it isn't," he says. "You wouldn't poison this body. I know what you're after."

"Oh? Wise Master Shen figured out this much?" Binghe replies, dry as the fucking desert.

"You're keeping me in this condition because you want to put that thing back in my body!" Shen Jiu accuses.

It takes Shen Yuan a moment to realize that Shen Jiu is referring to him. That he thinks Luo Binghe is keeping him fit and healthy for Shen Yuan's sake.

Wouldn't that be going too far just for some old teacher who was nice?! Yes, he knows that he made an impact on Luo Binghe, but it wasn't hard! Shen Jiu set the bar at the earth's crust, clearing it hardly required the kind of effort or devotion that would inspire an entire elaborate scheme purely on Shen Yuan's behalf!

He can't believe it.

But, Binghe doesn't deny it.

In fact he smiles, his expression somehow conveying that Shen Jiu guessed perfectly correct, but also that there's no good it can do him. Binghe has never looked so much like a piece of PIDW fanart before, with some dark and potent rage simmering just beneath the veneer of his placid smile.

"Shizun should not be referred to so impolitely," Luo Binghe counters. "If anyone in this room is a thing, it is this usurper in front of me."

"Usurper?! In my own body? You're mad."

Binghe tuts.

Master Shen should understand that his claim is contested. After all, if one woman gives birth to a child but then casts it into a river to die, but another fishes the babe out and cradles it to her breast -- which woman deserves to be called that child's mother? Just because Shen Jiu was born into that body, doesn't mean he deserves it more than anyone else.

But even if he did, Luo Binghe wouldn't care. He would kill to get his Shizun back. This isn't really so different from that, is it? And there is no love lost between him and Shen Jiu to make him hesitate. If his Shizun disagrees, he may disciple Binghe as he sees fit once he returns.

Shen Jiu points out that Luo Binghe's machinations have ruined his reputation. Even if he gets that creature to possess his body again, there's no way that they could infiltrate Cang Qiong Sect a second time.

But Binghe waves off his concerns. He clearly has thought of this, and has plans for it, but is also not about to be stupid enough to monologue any more at Shen Jiu. Once he leaves, Shen Yuan lingers for a little while, and notices that Shen Jiu actually seems genuinely concerned about what might happen to the sect if Luo Binghe succeeds and gets Shen Yuan put back on Qing Jing Peak.

Of course, Shen Yuan knows he wouldn't actually do anything to harm Cang Qiong, but Shen Jiu doesn't. This is the first time Shen Yuan has seen him actually reveal shades of what might be called a noble impulse.

It's not much, but... sigh.

The thing is, Shen Yuan doesn't really want to steal anybody's body! No one consulted with him the first time it happened! And they sure aren't consulting with him now, either, although to be fair they can't. But he might just have enough ability as a little ghost light to stave off some of this whole process, and he's got to decide if he wants to try. Or if he'll let Binghe have his way, and succeed in pushing Shen Jiu back out and giving Shen Yuan his life again.

Because Binghe will definitely succeed if he really does try. That's how the world works.

And if he did... that might be the only way for Shen Yuan to get his life as Shen Qingqiu back. Which he does want, desperately! He misses it. He misses it both in the general sense of having a body at all, but also in the particular sense of all the things he managed to attain as Qing Jing Peak Lord. As Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Jiu, also, makes a very tempting sacrifice in all this. Shen Yuan frankly hates his guts. Maybe it could have been different, but the fact that Shen Yuan worked so hard to try and make that life better, only for Shen Jiu to just go right back to being an intractable asshole who, frankly, should never be in charge of children ever, rankles! He went right back to mistreating Luo Binghe as well, and threw him into the Abyss, and if Binghe's plan was to violently kill him again as revenge for that then Shen Yuan wouldn't fault him. He didn't fault him the first time. He wasn't going to fault him even when it seemed like he would be the one Binghe was destined to rip apart in justified vengeance.

This is different, though. Shen Yuan wants to fight for the life he longs to be living, especially now when the axe of the Abyss is no longer hanging over him.

But is he willing to actually become the thing everyone else decided he was in order to get it? A body-snatching, malicious spirit?

Shen Jiu is horribly unsuited to his life as Shen Qingqiu. But, it is still his life. Shen Yuan really just managed to borrow it for a while.

Deep down he knows that, even if he would like to ignore it.

So when Binghe finally sets up the ceremony, and Shen Yuan's soul is called back into Shen Qingqiu's body, he hesitates. Shen Jiu is poised like a snarling, wounded animal within the confines of his own body. Even the gentlest tap would knock him back out again. Shen Yuan gets the sense that the system is also there, just waiting and even eager for him to do it. Take back the body, resume whatever quests or directives are waiting for him there.

Shen Yuan, even as fragile as his own spirit is, could crush Shen Jiu's battered soul to dust.

Instead he withdraws.

Binghe tries the ritual again, and again, and each time Shen Yuan feels stronger. But it doesn't matter, because he doesn't want to be an evil body-stealing parasite! He wishes he could just tell Binghe to stop wasting valuable resources on this, especially when Binghe could be focusing on other, more important things! Like building up happy relationships or consolidating his rule of the demon realms or establishing an actual strong foothold in the human world, or something!

Somehow, Shen Jiu figures this out before Luo Binghe does. Of course, he conveys the information in the worst way possible, snidely wondering what Luo Binghe did to alienate "that creature" he's trying so hard to resurrect so badly that it will refuse even the open, glowing invitation he keeps writing for it!

Excuse you, you miserable old man, Shen Yuan isn't avoiding Binghe! He is facing a very difficult moral dilemma and handling it LIKE A CHAMP! Fuck you!

Unfortunately, even though Shen Jiu has decided that Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan were in cahoots about the first body snatch, Luo Binghe knows that they weren't. He also doesn't know that his old Shizun knew full well that he was a Heavenly Demon the whole time. So now he has a lot of doubts to wrestle with, especially give that, despite the consensus of the rest of the world, Luo Binghe is not convinced that Shen Yuan actually is some kind of demonic spirit.

Maybe he's a good spirit that has rejected Binghe for his wretched blood?

But Shizun always said that things like that didn't matter!

So... maybe it's not his blood. Maybe Binghe's actions are what has caused Shizun to forsake him. All the terrible things he did to survive the Abyss, and the machinations afterwards, framing Shen Qingqiu and imprisoning him, setting himself up as a demonic ruler... all of that.

Binghe entreats his Shizun to forgive him. Or even if he won't forgive him, to still come back. Binghe will... stay away, if that's what Shizun wants. Just so long as Shizun is alive, is somewhere in the world, safe and happy, then... then...

He can't quite get through lying to claim that it would be enough. But it would be better than the current situation, so he tries.

Shen Yuan, luckily, has been juiced up enough from all the failed summoning rituals that later that night, he finally recognizes the little whisper-calls as echoes of Luo Binghe's dreams. And he's strong enough to follow the invitations! He goes to visit Binghe in his dreams, and reassures him that he's not trying to reject him at all. He's very proud of Binghe, and wants him to be happy and successful. Binghe could rule the world and Shizun would just cheer him on!

It's just that Shen Yuan never willingly possessed Shen Qingqiu in the first place. He misses his life, but given the choice, he doesn't want to be that kind of entity.

So, new plan -- if Shen Yuan won't take a body off of an undeserving asshole, then Binghe will make him a new body! Luckily, Shen Yuan knows a way to grow one. They "borrow" some genetic materials from Shen Jiu to aid the process, and then Luo Binghe, surprisingly indifferent about the whole thing, cuts Shen Jiu loose at the border.

Shen Yuan is surprised. Binghe really doesn't care about that? Turns out no, not so much. Shen Jiu is awful, but he's nothing to Binghe in the long run. (Also it's a long shot but if nothing else does work Binghe might have to force Shen Yuan to take Shen Qingqiu's body back, though of course he's not about to say so, and anyway Shen Jiu is still going to have a hell of a time waiting for him back in the cultivation world. Luo Binghe wishes him luck and every pleasure of trying to clear his ruined name, living a life on the lamb with an insidious poison constantly eating away at him, or the full enjoyment of a second visit to the water prison, whichever ends up happening.)

With the help of Luo Binghe's blood parasites, the Sun and Moon Dew whatever mushroom body grows in record time. A summoning ritual isn't even required, Shen Yuan just scoots right in as soon as the body is ready and blinks his eyes open to see his anxious disciple's face peering back at him.

Happily ever after!

[archives-of-a-hidden-writer]

Saved

Thanos / Choi Su-Bong X M/GN!Reader

》Typing... |

》 [Entry No.004 - Saved]|

》 Loading Archive Entry "Saved" |

》 Location of Entry: Archivial's |

》 Tip: Feel free to support the Archiver |

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》 Summary: Instead of dying to a damn utensil, you were there to save his ass just when things were about to take a turn for the worse on his behalf. |

》 Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 6 SEASON 2, Swearing(On the archiver's behalf), Archiver(writer) speaks in between scenes through parentheses, OOC, Blood, Violence, murder/killing, Change of Storyline, Aversion of Story, Mention of Drug Use, MxM but can also be seen as MxGN it's just that reader can go to the men's bathroom, Reader's choice in the voting is unspecified but leans more in the 'X'. |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

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As the 3rd game came to a close, all 100 remaining players came into a voting of 50 by 50, making it a tie. It was then told how another voting were to occur the next day, giving the players time to choose their options once more.

As things died down between groups, you were peacefully doing your own thing in the restroom until you suddenly heard a commotion outside the stalls, followed by another voice that you recognized all the while ago.

During your time throughout the 3 games, one particular man stood out, Su-bong, aka the rapper Thanos. Although you've heard of the man before the games, you weren't particularly a fan of him to the point you would clutter him like the others during the start of the 1st game. Despite that, you couldn't help but feel something towards the chaotic and high man.

Going outside your stall, you were greeted to the men split into two groups, one siding the ones who chose 'O' last voting and the other group being the ones who chose 'X'. One of the players in the 'X' went in front of the scared man who was you concluded as the man Thanos was after. Yet it seemed to worsen the situation as the player, numbered 333, was the infamous MG coin, the same man who 'milked'(Archiver doesn't know if this is the right word, but I'm rolling with it) his fans of their money for a crypto coin.

Soon, a fight broke loose within the restroom, and none of the guards came in to stop them. The guy originally Thanos was after had already run off, while Thanos was currently choking player 333.

Not knowing what to do or which side to go or help, you ended up knocking and punching a few who tried swinging their fists at you. You just decided to help the person, to you, you knew the most, and that is Thanos.

As Thanos choked out player 333(Myung-gi, but screw it, he'll become irrelevant in this entry anyways), you noticed the player holding something in his hand. You soon noticed it as a fork, 'Shit,' you thought to yourself. Forks are sharp enough to pierce skin with the right pressure. You immediately screamed towards Thanos, tackling and pushing him off the man.

Thanos looked at you confused and irritated, "What the fuck, man?-" He cursed, you took a deep breath, trying to gauge your perspective at him, "He has a fo-" you were about to say until you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder blade. Turning around, you met the same player lodging the same damn fork in your shoulder. You groaned as he pulled the fork out, wanting to aim at another area in your body.

"Why are you helping him?!" The player screamed, about to plunge the fork again.

About to expect the worst, someone behind him pulled him back and started to punch him again and again. It was Thanos' friend, you presumed as you've recognised the man often beside the purple-haired.

Taking a deep breath, completely forgetting the pain in your shoulder for a moment before exhaling heavily. That's when you heard a voice admists the chaos.

"Hey, hey!" Thanos called out, not knowing what to do other than check the wound. "Tsk, dammit!" He cursed before roughly pulling you up and into one of the closest stalls to the two of you. Locking the stall behind him, he made you sit down on the toilet.

Trying to ignore the pain, you spoke out, "You should've ran out," I wheezed out, taking my jacket off before ripping a piece of my shirt to use as a bandage from the wound. Wrapping the cloth around your shoulder, you noticed that he's just standing right there, not doing anything with his head down at the floor. Not knowing what's on his mind, I continued to wrap the item around.

It was until you had to tie the cloth together to prevent it from coming loose, but with your shaking hands and inability to move area from your shoulder to your arm. Wincing, you still attempted until you felt another pair of hands grabbing over the cloth and tying it for you. You looked up to see Thanos tying the cloth for you, an uncharacteristically focused look on his face, but you couldn't help but gaze at him even further.

At this time, as Thanos finished tying the cloth secure, the fight outside the stall had quieted down. The purple-haired man peeked out to see four players dead, with the others being led out by the pink guards, followed by the announcer announcing the player number of each person who died.

Coming out along with the rest, Thanos kept behind me before muttering a 'Thanks, man', you nodded and continued walking until both of you reached the dormitory.

Thanos came back to his friend after such a situation, and you went into your original bed location until you heard someone scream your player number.

"Hey, ■■■!(You guys choose your number)" Thanos called out, waving his hand up as he looked over to you. He hopped and waved his hand, gesturing you to come over, and you not knowing what to do anymore, you decided and fuck it, join them.

As you approached them, Thanos hopped and swung his arm on you, but you quickly noticed how he was careful about his action and considering your wound.

"Welcome, my friend!" Thanos welcomed you to his friend, "This guy right here, they saved my damn life there!" He announced, shaking me lightly, "It was nothing... Really," you tried to start, averting away from them.

"What do you mean it's nothing?! My life was on the line, man!" Thanos replied, patting your chest as he spoke.

After that, the three of you waited for the next day to come by for the revoting of players. Coincidentally, you couldn't help but notice a shift in Thanos' attitude when he speaks to you alongside how his eyes were filled with an emotion you couldn't decipher that isn't his typical high-on-drugs gaze.

As the announcer reminded everyone of the night's out in half an hour, everyone got to their respective beds with you being made to sleep near your now new friends('friends' yeah right).

As you slept on your accord, you didn't notice Thanos on his side, gazing at your sleeping figure. Somehow, a random stranger like you made him feel something other than the high feeling of his 'candies'. Quietly chuckling to himself, he laid back on his back.

Awaiting the next day, little did they know that other players had their own plans for the night rather than sleeping.

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》 Archiver's Notes: Do not mind this as your dear archiver, me, still can't seem to wrap their head around the fact that someone like his character died inside of a damn restroom with a fucking fork.

[covenofagatha]

The Psychology of Love (Part 14)

The Reward I

The first part of the reward

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: none

A/N: so many warnings coming next chapter I PROMISE lmao

You passed. 

Relief washes through you like a flood and you slump back in your chair, the tension seeping out of your tense muscles. You actually did it. 

Even though you thought you would and you felt good about it, there’s still the surrealness of it all. 

You passed—and judging by the smile on Agatha’s face, you did well enough to warrant a reward. 

Did you get a perfect score though? 

She must understand the questioning look you give her because she glances down at your paper, meets your eyes again, and shakes her head. 

Dammit. 

Someone else gets up and walks over to turn in their test. Agatha takes it from him and sets it down on the table, not even sparing it a second look. You bite back a smirk. Her apathy for everyone else never fails to make you feel special. 

Agatha examines the room before sliding her phone out of her gray suit pants and onto the desk, swiping and tapping on it. She has an army green tank top under a cream colored blazer and if the reward is sex, you think you might ask if she can keep the outfit on. 

Your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your jean shorts. You raise an eyebrow at her when she looks up and she nods. You reach behind you and carefully pull your phone out. 

97. You missed one question. 

Your heart skips a beat—that’s good. Obviously not a perfect score, but that’s certainly a good way to start the year in what will be one of the hardest classes you’ve taken. 

A smirk plays on your lips as you type back. 

Good enough for a reward, Professor? 

Agatha’s hand—the memory of her spanking you yesterday runs rampant in your head—tosses back her hair before she responds. 

I’d say so. 

You bite your lip to stop the gasp from escaping you. Even though you knew what the deal was, actually getting it, earning it, sets your mind ablaze with thoughts. 

What will it actually be? 

The obvious answer is sex and you feel a viscous heat tear through you. What if she takes you back to her office, locks the door again, and bends you over her desk for a different reason?

Although, you don’t think you’d hate if there was more spanking involved, even if your ass is still raw and sore. 

“There’s about ten minutes left in class,” Agatha announces and even her gravelly tone makes you shiver. You can’t get the sounds of her touching herself, of her falling apart for you, out of your head. They echoed, putting you in a trance of desire, all yesterday, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. 

And yet you still passed. 

More people get up to turn in their test and you hear them walking out after. Hopefully no one notices or questions why you’re still here. You tap on your phone and text her again because you’re bored and excited.

Any hints as to what the reward will be? 

Agatha runs her tongue over her top row of teeth as she reads it and then winks at you. You swallow roughly to get moisture back into your dry throat, anticipation gnawing at your stomach while she types back. 

Delayed gratification, remember? 

Fuck. The coffee shop. When she set the terms for it, and you had asked what the reward would be again. To which she responded: How about—if you really want to know—I’ll tell you, but it won’t be as good of a reward as if you just waited.

You turn your phone off and sit back again, Agatha giving you a smug nod in approval. Whatever it is, you’ll find out soon enough, you think. 

The clock above the white board that you’re staring at seems to be moving even slower than normal. You watch as the second hand ticks around in a full circle again and again and again. You think you can feel Agatha’s eyes on you and she can surely tell just how desperate you are for this class to be done. 

She knows the only reason you stayed instead of leaving like your classmates is her. Even if you don’t get the reward right now, you still want to talk to her. 

Maybe she’ll give you a taste of what’s to come. 

With three minutes left, the last of your classmates get up and stand in single file to hand their tests in. One girl shoots you a look on her way out but you pretend not to notice it. You’ve built up the reputation for being a teacher’s pet in Agatha’s class, always answering her questions correctly, so you hope it’s not entirely unbelievable that you’d stay back to see how you did. 

And then there’s just you and Agatha in the room. 

The air grows thin. 

She picks up the stack of exams and taps them neatly on the desk before folding them into her bag. “Which way does the nerve impulse run from nerve to nerve?” 

Fuck. Your brain races, trying to think of what you answered. Of course that’s the one multiple choice you got wrong—that was the one thing you could never remember. “Dendrite to axon?” you guess and Agatha shakes her head solemnly. 

“Axon to dendrite,” she says and you purse your lips in a frown. To come so close to a perfect score only for you to mess up on the one thing you had continuously messed up on. 

Sometimes you never learn. 

Except when it comes to Agatha. She has ways of teaching you that make the lesson stick. 

Agatha walks over and pauses in front of your desk. You shove your pen into your tote bag and stand up, heart pounding. She looks you up and down, takes in your jean shorts and baby blue tank top, and smirks. 

“How do you feel about the beach?” she asks and it throws you for a loop. Is she just wondering? Is she going to tie it back to some psychological thing?

“Um, I like it.” It sounds more like a question than an answer and Agatha laughs. 

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears, seeming uncharacteristically nervous. “Well, I have a condo down at Long Beach Island. It’s about two hours away and I was thinking that, as your reward, we could go there for the weekend. You know, to get away.” 

A warm feeling spreads through your chest and you can’t control the smile on your face. You think about walking hand-in-hand with her down the beach, salty kisses in the ocean, laying out in the sun together. 

And the best part is, you won’t have to worry about anyone seeing you.

Is that why she’s doing it? So the two of you can just be for a few days without worrying about getting caught? 

She won’t be your professor and you won’t be her student. At least for the weekend.

“That sounds perfect,” you rasp, emotion tugging at your stomach. “Oh—I have a class at noon.” 

Agatha nods. “I’m not done for the day either. I have to teach until three so I can pick you up after? Give you some time to pack?” 

“Don’t you have to pack?” 

She smiles. “Oh, hon, I’ve been ready to go since last night. I knew you’d do well, especially after my little lesson from yesterday. Hopefully we don't need any more of those.” 

Your cheeks heat up and you duck your head for a second to mutter, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Agatha’s eyes are dark when you look back up at her. She glances at the door to make sure no one is walking by and then leans in to give you a slow, drawn out kiss. Her lips linger but she pulls back too quickly because of the risk. Black Opium swirls around you and intoxicates you. 

“Good to know,” she hums in a low voice. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper and she gives you one last crooked smile before walking out of the room. 

It’s really happening. 

——

Wanda is already back and lounging in her bed when you walk into your dorm room after your second class of the day and then it hits you that you’re going to have to come up with an excuse as to where you’re going. 

Because there’s something about telling her that your professor is taking you to her beach condo to fuck you that doesn’t seem like it would go over well. 

“Hey,” you say and Wanda instantly looks suspicious. You usually come into the room already complaining or telling her something. “I’m going home this weekend. It’s like super last minute, my mom just bought the plane ticket for me.” 

Wanda sits up, a frown on her face. “Is everything okay? Do you need a ride to the airport?” 

You blink at her, not anticipating this many questions. “Um, yeah, everything’s fine, they just wanted me to come home. I’ll Uber or something, so you don’t have to worry.” 

“When are you coming back?” she asks. 

That’s also something you don’t know yet. But you and Agatha both have to be back Monday morning for her class, so you can make a good guess. “Sunday afternoon. I’ll text you before I leave.” The flight home and the drive to Agatha’s condo is about the same time, so it won’t be hard to time that right.

She hums something else while you turn to your closet. Hopefully Wanda doesn’t see the multiple pairs of lingerie you throw into the duffel bag you pull out from underneath your bed, or the bikinis, or the short dresses. You’re just glad that you actually brought swimsuits from home on the off-chance that you ended up going to the beach. You pack your toiletry bag and throw the travel-sized shampoo, conditioner, and soap into it, as well as the high heeled bottle of Good Girl. 

You roll the vial of Black Opium over your hand, chewing on your lip. Then you stow it back in your drawer—Agatha will be with you the whole time; you’ll get your fair share of it. 

Do you need to bring towels? Sunscreen? A beach bag? 

Grabbing your tote bag, you take out your notebooks and pencils but keep your laptop in, just in case. You can take it out and leave it at the condo when you go to the beach. You grab one of your shower towels and stuff it in with your computer and pack your charger cords. 

“You seem excited,” Wanda remarks, watching you anxiously pacing back and forth in the small space between your beds. 

“I am,” you reply absentmindedly, but you’re a little concerned that you’re forgetting something. 

But if you do, you’re sure Agatha will either have it or take you to the store to get it. It’s not like you’re going to be completely stranded. 

There’s still something that seems so surreal about this weekend trip with your professor. 

What does it actually mean for you?

And what happens when you get back from the beach on Sunday? Will things be the same if—and hopefully when—you consummate the relationship? If it ends badly before the end of the semester, will she take it out on your grade and your plan for the future?

You can’t think like that. Agatha is too professional to do that, and you’re not planning on fucking anything up with her, so she’d have no reason to. 

In order to get your mind off the slight doubts creeping in, you busy yourself with changing your clothes. You’re not exactly sure what the evening has in store, but you want to look nice for her. 

So you find your deep purple lacy bra, buried beneath your regular undergarments, and the matching pair of underwear. You have a plain white dress that you pick out before heading to the bathroom to change since Wanda is still in your room. 

The bra and underwear can slightly be seen through the dress if you squint hard enough—which you hope Agatha does—and you ruffle your hair to make it slightly messy and seductive.

Your phone says that it’s only one-thirty. 

You go back to your room, resigned to doing homework for next week for the next hour and a half while you wait for Agatha. At least you won’t have to do anything this weekend then. 

The next two and a half days belong to her. 

——

I’m outside. 

Agatha’s text springs you into motion and you barely remember to say goodbye to Wanda before you’re out the door with your duffel bag and tote bag. 

It takes you a moment to find her car because she parked around the corner so as not to be as obvious to all the undergrads walking to and from the dorm building. 

You open the back door of her car to drop your stuff in and she seems a little breathless when she looks over her shoulder to smile at you. 

“Hi,” you say when you slide into the passenger seat. You buckle your seatbelt. Agatha’s still wearing the same outfit from earlier, except she’s taken off the blazer so she’s just in the green tank top and gray pants. 

“Hey,” she says and clicks on her phone, pulling up the directions. It’s a two hour and seven minute drive. Agatha glances at you. “Ready?” 

You nod and your heart beats faster. “Ready.” 

She puts the car into drive and pulls onto the main road, turning up the music to a song you’ve never heard before. 

Before you can make a quip about her age, she looks over and then back at the road. “So, how was the test?” 

“You mean, other than me getting one question wrong?” you joke and Agatha snorts. “I thought it was good. Definitely not as bad as I thought it would be.” 

She smirks. “I’m sure some of your classmates would disagree. You thought it was good because you actually studied.” 

“Well, I’m sure if they had as good of an incentive as I did, they would’ve been more inclined to try,” you say and Agatha snickers. 

“You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not going to fuck all my students for doing well,” she retorts and then tilts her head to wink at you. “That’s just a you thing.” Your body flushes with heat and you give her a shaky smile. 

A comfortable silence lapses over you and you finally recognize some of the songs that play on the radio so you start to sing them under your breath while you look out the window. 

“So, you like the beach?” Agatha prompts about forty-five minutes into the drive. 

“Yeah,” you say and turn toward her, pulling your right leg up and resting it against the door. “I’ve lived in Florida pretty much my whole life so my family and I used to go to the beach a lot. I still go with friends sometimes when I’m back. It’s just always been a place to relax.” 

She nods wistfully. “I know what you mean. So, Florida to New Jersey. That’s quite a move.” 

“Just needed a change,” you say quietly. You needed a break from your family and you always wanted to live somewhere where it got cold because the Florida heat could be brutal. And like you told her already, you fell in love with Westview when you toured. “I’m glad I did it. I really like it here.” 

Plus you’re not sure you’d be on a weekend getaway with your professor anywhere else. 

Even if you hadn’t gotten a good education and you hadn’t met your two best friends, Agatha alone might have made it worth it. 

Which means that she is absolutely going to ruin you. 

And you might just let her. 

——

You end up dozing off for about the last thirty minutes of the ride, after you and Agatha talked a bit more about Florida and she told you that she’s from Massachusetts. She didn’t say much more about that, but you hope that one day, she’ll open up to you. 

The GPS announces that you have reached your destination and you stir, rubbing your eyes and looking out the window. 

“Hey, honey,” Agatha says as she turns into the parking lot of a four story condominium, white with blue trim. You mumble something in response and you can smell the ocean already. Your heart leaps and you suddenly feel wide awake. 

You’re really here. 

With your professor. 

It might take you all weekend for that to sink in. 

She gets out of the car and you follow, grabbing your duffel and tote bags from the backseat, before trailing her up toward the building. Instead of going into the lobby, she turns to the right and leads you into an elevator. It opens immediately and she presses the button for the third floor. 

“This is a nice place,” you say, breaking the silence. 

Agatha hums in agreement. “It’s good when you want to get away.” 

You smirk teasingly. “Do you bring all your students here?” 

Ding! 

The doors to the elevator roll open and Agatha steps off and goes to the left. There’s a view of the parking lot over the balcony as you amble down the walkway. 

She pauses in front of the door at the end, fumbling with her keys, and gives you a pointed look. “Only the ones I plan on fucking,” she says with a wink and your entire body burns. 

And, if she was telling the truth outside after the mixer and earlier in the car, that’s only you. It shouldn’t mean that much to you, but really, it’s everything. 

Agatha unlocks the door and pushes it open. You step into a hallway and there’s a door right on your right. 

“That’s the guest room,” she says and puts her hand on your back to move you along. Your clit pulses—you won’t be using the guest room. 

She guides you into the living room. The walls are painted a light gray with a navy accent wall which pairs well with the mahogany hardwood floors. There’s a seafoam blue couch with a matching chair across from a long flat screen television with a white wooden coffee table on top of a gray and blue rug. More psychology books fill up the shelves in the chestnut wood entertainment center. There’s a hallway off to the right, leading to a closed door.

The blinds are drawn open on the sliding glass doors that take up a whole wall, leading to a decently sized balcony. You can see the beach and the clear water and the people running around in the sand and you can’t wait to be down there with her. 

To your left is the open kitchen with brown cabinets and white countertops and the island houses three bar stools on the side across from the sink. There’s a full, small wine rack on the counter next to the stainless steel fridge. 

The one thing you notice is that there’s not a lot of pictures on the walls. One or two of Agatha with unknown people, but no family photos or anything. There’s a painting of a lighthouse in the night on the wall by the breakfast table tucked in the corner, but it seems rather bare. 

“I like it,” you say, turning back to her, to find her eyes, with a strange look in them, already on you. Is she seeing how well you fit here? 

But then she smiles. “Want to see the bedroom?” 

You nod eagerly and she leads you down the hallway and opens the door at the end. There’s a jolt inside you as you take it in—the white duvet with a gray pattern on the queen-sized bed, the matching gray nightstands with blue bedside lamps on them, the tall dark dresser across from the bed, the plush cream carpet, the mirrored closet doors. French doors lead out to the balcony as well and you have another view of the beach from here.

You sneak a peek of the bathroom and see a double vanity with marble countertops, gold-colored faucets, and a large, stand-up shower with a neat tile backsplash in it. 

“Wow,” you breathe and set down your bags on the floor. Agatha deposits hers onto the bed and pulls out things from her bag while you keep looking around.

This. This is where it’s going to happen, where you’ll finally get your first taste and feel of your professor. 

And she’ll get hers too. 

“I’m going to change quickly and then we should head to dinner, okay? It’s not too far but I made a reservation,” Agatha tells you and you’ve barely agreed before she shuts herself into the bathroom. 

Not that you would have minded if she had changed out here. 

She comes out about five minutes later, wearing a white-cropped bustier top with balloon sleeves, one of which has slipped off her shoulder and her bare skin makes you grow warm. Her cleavage is also on full display and it’s really hard to keep your eyes from straying. She has black, high-waisted pants that hug her curves in a way that almost makes you sweat and it’s all tied together with a thick black belt and low heels.

Dangling gold earrings hang from her earlobes and her hair frames her face. You can smell the reapplication of Black Opium and your mouth waters. 

“Do I need to change?” you ask, comparing your outfit to hers in the closet mirror. Your white dress, albeit plain, pairs well with her clothes.

Agatha’s eyes trace over your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You almost shiver under her scrupulous stare. “I think this is perfect. Plus,” her voice drops lower, “I can see what you have underneath.” 

You take a ragged breath and bite your lip. “Do you like it?” 

She takes a step closer to you, leaving only a few inches between you, and smirks. “Yes…but I’ll like it even better when it’s on my floor.” 

It’s completely unfair for her to say right now, right before you have to leave, and Agatha knows it. 

Which is probably why she said it. 

“Agatha,” you whisper, begging silently to skip dinner and stay in. She pulls back and tuts. 

“We better get going, honey.” She taps your chin and spins on her heel, walking out into the living room and swiping her keys off the countertop. She throws a glance at you over her shoulder on the way to the door. “You’re going to need your energy.” 

So you reluctantly follow her, feeling the wetness that’s pooled in your underwear with each step you take. 

It’s not a very long walk at all, like she said. It’s maybe half a mile away before she points at a building and makes a beeline toward it. You’ve walked by an ice cream parlor and a pizza place and a surf shop, all while being able to see the beach. 

You don’t ever want to leave. 

The restaurant looks spacious and elegant on the outside and a small bridge over a coy pond leads up to the entrance. The sun is setting slowly, making the daylight muted, but it does nothing to make Agatha look less beautiful. 

She gives you a small smile when she sees that you’re looking at her on the way over the bridge and then she opens the door for you. 

Inside, it’s dim and smells good. Through the back, you can see windows opening up to the ocean and you really hope that you’re sitting close to one. Bottles of wine are stacked behind the host table and you follow Agatha up to it. 

“Reservation for Harkness,” she says and the hostess standing there checks the list and nods. 

She grabs two black menu books and smiles sweetly at you both. “Right this way.” 

You’re led to a table for two right on the windows in the back with a small lamp at the end of it. Agatha and you settle into the chairs while the hostess hands you the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly,” she says and you both give a quick thank you. 

The menu is rather daunting when you first open it with the options of seafood, steak, pasta, and combos. You peer at Agatha, but she already looks like she knows what she wants. 

“How do you feel about oysters for an appetizer?” she asks, meeting your eyes. 

“Oh—I’ve actually never had them,” you say, “but I’ll try them. What are you getting to eat?” 

Agatha scrunches her nose and takes another look at the menu. “There’s the seafood combo with two lobster tails, grilled shrimp, and scallops. Would you want to split that?” 

You locate it on the menu and scan the description. “Yeah, that looks really good.” 

The waitress comes over right after you decide that and Agatha smoothly orders two glasses of white wine, the oysters, and the combo, all without you having to say a thing.

It has an effect on you, as much as you hate to admit it, watching her take control so easily like that. Like she knows exactly what you want, and she’s going to make sure you get it. 

The waitress writes it all down and tells you that she’ll be back soon before taking the menus. There’s a charged air between you and Agatha now, the anticipation of what’s to come hopefully after dinner hanging over the table. 

“So, how long have you had the condo?” you ask, because if you don’t make small talk right now, the temptation to drag her to the bathroom might get too great. 

Agatha brushes back a strand of her over her shoulder. “About seven years now, I think. I’ve always loved coming here.” There’s a softness in her eyes, one you’ve only seen a few times, and you think this must be her escape. 

And she’s sharing that with you right now. You don’t even know how to put what that means into words but something tells you that she doesn’t need you to. 

The waitress sets down two glasses of wine on the table. “I’ll be right back with the oysters.” 

“That was fast,” you remark, reaching over to pick up your glass. Agatha does the same and without speaking, you cling them together in a toast. 

A toast to you for doing well on the test? 

A toast to whatever is between you? 

Both, you think, are applicable and necessary here. 

The wine is sweet and refreshing on your tongue with hints of citrus and tropical fruit. There’s a floral undertone that makes you hum. 

Agatha sets her glass down. “What do you think?” 

“It’s good,” you say. “I don’t usually drink wine, except when I’m with you, I guess. You’re just a bad influence on me, Professor.”

She looks all too pleased with herself for that. “Oh, am I?” Her eyes twinkle when you nod emphatically. 

“Yesterday, you bent me over your desk and spanked me and then touched yourself while you made me kneel in a corner. I’ve never done anything like that before.” 

Agatha chuckles and takes another sip of her wine. “Well, I’m glad I could be the first. Didn’t seem like you minded that much.” 

You can’t even pretend to be embarrassed, especially because you know she likes you to use your words. “If that was a punishment, I can’t wait to see what happens when I’m good.” 

“Oh, honey,” she says sweetly, a dark glint in her eyes, “you’re going to find out soon. And I hope it’s enough to show you why you should always be my good girl.” Your cheeks flush and you nod and take a big gulp of wine. She tracks the movement of your tongue as it darts out to lick your lips. There’s a hunger in her gaze, one that you’re sure is reflected back in your own. 

“And here we are,” your waitress says, appearing almost out of nowhere, to set a large silver bowl down in the middle of the table. It’s full of ice with six oyster shells sitting on top and forming a circle around three slices of lemon and a bowl of cocktail sauce. Two tiny forks rest on the outside of the circle. “Do you need anything else?” 

Agatha looks up at her and shakes her head. The waitress smiles and walks away. 

“So, how do I—?” you ask and Agatha chuckles. 

She picks up a lemon and you copy her. “First,” she explains, “a few drops of lemon.” She squeezes the fruit on the oyster closest to her and you do the same. Then she sets it down and picks up the fork. “Then you want to loosen the oyster from its shell.” Agatha does it easily and gracefully while it’s much more of a struggle for you. “And then, just let it slide into your mouth.” 

You watch, transfixed, as she lifts the shell to her lips, tilts it, and lets the oyster slip right in. She chews it, closing her eyes and humming deeply, and then swallows it. 

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. 

Agatha nods at you and you raise the shell to your own lips with a shaky hand. 

“Let me help you,” she husks and you just stare at her blankly, not sure what she means, until she reaches across the table to take it from you. Her fingers brush against yours, sending sparks through your veins.

And then she holds it up. 

“Just open your lips,” she says and you obey, slightly parting them, never breaking eye contact. 

The waves crash onto the shore outside the window, seagulls fly by, people keep moving in the restaurant, and yet everything seems to have stopped for you. 

Agatha tilts the shell and the oyster slides into your mouth, just like she said to. It’s salty and briny and somehow slightly sweet, with a silky texture. 

“Good girl,” she hums as she sets the shell down back on the bowl and your cheeks grow warm again. “Now swallow.” 

Your throat bobs and you feel exposed in the way she’s staring at you, like she’s seeing right through you. There’s a gleam in her eyes and not for the first time, you can’t wait to be done with dinner. 

But she’s not done yet—she picks up her cloth napkin and dabs at your mouth with it. It’s hard to breathe and you wonder if anyone is looking over at you right now. 

It doesn’t matter if they are though, because here, it’s just you and Agatha, not student and professor. 

No one knows who you are and there’s a bliss in that anonymity. 

Your waitress comes back, interrupting the moment once again, and sets down a large plate with two lobster tails, a line of shrimp, and a pile of scallops, and then gives you both a smaller plate to split it. She asks if you need anything else and Agatha once again shakes her head. 

When you take your first bite of the lobster, you don’t even realize that you’ve let out a quiet moan. 

But Agatha hears it—her head shoots up, pupils blown wide, and a faint pink stains her cheeks. Just her being this affected from one sound has heat tearing through you and you shift in your seat to attempt to relieve some pressure on your clit. 

“First your seat in the library and now this one?” she teases, but there’s an underlying thickness in her voice. 

You choke on the bit of lobster that you’re eating and playfully roll your eyes. “Are you ever going to let me forget that?” 

She leans in, a smirk on her lips. “Never.” 

“Well then,” you start, feeling emboldened although you probably shouldn’t, “I guess you might like to know that the first time I texted you?” She raises an eyebrow, but nods. “I had just touched myself thinking about you for the first time.” 

Agatha’s eyes flash and her fork almost slips out of her fingers. “Oh, really?” You smile smugly at catching her off guard but it’s only a matter of time until she recovers. “And how long after you did that did you text me?” 

You bite your lip and slowly push your fork into another piece of lobster. “My fingers were still wet,” you tell her innocently and she groans. It makes your face flush because you recognize the sound—it’s the same sound she makes when she’s touching herself. 

“Hurry up and eat,” she says roughly and you giggle. 

It doesn’t take very long for you to finish the rest of your lobster tails and Agatha moves onto the scallops while you divide the shrimp into halves. 

She practically has to flag your waitress down when you’re done with everything so she can get the bill. She hands the waitress her credit card without even looking at the total and you chew on your lip anxiously because you’re guessing it’s a lot. 

But it’s as if Agatha knows what you’re thinking and as she’s signing her name on the check, she looks up and winks before saying, “Don’t worry about it, hon,” and it makes you feel a little better. 

You decide that you’ll buy her breakfast tomorrow if you go out, or at least ice cream.

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks, throwing down the pen. Ready to leave? Ready to go back? Ready for whatever lies ahead back at her condo? 

“Yes,” you breathe, to all of it. 

She smiles and pushes back her chair and you follow in suit. The hostess calls after you on the way out and tells you to have a good night. 

Agatha meets your eyes and murmurs, “I plan to,” just for you to hear. It sends tingles down your spine, electricity racing through your veins.

It’s dark outside now, just the last rays from the sun cutting through the clouds, and you ask Agatha if you can take the boardwalk on the way back. She agrees and her eyes soften at the big smile on your face before leading you to the other side of the restaurant, onto the wooden pathway elevated in the sand. 

The moonlight glints off the ocean and the cool breeze rustles your hair and Agatha’s. Her skin looks even paler but her blue eyes are bright as they meet yours. There’s music playing from somewhere, most likely from one of the restaurants nearby, but there’s no one else around. 

It may as well just be the two of you on the planet right now. 

The back of her hand brushes against the back of yours, the first time maybe by accident, but the second time feels more purposeful. There’s no words that can fill the silence, no words that can say more than the touch of her skin against yours. 

The waves crash on the shore with a rhythm and a lone seagull squawks. The air is tinged with the perfect amount of saltiness. You’re both walking slow even though you know what awaits you at the condo. 

But right now, soaking in this moment, where it’s just the two of you and you can be whoever you want to be, is more important.

And then you get the urge to prolong it. You long to feel the sand under your feet and the water on your skin so you stop. 

Agatha stops too and looks at you but you’re too busy staring at the ocean. It calls to you and you kick off your sandals before you start walking toward it, as if in a trance. 

You hear footsteps in the sand after you and know that Agatha is following you. 

And then you break into a run. You can’t remember the last time you ever felt so free, like you might float away right now. 

Water laps at your feet and you keep going, splashing as you step further into the ocean until you’re in knee-deep. You let out a laugh and it sounds so giddy that it almost surprises you. You’re here, with Agatha, with your professor who actually wants you. 

Agatha, who follows you right into the ocean, never mind that she’s wearing pants and they’re now soaked. You keep wading backwards until the hem of your dress is wet and she follows you, a smirk on her face. 

The waves are stronger out here and you dig your feet into the sand to stay rooted. You flick water at Agatha, who’s only a few feet away from you now, and she lets out a mock gasp. 

The next thing you know, you’re thrown forward by a wave, almost knocked completely underwater, but steady arms catch you and set you upright. 

You look up, your body pressed against hers, and bite your lip. You can smell the seafood and white wine on her breath and the ocean and Black Opium on her skin, and it’s a dizzying array of scents. 

Her arms encircle you, holding onto your waist, and she leans in to kiss you slowly. It’s salty and addicting and she walks you backwards in the direction of the shore to where the waves are just gently rocking you back and forth, her mouth never leaving yours. 

She sighs when you wrap your arms around her neck to pull her even closer and her tongue slides into your mouth, sensually stroking against yours. You moan and she swallows it and then Agatha’s left hand moves to your waist. 

The fire inside you burns in contrast to the cold water and the wind and you cling to her tighter. 

Agatha sucks on your tongue and then nips at your bottom lip and then claims your mouth with hers, her kisses becoming hungry and possessive. 

Her teeth click against yours and you’re both panting into each other’s open mouths, trying to get more, more, more because you can’t get enough. Her neck is hot against your hands and she groans when you lightly tug on her hair. 

“Fuck, hon,” she breathes and you moan in agreement, “you’re so—” She cuts herself off, so you don’t know what she meant to say. 

But her tongue tangles with yours and it shoves all thoughts from your mind. Your body is overheating and your head is spinning and you hold onto Agatha like she’s your anchor—maybe she is. 

Her left hand slides to your stomach and then down and you gasp when you feel her fingertips against your thigh. The sound of the waves and the blood pumping in your ears blurs and becomes one and the same and you think you might be becoming part of the sea itself. 

Maybe Agatha is the ocean, powerful and mysterious and uncharted. Will she swallow you whole and leave you drowning? 

Or will you learn to swim?

You kiss her back harder, feeling her moan of surprise reverberate down your throat. Her hands grab at you, claw at you like she needs you closer, like you aren’t already pressed against her body tightly. 

“Please,” you rasp again, always begging for more. 

This time, Agatha obliges. 

Her hand drags up your thigh and you inhale at the tugging sensation you feel in your gut. She is so close to your cunt and you wonder if she can feel the heat radiating from it in the water. 

“You’re—” she kisses you like she can’t help herself, “so—” she kisses you again through heavy breaths, “desperate for me, aren’t you?” 

She knows, of course she knows because you’ve proved it time and time again, but she needs to hear you say it. 

“Yes,” you sigh into her mouth and her breath hitches, “but I think you’re just as desperate for me, too.” 

Agatha gasps, a confession of her own, and her hand cups your covered cunt under the water and you buck your hips, letting out a quiet moan. Your mind goes blank. She presses hard and your clit throbs and you pull away from her mouth to sink your teeth into your bottom lip. 

“Agatha, please,” you implore, meeting her eyes with your own. Her pupils are swallowing up the blue and the moonlight reflects off them. She could touch you right now, she could fuck you right here in the ocean, and it would be everything you’d need. 

But she withdraws her hand, a smirk slowly gracing her lips, and she steps back, causing your grip around her neck to loosen. You let go, dumbfounded, as she stops touching you completely. 

“What—no, please—I—” you stammer and she grabs your wrist and starts leading you to shore. “Why not? Where are we going?” 

It’s a stupid question, but you’ve lost the ability to think straight. Your heart beats in your throat and your clit and echoes through your whole body. Her fingers are warm against your skin and it’s all you can focus on. 

Agatha looks back over her shoulder at you, the desire on her pale face clear in the glow of the moon. “We’re going back to my condo so I can give you the other part of your reward, honey,” she tells you, voice thick with heat. 

Oh. 

Part Fifteen

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