#especially like that with no explanation right in front of him??

[blue-mood-blue]

I have been thinking about the blackening (as one does)…

…and it’s so interesting to me, the penalty Shen Qingqiu is faced with should he not decide to yeet his disciple into hell.

Account termination. Instant death. Sent directly home to his already-long-dead body, and that’s it for the villain of the piece who outright refuses his villainy. The protagonist needs a blackening for the story to continue, and Shen Qingqiu is going to provide it or get written out of the narrative. Either way, Luo Binghe is going to lose him. Either way, this is a turning point.

I wouldn’t claim that this is the intent of the penalty, but it fascinates me that the System has, potentially, backed the plotline into a corner - because Binghe still stands to be blackened even if Shen Qingqiu took the other choice.

Think about what that would look like, to him. He’s at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and everything is going wrong. He’s been outed as a demon, and not just a demon - the top tier of demon, as bad as it gets from the perspective of a righteous cultivator. His beloved teacher, the person who has been kindest to him and opened his home and heart to him, is standing there with his sword in hand, deciding what he’s going to do about what must look, to him, like a horrific betrayal. Binghe is apologizing. Binghe is begging for his life.

Shen Qingqiu hears him. Maybe it shows on his face, or in his voice, that he already knew; maybe there’s no hint at all, but Shen Qingqiu is suddenly talking quickly with an abrupt sense of urgency that Luo Binghe is having a hard time keeping up with. Telling him he’ll be wonderful - telling him he’s the best. Telling him the world will be his, with emotions cracking through that aloof mask that Binghe has never seen on Shizun’s face before, and it’s terrifying for reasons that Binghe cannot identify.

(He will, later. When he has time to think, he’ll realize it sounded like a goodbye.)

And then Shen Qingqiu is bleeding. And then Shen Qingqiu is on the ground. And then Shen Qingqiu is dead. There’s no countdown for Binghe - there’s no System, there’s no warning, there’s no answers.

Luo Binghe is a heavenly demon in the middle of a conference sabotaged by demons. Luo Binghe is alone. His fellow competing disciples are scattered, some dead or injured. The Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, the second in command of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, maybe the only person he loved and who loved him back, is dead at his feet. No one will believe him if he says it isn’t his fault.

(He can’t believe it isn’t his fault.)

What choice does he have but to run? The last heavenly demon the cultivation world went up against has been sealed under a mountain for years, and one of the people responsible for that is probably looking for Shen Qingqiu already. They’ll be looking for him, too. There isn’t anywhere to hide; there isn’t any time to mourn.

There isn’t even enough time to ask why. Why again.

There is no closure waiting for him, because there is nothing to explain what happened. It just is.

It would be a different kind of blackening, certainly - less intense, probably, less of a warping, desperate thing. But how many times can one person have all the love and safety in their world torn out from under them before it starts to show? Before they just don’t allow things like love and safety to touch them, because that’s the better option?

Interesting to consider that, simply by offering the choices it did, the System rigged the story to guarantee that Luo Binghe would end up in hell (deliberate or not).

Interesting to consider that, even if Shen Qingqiu made what might have seemed like a kinder choice, there was every chance it wouldn’t have been.

[geekgirles]

It's incredible the amount of plot holes in Danny Phantom that are easily fixed if only the plot were a little darker.

Like Tucker's fear of hospitals and doctors from Doctor's Disorders, for example.

To be precise, the fact that Danny had apparently no idea that Tucker goes downright catatonic whenever he passes in front of the nurse's office as a result of his fear of anything medical related but Sam did. Especially since Danny and Tucker have known each other for as long as they've known Sam, if not longer.

If the plot were a little bit darker/more mature and didn't shy away from heavy topics like human mortality or that Danny actually died in the accident and came back to (half) life, this would all have a very simple explanation.

Danny didn't know about Tucker's fear of hospitals because it's a recent thing, while Sam does because she was there when it happened.

In other words, if you ask me, Tucker could have developed his fear after Danny's accident. After spending who knows how long inside a hospital waiting for news of his best friend's recovery, with each passing second spent there being a constant reminder of the possibility that Danny might not make it. Thus, his fear would be a result of anything medical reminding him of those agonising times and of the fear he felt at the idea of losing his best friend forever. And Sam would know about it but not Danny because she was right there by Tucker's side as they both waited while Danny was being treated and remained unaware of the world going on around him.

And just like that, you fix a plot hole, and add layers to the story, the characters and their interpersonal dynamics in one fell swoop.

Thank you for coming to my TED-Talk.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 in between : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

I just can't come in between them, they got their own thing ʚĭɞ or 6 times people thought they were dating + the 1 time it was actually true.

"So, you're dating?" the new camper looks between her and Percy after they gave him the tour around camp.

Ah, the long awaited question.

And the answer is always the same. "No, we're friends, why?"

Once again, the camper looks between her and Percy, who's standing just behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head comfortably resting back on his chest. "Oh, nothing, I just thought—"

Yes. Everyone just thought. Everyone just thought they were together, and everyone was always shocked when it turned out they were merely friends.

Percy and her couldn't understand it at all, because it was totally normal for friends to act the way they acted with each other. Right?

ʚĭɞ the ponytail.

It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail. Doesn’t everyone know that?

Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.

So he didn’t see anything wrong when he stood behind her after they called for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.

"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.

"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, as if that's enough explanation.

Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn’t try to, he simply shakes his head and says, "You do realize you're in love, right?"

But Percy isn't even hearing, his eyes fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.

ʚĭɞ the necklace & hairtie

Yes, it is completely normal that she wears his best friend's initial around her neck. Totally normal.

It isn't even that noticeable, just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.

Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her as they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.

Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' in your necklace?"

She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."

"How is that-" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."

She's tired of questioning it.

And Percy? He adores the necklace, but he also loves the hair tie he always has on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.

People don't realize at first, it's a simple black hair tie. But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.

Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.

"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.

"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.

This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.

"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.

"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."

ʚĭɞ the kiss on the cheek

And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.

Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.

So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted. "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss? Percy kind of froze. His eyes followed her as she walked away, looking like a kicked puppy, like a kid who's candy had just been stolen.

He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.

Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like someone just stole your christmas gifts."

"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.

Piper almost looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head as she asks, "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"

"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.

Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else, she finally arrives, almost running to the table and taking her usual seat besides Percy.

"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and then— like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.

And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.

"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.

ʚĭɞ the wallet

Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."

"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.

"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.

"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"

Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on the photo on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."

He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the photo of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin, a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"

"I- uh- do you just carry it in your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise. And he thought he could expect anything from those two.

"Well, yeah? she gave it to me ages ago." and he turns to pay.

Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already busy. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."

ʚĭɞ the flowers and lipsticks

Friends get each other flowers, right? at least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while shopping for groceries with her mom.

It's not his fault, they were just there.

A bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.

When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet in one hand and gummy worms in the other, she smiles to herself.

"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.

"Oh?" he looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they remind me of y/n, so I thought I might aswell get them for her."

Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.

Except that sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"

Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries in the chekout belt. "Yep, but make sure to get the cherry-mint one, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid. She loves that one."

"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"

Silence. For a second, Percy just stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.

"I guessed." he replies simply.

Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve. So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.

And it was totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.

"Perseus, you are unbelievable."

ʚĭɞ the date

Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried for his friend going on a date, worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.

Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers— roses, seriously? and ask her out.

But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to know her favorite flowers.

That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.

That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he doesn’t train or joins his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. By the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.

It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door, and before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.

Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.

No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.

"Hey, how did-" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.

"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."

Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."

"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."

He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.

"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.

"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night. Barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."

Percy's hands stopped on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"

She shifted slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He he told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."

"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs at that, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists again.

She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"

They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.

After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"

His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe-"

Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.

Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.

And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.

ʚĭɞ the kiss.

The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.

Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.

"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.

"Who knows? It could be years, they-" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.

Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.

He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."

"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she has ran off to go find her spear.

Percy chuckles, his smile bright, his eyes still fixed on her. "Friends? No, that's my girl."

[luveline]

angsty request coming!!! hotch taking care of an overworked reader who hasn’t been sleeping!! maybe the team notices r has been a bit scattered or feverish and hotch steps in!!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k Hotch knows, technically, that what he’s doing tonight is out of bounds. He just doesn’t care —can’t find it in himself to regret his actions as he shepherds you from the office and into his car. Doesn’t give your wide-eyed surprise any notice, doesn’t offer explanation as he takes you into the department store between the office and his apartment and tells you to choose. 

“I don’t understand.” 

He nods toward the lines of pointelle camisoles and shorts, gestures to the longer silken trousers, “Choose something to wear.” 

You blink hotly. He’s flustered you, but that’s easy lately. “Do they have anything warmer?” you ask. 

He takes your arm gently into his hand and turns you an inch, where the jersey material pajamas hang from the wall. There’s a nice brown coordinating set right in front of you. He guesses your size (he knows it from practice), pulling a hanger from up high to offer you. “Yes?” he asks. 

“Why?” 

“You’ll need them.” 

You rub your face. “Okay, yeah. I like those ones.” 

He folds them over his arm. He can feel you gaze on the side of his face as he takes you to the register and pays without giving the total any mind. Hotch doesn’t care how much anything costs, he only wants it to be soft. If it weren’t crossing a line, he would’ve found you new underwear, too. 

He accepts the bag from the cashier and guides you out again. “Is there anything else you need?” he asks you. 

“For what?” 

“You aren’t going home.” 

“I’m not?” 

He shakes his head gently. He isn’t being intimidating, only straight forward. Hotch obviously isn’t in the business of kidnapping women, especially coworkers, friends, he just knows now that this won’t be solved without some tough love. “You’re staying with me, if you don’t mind.” 

“Why would I mind?” 

Lethargic, you follow him to the car and get back in the front seat. He turns the heated seats on and watches you sink into the leather, clearly pleased, tired eyes slipping closed every now and then in the ensuing silence. 

Regretfully, you startle as he parks, roused from whatever hooks that had finally managed to hold you. Heat, he thinks, is key here. 

“I’m making oatmeal and cocoa,” he says as he opens the door, waiting for you to follow suit before he continues, “and you can go and get changed. You know where my room is?”

“Sure.” 

“Alright, good. You can make yourself comfortable there.” 

“In your room?” 

He sends you a loving and agitated look over the door. Really? it says. You and Hotch have been trapped in an excitable will-they won’t-they situation for months, and he’d think by now the obvious answer to it all is we most certainly will. “Honey, yes. Unless you’d be more comfortable in Jack’s?” 

“Does he still have the race car bed?” 

“Afraid so.” 

You hum, and lead the way to the house. Hotch hands you his keys, something in his chest tightly squeezed to see you turn the house key in the lock, to let yourself in, and to hold out your hand expectantly for the department bag. You head to his room like you do it everyday. Hotch resists the urge to call you back and kiss you with your jaw held in his hand —it’s not the point. 

He gets a strange pang a few minutes later, stirring the pot of easy-sachet oatmeal, a rare pang of regret. Perhaps he’s being too headstrong, letting his worry guide him like this, pushing you to come home with him and to sleep in his bed. You might be at the same level as he is, but it still feels a little like pulling Spencer home with him and demanding he dress and eat as Hotch likes. 

I’ll apologise, he thinks, setting your oatmeal and cocoa on a tray, conscious of the sun setting outside, night swiftly falling. If he really is going to say sorry and have you go home, you’ll be disrupted again. There’s a possibility Hotch has made this ten times worse. 

He climbs the stairs and finds you laying on his side of the bed with your nose turned into his pillow, a damp sheen to your skin. You’ve washed your face, and changed into the new pajamas, just a little too big for you where you’ve curled around your hands. 

“Honey?” he asks softly. 

“Sorry,” you say, twice as quietly as he had, “just, it smells so nice in here.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“I’ll move.”

“Just sit up,” he says, thinking of you in the office with your jittering and your glass-eyed stare. “I’ve brought you something.” 

You nod heavily and do as he’s asked, again. He sets the tray on your lap and you look up at him. It’s the look that does it, really. The half circles under your eyes are nothing to him beyond proof that you aren’t sleeping, the bloodshot in your sclera, it’s all inconsequential. What floors him is the unquestioning trust to be found when you look at him. He doesn't kid himself when he thinks that this could lend itself to love. 

“You know why I’ve asked you to come home with me?” he asks carefully. 

“I worried you.”

He puts the tray in your waiting lap, gracing your chin with a quick stroke underneath, feather-light. “I haven’t abused my power?” 

“Buying me new clothes and making me dinner?” you ask softly, evident delight on your face as you notice the squares of chocolate that have begun to melt into your oatmeal. 

“Forcing you home with me and sequestering you in my bedroom.” 

“It’s not how I thought it would happen,” you confess, gathering a heaping mountain of oatmeal onto your spoon, “not the first time, at least. I guess I should worry you more often.” 

“No,” he says, holding your chin between his fingers until you meet his serious gaze. “You shouldn’t.” 

Your eyebrows do something he can’t name, but there’s a word for what it inspires in his chest. “I won’t,” you promise. 

[sturnlsstuff]

MISSED YOU | chris sturniolo

| ".... god, i hate that i missed you so much"

pairing: dealer!chris x fem!reader

summary: your dealer has been out of town for almost two weeks and after he's finally back, he texts you needing to see you.

warnings; smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, p in v, pet names, praising, unprotected sex, dirty talking, hair pulling, rough sex, car sex, crying, public¿ sex, cursing, mdni

a/n: literally my first fanfic after a looong time so please bear with me, if its bad... you know why. english isnt my first language so sorry for any mistakes! also its a little long 😭 part two here !!

~~~

she laughed at some joke her friend made and took another bite of her pizza. it was late friday afternoon, she and her bestfriends were hanging out, since there was nothing else to do. everything was great, until her phone buzzed. she looks at her screen, immediately smiling when she sees his name. she wasn't even aware that her lips had curved into a smile.

her friends were too busy with their own conversation, so she uses her moment and grabs her phone, reading the message from chris. she hasn't heard from him in over two weeks, she had no clue what he was doing, or where he was. she also didn't want to ask, hating the feeling of being too desperate. and it's not like he owns her any explanation either.

chris: u busy?

she bites her lip, fighting the urge to smile again as she replies back.

y/n: hi to you too

y/n: yeah im out with friends, whats up

chris: having fun?

chris: when u gonna be home ma?

y/n: like in an hour or so

chris: can u hurry up? c'mon kid i miss ya

y/n: you do???

she can't help but genuinely grins this time, her eyes widen a little. did he miss her? or was he just saying that to make her give in? he always knew how to talk to her, to make her going feral over him. but she wanted to believe he means it this time.

chris: hell yeah i do

chris: get ur ass out here

she looks at her friends, that were still yapping about something, that she couldn't care less about right now. she needed to see him. he never said he missed her before.

y/n: then come pick me up, im sending u the address

chris: omw gorgeous

chris is already in his car, when she sends him the address. not being able to see her for over two weeks, made him think. A lot. he has been her drug dealer for over a year now, there was tension between them since the beginning, so it didnt take them long to finally fuck at some party a few months ago. and since then, it's happening every now and then, usually they meet to smoke together, then they end up all over each other.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in front of the pizzeria, finally seeing her. she made a stupid excuse for her friends to leave, not being able to hide her excitement, so they just could assume what was going on.

chris gets out of the car, looking her up and down, licking his lips as she was only wearing a black crop top and baggy camo pants. he personally loved those, especially on her.

he opens the door for her, a smirk playing on his lips. "get in."

she tried her hardest to act casual, but just seeing him after a while, in all black outfit, was enough to make her dizzy. and she could swear he got a haircut. his hair was so much shorter, and she loved it.

she smiles, keeping the eye contact while getting inside the car. he closes the door, his eyes roaming all over her body as she walked towards him. he snaps back to reality, getting to the other side and climbing back into the drivers seat. he was feeling so many things that he couldn't express.

"missed me so bad, you couldn't wait an hour, huh?" she speaks up, putting on the seatbelt and looking over at him, while he starts the car.

she notices the way he looks her up and down, his eyes stopping at her exposed skin a little too long.

"i've missed my favorite customer." he smirks, going back to the eye contact.

"yeah, your favorite customer... right." she says sarcastically, trying her hardest to keep her cool and not to blush under his stare.

he grins before replying, focused on keeping his hands on the wheel instead of her body. it was getting harder with every second. "yeah, the one i always gotta give free stuff to."

"oh, dont act like i force you to do this..." she scoffs, still looking at him. "you know i always want to pay you."

"i know y'do... doesn't mean i will stop givin' it to you for free though."

"see, and that's crazy."

chris rolls his eyes, loving and hating at the same time, how she always had to talk back to him. he's driving, planning to go to her house, but the way she's looking right now, and especially her attitude, is making him crazy. he feels his dick getting harder with every second.

"whatever, ma. i know you secretly like it."

"yeah, sure." she mumbles with sarcastic tone, her eyes still watching him. seeing him driving was one of her favorite things in the world, he always looked so good. she appreciates, that he gives her stuff for free or cuts down her prices, but dealing was his job, he was making money out of it, so she always felt bad when he didnt want her cash. "what made you busy for so long? thought the cops caught or some shit"

chris bites his lip, his eyes glancing over to her for a second, before focusing back on the road. he never felt so desperate like right now, just having her in his car like that...

once he hears her question, he snaps back to reality and smiles. "the cops? please, sweetheart, they can suck my dick."

chris changes his direction, spotting an empty parking lot and he drives there. "i was out of town, had to deal with some business... nothin' to worry about now." he explains, parking and turning off his car, and his stare travels to her, scanning her face and body. "you're so curious...."

she nods, now understanding why he wasn't texting her these past two weeks, she was a bit ashamed 'cause she honestly thought maybe he got bored of her, so she didn't text him either. she still got some weed until yesterday, so she also had no reason to.

"why would you stop here?" she asks, looking at him with a little frown, but once she sees his smirk, the realization hits her. the excitement filling her body, the tension between them so noticeable, it makes her shiver.

he stares at her for a moment, adjusting his pants and then suddenly he unbuckles his seatbelt, sitting back in his seat so there was more space now.

"c'mere."

her eyes travels down on his lap, seeing the noticeable big bulge even through his jeans. she blushes slightly, looking back at him, the smirk still playing on his lips and it makes her weak in her knees.

"chris..." he cuts her off by reaching over and grabbing her chin, tilting her face closer to his.

"y'gonna do what i said, or keep talking back?"

she immediately unbuckles her seatbelt, moving over the center console and she gets into his lap, straddling him. she wasn't gonna act like she didn't miss him too, because, goddamn, she did. she presses herself onto his hard dick, watching him closely, and seeing how desperate and frustrated he was right now. It made her feel a little bit of a power, that she decided to take advantage of.

"now, was that so hard, ma?" he smirks even more, trying to hide his growing need for her, but his hands moves to grip onto her thighs. he felt the urge to touch her all over.

"you know, fifteen more minutes and we would be at my place-"

"you really think, i would wait fifteen fucking minutes, when i havent seen you for two weeks, and you look like that?" he loves the way she looks at him, with such admiration. she was so pretty in his eyes, he never felt this type of desperation for anyone ever before.

"and who's fault is that?" his hands grips her tighter and puts her closer in on his lap, making a little bit of friction, that he so desperately needs. his fingers digging into her skin, while he stares into her eyes.

"shut up for once, yeah?"

"make me." she smirks, challenging him. he doesn't have to hear it twice, loving the attitude she's giving him right now. his hand moves up from her thigh to the back of her neck, pulling her face closer and he kisses her roughly, grabbing her ass with his other hand as he does.

she smiles against his lips, immediately kissing him back with the same intensity, and she grinds down against his clothed dick, feeling her own need growing with every second. she missed the way he kissed her, she missed his lips, his hands all over her, his body against hers. she missed him and she hated to admit that.

she slides her tongue into his mouth, he bites her lip in response and lets her lead the kiss. moving up his hips to feel her more and not being able to hold back, he groans against her lips. he never felt so needy before. he pulls away for a moment to speak, and starts trailing kisses down her neck, squeezing her ass, before his hand moves up, caressing the skin on her exposed stomach.

"god, i hate that i missed you so much."

it slips from his mouth, he doesn't think much about it as he sucks on her skin, but for her it meant everything. she tilts back her head, giving him more space and she grinds against his lap some more, running her hand through his brown hair. he lets out a growl as she grinds down on him, making him even harder and he bucks his hips up again. lifting up his head from her neck his stare finds hers, the noticeable lust in his eyes made her bite her lip to hold back a moan. the smirk coming back to his face once he notices her flushed cheeks.

"what 'bout you, huh, ma? missed me too?"

she closes her eyes, their face so close to each other, it makes their lips brush when she replies him back.

"yeah... i did"

he grins, his hands playing with the waistband of her pants. that's all he needed to know, that she missed him as much as he missed her. even though they both were aware, they should'nt.

"how much, hm?" he unzips her pants, she lifts herself up, gripping his shoulders to balance herself and helps him take them off. then she straddles him again, trying to hold back her smile, but not being able to.

"want me to show you?"

he groans after her words, feeling her wet panties pressing against his hard dick and he bucks up his hips again, being so desperate, that he was ready to beg her. he starts marking her neck again, his hand traveling between her legs, massaging her clit through her underwear. her breath hitches in her throat, she lets out a little whine and grips his hair slightly.

"so wet already... shiiiitttt... all this f'me, huh?" he says against her skin, bitting on it slightly and making her moan. he adds more pressure, circling over her clit. "lift this shit up."

his tone demanding, he wasn't asking. she lifts up her top, revealing her breasts. he looks at her now, his eyes going back and forth between her tits, and her face. "fuck... not wearing a bra? fuckin' slut..."

he licks her hard nipple, then starting sucking on it. her hand tightens in his hair, tilting her head back and she lets out more whimpers. she was supposed to be the one in control this time, she craved it and saw how needy he is, but the way he's touching her, makes her losing her mind. he then pulls her panties to the side, running his fingers through her wet folds and suddenly putting one inside her. not even giving her any time, he just starts pumping in and out, adding another finger after a moment, now stretching her out. he pulls away from her nipple, looking at her face.

"c-chris..." she moans quietly, trying her hardest to keep the eye contact, but struggles to do so. her hands now traveling down his chest and unbuckling his belt.

"yeah, ma? y'like that?" he tries to keep his cool, still working his fingers inside her dripping pussy, curling them and making her whine in response. "look at you... so, fuckin' desperate on my lap. missed my fingers, huh? want some more?"

she desperately nods, squeezing around his fingers, but once he feels that, he pulls them out immediately putting them in his mouth to lick them clean. she whines, pouting her lips when he stops.

"show me how much you missed this dick then."

she bites her lip, unzipping his pants and with his help, she pulls them down to his knees, his boxers following after a second. chris leans his head back against the seat, gripping her hips as she gives him a few strokes before pulling her underwear to the side. she runs her thumb over his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it all over his cock, using it as a lubricant and then she lowers herself slowly on his cock, the movement making them both moan out loud with pleasure. she stays like this for a moment, needing to adjust after these past two weeks without him.

"fuckk...so tight...your pussy was made f'me.." he groans, tightening his grip on her hips and he watches her closely, as she finally starts moving on him. he’s holding himself back from moving up his hips and taking over, trying so hard not to thrust into her. he loves the feeling of her body against his and he’s missed it so much. he needed it, he needed her and he hated that. the feeling just kept growing, making the space in the car feel even smaller.

he pulls her back down into another kiss, this time more sloppy, continuing to move his tongue against hers, tasting her. she kisses him back, starting speeding up her pace and now bouncing on him harder. his dick hitting just all the right spots, making her moan loudly while chris tries to focus on the kiss and not to lose his composure. he wanted to take over, he always did, but the feeling of her riding him like that, has him gripping the seat. he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself together and he knows his patience wont last long. he looks up at her again, his eyes glued to her face.

"fuckkkk, ma.... takin' all of me so well... shit..." he hisses, when she speeds up even more. "so good.... s-so good f'me...."

she grips into his shoulders more, moaning loudly at his praises and she continues moving. chris is in complete ecstasy as she picks the pace up, a feeling like he hasn’t experienced before. there's just something about her on top and taking what she wants, that's got him feeling so many things at once.

“fuck.. just like that” one of his hands grab her ass, giving it a squeeze and then slapping it. "fuckin' slut... you like it? fucking in my car? takin' it just like a little bitch.... yeah? shitttt..."

he moans now not being able to hold back, and he starts thrusting into her. she gasps for air, her eyes closing shut as she tightens around him. "oh, wanna cum, huh? not yet darlin'...." he grips her hips more, his tip hitting her g-spot with every move.

"chris i-"

she cuts herself off with another moan, not being able to think straight. she digs her nails into the back of his neck, her head falling down on his shoulder and he immediately stops. her eyes snap open, she lifts up her head to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"you better don't look away f'me, ma.... wanna see your pretty face y'know? and keep makin' those sexy little sounds...got it?"

she nods, but it's not enough from him as he speaks up again. "use your words baby, c'mon... you aint that fucked out of your mind yet, hm?"

"i got it, just... please..." she whines, moving her hips, wanting to bounce on him again, but he stops her. she pouts. "chrissss......"

"get to the backseat." he demands, after scanning her face for a while. he wanted to give her all the pleasure she deserves. he wasn't even thinking about himself, he couldn't care less about his release. he just needed to make her feel good, making sure no one else can do what he can.

she pulls away from him, now moving over the center console again, struggling a bit but she gets into the backseat. chris obviously smacks her ass as she does, what makes her squeak.

"chris!"

but he just smirks, pulling off his pants and boxers all the way down and throwing it on the passenger seat, so it wasn't in the way. he gets on the back himself, there was little space, but enough to get into his favorite position. chris puts his hand on her back, forcing her to get on her knees and hands on the seat, as he positions himself behind her. chris loves the way he can get her all desperate and begging, so he teases her now. he moves his tip along her folds, making her whine. then he slowly puts it in, but after a few seconds he pulls back again.

"chris...." she whines, knowing he's playing with her now.

"yeah, baby?"

she bites her lip, her face pressing into the seat and she lifts up her hips more. "stop teasing me, please...."

he grins even more, slapping her pussy with his dick and then he suddenly pulls his cock all the way in, making her gasp and scream out of pleasure. the new angle let him hit all of her sweet spots.

"whatever you want, princess." he starts thrusting into her with a very intense and fast pace, going as deep as he could. the car now filled up with her moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. he grips her hips tight, keeping her in place. he can feel her squeezing around his cock again, and he lets out a growl. "c'mon.... cum all over me...wanna see you while y'do..."

chris moves one of his hands, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, having a good view on her face. her mouth wide open, letting out loud moans, her eyes rolling back.

"oh my god!" she cries out, gripping the edge of the seat like her life depended on it and she releases, the wet, squelching sound coming from her now louder. he groans, kissing her neck and whispering into her ear.

"you feel so good... cummin' like that f'me... such a good girl.."

she moans, squeezing around him again, the overstimulation now making her shiver as he keeps going with the crazy pace, not slowing down at all. he lets go of her hair, her head immediately falling onto the seat and he grips by her hips again, making sure she feels him as deep as he wants her to. he growls, being on the edge himself.

"i'm... close.." he mutters, throwing his head back. "gonna fill you up, yeah?"

she whines nodding desperately, but then he smacks her ass giving her a sign to answer verbally.

"shit! yes, fuck, yes chris, please!" she feels tears filling up her eyes from the pleasure, a few of them coming down her cheeks moment later. chris bites his lip, feeling her tightening around him. he moves one of his hands between her legs, now rubbing her clit, while still thrusting hard into her, but his movements getting sloppier. she cries out, her legs trembling and his dick twitches, finally cumming inside her, his warm sticky release filling her up and dripping out of her. he curses under his breath, digging his fingers into her skin, leaving bruises as he does. she feels him cumming, and the overstimulation from him lazily massaging her clit and still hitting her g-spot, makes her finish again. the pressure in her stomach now becoming too much, unable to hold back, she feels the liquid squirts out of her in waves.

his eyes snap open, looking down at her and he growls. he slows down until he eventually stops, after they both ride out their highs, this time not wanting to overstimulate her. looking at the mess she made, he can't help but feel a bit cocky about it.

"shit, ma.... squirtin' all over me, huh? is it how it is now?" he smirks, a little surprised that he made her do that but he couldn't be more proud. he pulls out of her, letting go of her hips and her body immediately falls onto the seat. she's breathing heavily, not being able to reply yet. "that's my fuckin' girl.."

he runs his fingers along her inner thigh, collecting her and his cum and he leans in a bit, covering over her. he looks at her fucked out expression and the smudged mascara on her cheeks. "look at me."

she opens her eyes, her mind blank, body shaking. he puts his fingers into her mouth, she immediately cleans them up, tasting both his and her release on her tongue, making sure she keeps the eye contact with him while she does that.

"you're so hot." he says now kissing the tears on her cheeks away. "took me so well..."

she smiles, seeing his flushed cheeks and messy hair sticking to his forehead. it was her favorite view.

"y'good, kid? don't go all mute on me now.."

"don't call me that...." she mumbles, trying to get her sarcastic attitude back, but she was absolutely spent right now. "i'm fine."

he just grins, gently patting her cheek before he pulls away. she slowly lifts herself up, trying to fight her trembling legs and she sits up now, facing him. not being able to do anything more yet, her glare moving to her legs and the seat she made mess on. she feels her cheeks growing hotter, now suddenly embarrassed and trying to ignore his stare. this never happened to her with him before and she didn't know what he thought about it.

"sorry about... the seats" she mumbles, grimacing.

he raises his eyebrows, now seeing her embarrassment and he doesn't understand why. it was a little surprising but he felt so proud. he already wanted to make her do it all over again. "you f'real? don't even say sorry, ever again."

she's still not so sure, blushing even more as he wipes her cheeks from the smudged mascara and then runs his hand through her hair, trying to fix it a little bit. he smiles softly. "gonna clean this up later, don't you worry 'bout that, okay?"

chris then reaches into the center console for the tissues, grabbing them and spreading her legs with his hands. she watches him closely seeing how he starts just gently cleaning her up. this simple movement makes her feel the heat rising from her cheeks down to her neck, so she just covers her face with her hands shyly. not really being able to understand why is she so embarrassed this time, he grabs her wrists, forcing her hands to move away from her face.

"y'gotta be kiddin' me. don't hide from me, ma." chris mutters. "not when you made such pretty mess in my car."

with a quiet sigh, she lets him take her hands off of her face. she chews on her bottom lip nervously while he goes back to cleaning her up, touching her slightly as she was made from some kind of glass. it was even cute, how he just made sure she was fine. it's not their first rough sex, but this one was definitely more intense and for some reason felt so... different. she had this strange feeling in her chest, just seeing him focused on wiping her legs and how he didn't seem to care about his covered in her release seats. once he's done, he sits beside her, wrapping his hand around her shoulder and pulling her close. she doesn't like the silence, even if before it was never awkward, this one was bothering her as she couldn't stop feeling unfamiliar emotions.

"i ran out, by the way." she suddenly blurts out, making him laugh. there was no way in hell this girl was real.

"yeah? good to know. gonna give y'some more later."

"im paying this time."

"oh, you've paid enough already." she immediately looks up at him, smacking his shoulder and he chuckles in response, pretending to be in pain. "woaaahh, bein' a little brat again, hm?"

"that's not funny, im giving you money." her tone shows no objection, he smirks and nods, knowing he won't take anything from her anyway. they sit like that for a moment, before he speaks up, knowing he will get another hit after that.

"soooo... round two?"

"christopher, i swear to god."

_____________________________

a/n: oh my god this seems sooo long 😭 tell me what yall think, i feel like i kinda fucked up with the whole dealer vibe but lmk please! i honestly enjoyed writing that so who knows..

[gf2bellamy]

explanation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: an officer won't stop talking to you content warnings: annoyed spencer, light flirting between reader and spencer a/n: had to write something for glasses reid also he looks so good in this gif ohymgod also this is short sorry

You forced a polite smile, though your patience was wearing thin as the police officer in front of you continued his overly enthusiastic explanation. His words blended together, a relentless drone that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Still, you nodded along, trying not to seem rude despite the growing urge to run away. 

What you didn’t notice was Spencer standing just a few feet away. He had been watching the exchange, his hazel eyes flickering between the officer and you.

From his position near the evidence board, he clutched a file in one hand, the papers inside creased slightly from the pressure of his grip.

His other hand, balled into a tight fist, remained at his side. 

It wasn’t like him to eavesdrop, at least not intentionally, but something about the way the officer leaned just a little too close to you made it impossible for Spencer to look away.

His jaw tightened as he struggled to focus on the task at hand, attempting to study the crime scene photos tacked to the board in front of him. 

But his mind wasn’t on the case. It was on you.

On the way you shifted uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded at the officer, and the way your lips curved into that practiced smile that Spencer had seen you use before when you were trying to be polite but had no real interest in the conversation. 

He knew you well enough to read the subtle signs.  

He didn’t want to interrupt. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat as he took a step closer. 

“I’ve already explained it to her,” he said flatly.

The monotone delivery caught you off guard, and you turned around quickly to face him, your eyes meeting his behind the familiar frames of his black glasses. 

Spencer wasn’t typically one to interrupt, especially not in such a dry way.

The officer, clearly thrown off by Spencer’s blunt interjection, shifted his weight uncomfortably and gave a half-hearted nod. “Oh, uh… right. Well, if you’ve got it covered, then…” His voice trailed off as he stepped back, offering an awkward smile before retreating. 

You raised an eyebrow at Spencer as the officer walked away, leaving the two of you alone near the evidence board. “What was that about?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer shrugged, the file still clutched tightly in his hand. “Nothing,” he replied, his gaze darting to the board as if suddenly engrossed in the timeline pinned there. 

But you weren’t convinced. Spencer Reid was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them, not when it came to how he felt.

You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the faint crease in his brow, and the tension in his posture. 

“Spencer,” you pressed, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his fingers flexing around the edges of the file before letting out a small sigh. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I just didn’t think it was necessary for him to keep… explaining things to you,” he said, his words measured. "I already told you everything."

You frowned, trying to piece together the odd behavior. “I mean, he was being—” 

“He was wasting your time,” Spencer interrupted, his tone firmer now. His eyes flicked to yours, the frustration evident behind his glasses. “You already know what you’re doing. You don’t need someone like him hovering over you like that.” 

Realization hit you. The pieces falling into place.

Spencer wasn’t just irritated. He was jealous. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched him try to keep his expression neutral, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Spencer,” you said softly, a teasing lilt in your voice, “were you jealous?” 

His eyes widened briefly, and he immediately shook his head. “Jealous? No, I… I wasn’t—” He faltered, his ears turning red as he fumbled for a convincing denial. 

“Sure you weren’t,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned slightly toward him. “It’s okay, though. It’s kind of… sweet.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing there was no way to argue without making it worse.

Instead, he sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

Your smile softened, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me. But you don’t have to worry—I’m not interested in anyone hovering over me. Unless, of course, it’s you.” 

That earned you a shy smile from Spencer, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with relief. 

And just like that, the two of you returned to the case, but not before you caught the subtle glimmer of satisfaction in Spencer’s eyes. 

[stars-obsession-pit]

Corpse-King

John never enjoyed spending time in the Infinite Realms. Perhaps because of the competing claims on his soul, the whole place just never sat right with him. But this time, this time it was far worse than ever before.

Because this time, he was walking into the Ghost King’s palace. He’s survived audiences with powerful entities before—even some that outright hated him—but it’s never a situation he wants to get himself into. Especially not when the lives of his teammates are on the line too.

Damn, he wishes he could light up a smoke. Maybe it’d help take the edge off his rising tension. But he really didn’t want to risk angering the ghost escorting them through the impossibly winding passages of the structure.

Maybe if they were at the entrance he’d have dared ask, but the further in they traveled, the heavier the silence weighed down on them. Even the sound of the group’s footsteps was muted by the ethereal ground beneath them. The idea of speaking first, of being the one to shatter that deathly silence, felt almost obscene.

Then finally, blessedly, the group came to a stop in front of an ornate door. Their escort silently unlocked the door, stepping to the side to let them pass. The message was clear.

Steeling themselves, the petitioning heroes stepped through into the throne room and beheld the legendary King of the Infinite Realms for the first time.

At first, the figure seated on the throne seemed remarkably normal. But the longer they looked, the more details became noticeable.

The figure was slumped against the throne, limp and motionless. Completely motionless. No breaths inflated their chest, their eyes remained unfocused and cloudy, no muscles twitched at all. Their skin was pale and waxy. Lifeless.

A corpse.

A corpse sat on the throne.

Yet despite the undeniable fact that the entity was dead, they could feel the presence still emanating from it. It left no room for doubt in their minds. The lifeless body resting in front of them was, undeniably, the leader of the Infinite Realms.

But how the hell could they petition a corpse?

Okay so under the read more here I’ve added an explanation of some of the “cosmology-y” ideas I had in the back of my mind while writing this

At some point, Danny’s human half died and his soul/ghost split off (i.e. essentially leaving him permanently in his ghost form now)

However, that corpse is still tied to him in a way; even though it’s literally dead, some of his power nevertheless remains inside of it. (So you can kinda think of it as like an important relic or a focus for part of his power)

He has the body sitting on the throne as a symbol for his reign (which’d possibly carry magical significance), an intermediary vessel to interact with his court while his “main form” is elsewhere, and just like as a safe place to keep it

The “deathly silence” part of the surroundings was vaguely based on the idea of like, Danny’s presence carrying an aura of power. And since the corpse in some way specifically embodies the “death” aspect of his domain, its effect on the area around it reflects that by making the area more lifeless.

[after-avenging-hours]

Rinse Cycle: Bucky x Reader

Pairing: New Avengers Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's laundry day, when you get called out on a last-minute mission, and you've run out of your normal, practical pairs of underwear. The team finds out and teases you relentlessly, before Bucky puts an end to the conversation. He later tracks you down to the laundry room and catches a glimpse of the lingerie you had on under your combat suit. He offers his assistance by running you through the rinse cycle.

Word Count: 5864

Warnings: 18+, Explicit sexual content, fingering with Bucky's metal arm, semi-public sex (threat of getting caught), squirting, shower sex, secret relationship, use of feminine pronouns for reader, new avengers reader, bucky picks reader up and carries them, mentions of wearing Bucky's clothes as your own

Divider credit

“Why are you walking funny? Were you hit?” Yelena’s voice is the first thing to greet you as you walk onto the jet. There’s a note of concerned curiosity as she eyes you up and down.

You release a soft groan and try to correct your gait. “Not hit, just uncomfortable. It’s laundry day,” you provide the minimal explanation while pulling open your weapon locker and starting to pull off all the guns and knives you have stashed all around your person.

“Ah,” Yelena smirks knowingly.

“I’m confused,” Walker pipes up from the other side of the jet. “What does laundry have to do with the way you’re walking?”

Before you can tell him to mind his own business, Ava cuts in, grinning wickedly. “Means she’s got sexy panties riding up her bum.”

You shoot her an accusatory glare and flip her off, which only makes her laugh. “The only thing riding up my bum is all of you pains in the ass.” You make a circular motion with your hand, indicating to everyone on the jet.

“Who are you calling a pain in the ass?” Bucky asks from behind you, making his way up the loading ramp.

“You, especially.” The sass in your tone does not go unnoticed.

He shoots you a conspiratorial smile as he walks past. He then moves to the front of the jet and activates the touchscreen console. “Data package secure. Returning to base,” he sends off the transmission and starts running through the takeoff procedures.

You settle into your seat and clip in, releasing a sigh of content now that you’re heading back home. Your relief is short-lived when you realize the conversation isn’t over.

John leans forward in his chair to catch your attention. “I thought women usually saved their granny panties for laundry day.”

You, Ava, and Yelena all scoff in unison. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but in our line of work, comfort usually outranks fashion.” The smile on your face is feral at best and deranged at worst.

“Yeah,” Yelena agrees. “Have you ever tried to dropkick someone with a thong so far up your crack, it felt like it was flossing your asshole?”

John winces and shifts in his seat, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Can’t say that I have…”

“This conversation seems incredibly work appropriate,” Bucky interjects, eyes focused out the windshield as he initiates the jet’s vertical ascent.

 “Well, this one thought it would be work appropriate to wear lingerie today,” Ava points at you over her shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Ava. It’s not like I’m going to take them off and start waving them around on my fingers.”

“Actually, I would pay good money to see that,” Yelena grins.

“You couldn’t afford me,” you smirk back.

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “If you are already wearing them, you may as well show them off.”

Bucky keeps his eyes focused through the windshield as he reaches a hand up to flick a few switches and then engages autopilot. “No one is showing off anything.”

Yelena pouts, “Party pooper.”

You laugh and pull a tablet out from under your seat to get a head start on your mission report. You want to have it done before landing back at the Watchtower, that way you can go straight to your room immediately upon arrival.

You hit Submit on the tablet right as the jet touches down on the tower landing pad. Everyone clips out of their seats and prepares to disembark. With it being such a short mission, you just have your bare essentials. You grab your tactical bag with your emergency rations, first aid kit, and a few personal items, and toss it over your shoulder. Your eyes catch Bucky’s from across the jet. His gaze flashes with a look that makes your blood hot. You have to look away to keep your body from reacting.

This little cat-and-mouse game between the two of you is getting harder to keep concealed from the rest of the team. In the beginning, all the sneaking around was sort of fun, in a way. It was thrilling to see what you could get away with under the noses of literal assassins and enhanced individuals. But the problem with Bucky Barnes is that once you get a taste, you can’t help but crave more. Heated glances turn into feathered touches. Words whispered like secrets in empty halls change to incomprehensible cries of ecstasy. Stolen kisses in darkened corners become a frenzied exchange of body heat behind closed doors. The more he gives to you, the more you want of him. Like an insatiable hunger and an endless thirst. You’re very quickly approaching the limit of your ability to keep the secret of how much you want him.

Walker has already hit the mechanism to lower the back ramp, and you’re all but running off the jet as soon as it’s down. Bob and Alexei are already waiting for your return.

“How’d it go?” Bob asks, eyes darting between each of you to assure himself you’ve all returned safely.

“Fine,” Yelena gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Easy extraction, minimal complications.”

“Where are you off to in such hurry?” Alexei prompts as you breeze past them with only a nod of greeting.

“She has a date with her laundry hamper,” Ava smirks, vigilant eyes tracking your every move.

Alexei frowns in confusion. “If this is joke, I don’t get it.”

The rest of their conversation is cut off by the automatic doors shutting behind you once you’ve stepped off the landing pad and entered the building. You take the elevator to the dormitory level. A heavy sigh of relief bursts from your chest while the tension leaves your shoulders. Yelena was correct in saying that the mission had been easy, but you never take for granted being able to come home unscathed. In this line of work, there are no guarantees, so any time the whole team makes it back all in one piece, you can’t help the grateful relief that floods you as soon as you’re off the jet. You might all be one bad day away from an emotional trainwreck, but this dysfunctional family is yours, and you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

You step out of the elevator and walk down the hall to your room. Your laundry basket is sitting just behind the front door. Exactly where you left it before getting called into this last-minute opp. You glare at it with your hands on your hips, like it’s the basket’s fault you were put into your current predicament. With a huff, you unzip your tactical vest and hang it on a hook on the wall, then you kick off your boots and shrug out of your uniform, tossing it into the basket. You add your sports bra to the pile and pull on the oversized sweatshirt that had been tossed over the back of your couch.

You hike the laundry basket up onto your hip and step back out of your apartment. The dormitory level is still blissfully empty. Bucky is likely giving his post-mission debrief to Valentina and handing over the data package. Yelena and John always hit up the cafeteria after returning from missions, and they probably took Bob and Alexei with them. Ava tends to wind down after missions with a run on the treadmill in the gym. Your bare feet pad quietly on the polished floor as you make your way to the communal laundry room.

There are rows of washing machines on one side of the room and dryers lining the other, with a folding table and cabinet against the back wall. You set your basket down in front of one of the middle machines and go to grab your detergent and fabric softener from the cabinet. You’re bent over, loading your clothes into the front opening of the washer when you feel the sudden brush of cool metal fingers against your lower back.

“Are these the panties that had everyone in a tizzy today?”

You hadn’t realized, but the way you were bent over caused your sweatshirt to ride up and put your barely-there lacy thong on full display for whoever happened to be passing by. You gasp and attempt to dart up, not realizing that your head is still halfway in the opening of the washer. Pain explodes against the back of your skull when it hits the lip of the machine. You yelp from the pain, one hand clutching the back of your head, while you slowly extract yourself from the opening and stand back up.

The deep laugh behind you is both exasperated and amused. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You rub at the sore spot and glare at him over your shoulder. “I find your lack of concern disturbing.”

His eyes actually sparkle when he grins. “Was that a reference from The Star War?”

You roll your eyes. “You know that’s not what it’s called. Also, no one says in a tizzy anymore.”

“I do.”

“Thanks for the reminder that I’m dating an old man.” You finish loading the last of your laundry and shut the door to the machine. You feel him press against your back while you get the machine into the correct setting and start it up.

“I’m young in all the ways that matter.” His words flutter against your ear, full of sin and promise.

You can’t help the shiver that runs through you, awareness creeping into your veins. “Yeah, and what ways are those?”

His hands come around you, pulling you even more against his chest before dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt, ghosting up your thighs and over your hips. “In the ways that make these work inappropriate panties damp.”

Your core throbs at the implication of his words. A needy whimper escapes you before you can stop it, your head falling back against his shoulder. His stubble tickles your skin when he places a kiss on your temple.

“You gonna tell me why you’re wearing date night panties on missions now?” There’s no accusatory inflection in his tone, just gentle curiosity and tender amusement. “Hoping to get lucky in between stealth crawls and shootouts?”

“No,” you scoff indignantly. “But someone keeps shredding or losing all my normal underwear, so I don’t have enough to get through a full laundry cycle.”

He hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping a rhythm only he hears against your lower abdomen. “Have you tried checking between the couch cushions?”

“Yes, actually. I found two of mine and one of yours.”

His laugh vibrates against your back. “And you didn’t return them to me?”

“They’re my sleep shorts now. Also, you still haven’t returned the ones that landed on top of your wardrobe.”

“Oh, I’m keeping those.” His voice dips low. Dangerous. “When you’re on missions without me, I wrap them around my cock and think about you while I fuck myself.”

“Jesus Christ.” If he wasn’t holding your body against his, you probably would have fallen into a puddle of goo on the floor. You turn around to face him and pin him with a glare. “You’re not playing fair.

He gives you a cheeky grin, entirely unashamed. “You’re the one wearing lingerie and waving your sexy ass in front of my face.”

You jab at his chest with your pointer finger. “You’re the whole reason I had to wear them, and you’re the one who snuck up on me. Now, not only are they uncomfortable, but they’re also wet, and it’s too late to throw them into my laundry.”

His eyes glow with pure male pride and wicked satisfaction. “If they’re that uncomfortable, then there’s a very simple solution.” His hands flex against your hips, and it's the only warning you get before he’s hoisting you up and onto the washing machine. He kicks your basket out of the way and stands in front of you. His fingers curl against the thin scrap of material before he pulls them down your thighs, revealing your glistening, pulsing folds, and the embarrassingly large wet patch on the inside of the fabric. After he’s pulled them completely off, he balls them up and shoves them, soaked and all, into the front pocket of his tactical pants.

He divested himself of the upper portion of his uniform before seeking you out, leaving him in a tight, navy undershirt with his dog tags hanging out. You hook your fingers around the chain and pull him in closer. “You going to keep those ones too?” You spread your knees to bracket his hips as he slots himself against you.

His eyes roam over your features like he’s trying to memorize you. “Maybe,” his mouth tilts into that adorable half smile that makes your knees weak.

You huff out a short laugh. “You’re staring,” you mutter quietly, as if speaking any louder might break the spell of this moment.

“I know,” he whispers back.

“Why?”

His gaze turns soft. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat. Only Bucky Barnes could have you literally dropping your panties for him one moment, then make your heart flutter with words so sweet, they make you want to cry, in the next. This is exactly why being with him is so dangerous. If it were just sex, that would be one thing, but when he says stuff like this, you can’t help but fall in love with him a little bit more.

“You know, you’ve gotten way better at flirting,” you tease after wrestling your wayward heart back under control.

He gives you an amused smile. “I wasn’t trying to flirt.”

You reach up to cup his face and pull him even closer to you. “Well, either way, it’s working.”

His chuckle ghosts over your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, eyes falling shut moments before his mouth slants over yours.

You moan into his mouth, one hand sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck while the other curls around his shoulders. He sighs like he’s been waiting for this all day. His flesh hand grips the edge of your jaw, deepening the kiss. His metal fingers press into your lower back, holding your body tight against him. You feel the hard seam of his tactical pants against your unprotected pussy and whimper when the rough material catches against your clit. He sinks his teeth into your lower lip and grinds against you, either uncaring or utterly delighted by the mess you’re making against the fabric of his uniform. Probably the latter.

The washing machine vibrates under your ass, sending tremors right to the place where you’re grinding against Bucky’s clothed erection. His tongue slips into your open mouth, hot and wet and tasting like spearmint. He devours your moans like they’re sustaining his lifeforce. He kisses you like his very existence depends on leaving you shaking and wrecked and begging for more. It’s intense and makes your head spin.

When he pulls away, you’re left panting for breath and blink up at him blearily.

“Still uncomfortable?” he questions with a tilted smirk.

Your pussy clenches in hunger. “Yes, but now for entirely different reasons.”

He looks down and shifts his hips back enough to see the mess of slick and needy wetness splattered across the front of his pants. “Fuck, I love this messy pussy.”

You place your hands behind you against the top of the washing machine and lean back, spreading your thighs even further, and tilt your hips up, your body moving on instinct. “Bucky… please touch me.”

His responding chuckle is dark, laced with heavy want and yearning desire. “Now, how could I possibly say no to that?”

Vibranium fingertips drag across your skin, moving from your lower back to curl around your hip and down to your dripping center. The metal plates are no longer cold, having absorbed the body heat from your burning flesh. His fingers swipe over your slick folds, causing the simmering heat to bubble up low in your belly. He circles teasingly around your clit, never quite touching it, but close enough to have you keening. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking desperate, so fucking needy. And he relishes in it. In the way you beg for him, not only with your words, but with your eyes, and your body, and every fiber of your being.

Your lips part with a guttural cry when he finally pierces you with his middle finger. He sinks in all the way, without resistance, your body welcoming the intrusion with squelching fervor. He gives a few experimental thrusts, feeling how you squeeze and flutter around the single digit. After a few seconds, he adds his index finger. “Ah!” you gasp at the way his thick fingers stretch you out.

He watches your face closely, eyes lidded, pupils blown, while he fucks you with his vibranium fingers. He shoves them as deep as they’ll go, then curls them against your upper wall. “Fuck—Bucky—!” Your hips jolt against his palm of their own accord. That tight coil of pleasure deep in your gut thrums with energy.

He looks utterly delighted by the way you’re falling apart in front of him. “Careful, sweetheart, or you’ll alert the whole floor.”

Your wide eyes dart to the open doorway of the laundry room. Literally anyone could walk past and they’d have a front row view of you getting finger fucked by a metal-armed super soldier. Your breath hitches in your throat with a flicker of panic, but then your nipples tighten and your pussy clenches hungrily around Bucky’s fingers. Is it bad that you kind of want to get caught? Not because you want someone else to see you in this depraved state, but because then it would mean that being with Bucky would no longer be a secret. No more sneaking, no more waiting for a moment alone, no more trying to be quieter than the humming machine vibrating under your ass.

He must recognize the direction of your thoughts, because he tsks his tongue. “Someone’s having naughty thoughts.” He punctuates his words with another solid thrust of his fingers into that spongy place that shoots a jolt of pleasure directly up your spine.

“God—Bucky!” You can’t help but cry out his name again.

“You tryin’ to get caught?” He asks, that slow smirk spreading his lips. His wrist tilts a little, and then you feel the hard edge of his thumb press against your clit. He circles directly over the tight bundle like he’s trying to polish a penny.

Your teeth clamp down hard on your lower lip as you try and fail to keep your whimper inside you. “M-mm,” you shake your head in denial.

“Hey, only I’m allowed to bite that.” His voice is more tender than teasing as his other hand eases your lip from between your teeth. His thumb rubs gently over the swollen flesh, then pulls away. “Here.” His fingers then grip the bottom hem of your hoodie and drag the material up to your mouth. “Bite this.”

You’re so used to trusting his commands on missions that you don’t even question the order; you just do as he says. You don’t realize the dual function of his actions until he flashes you a satisfied grin and dips his head low over your freshly exposed chest. He sucks one peaked nipple into his waiting mouth and pinches the other between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric in your mouth muffles your groan of pleasure, but just barely.

The fingers inside your pussy don’t stop. If anything, they seem to work you even faster, curling into you like they’re holding down the trigger of an assault rifle. Expert marksman that he is, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows right where to press and how much pressure to apply to get you primed and ready for ignition. His thumb continues its barrage on your aching clit, occasionally swiping down near his other fingers to collect more of your slick. You’re so wet at this point that there’s an audible squelch with each movement of his fingers. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on by it.

Bucky devours your breast like it’s the most delicious thing to ever pass his tantalizing lips. His tongue laps at your stiff bud as he sucks it deeper into his mouth. Leaving one of your hands back to keep you propped up, the other sinks into the hair at the nape of his neck. You cradle his neck, nails scratching encouragingly at the back of his scalp as you arch against him. He plucks, pulls, and tweaks at your other nipple in a way that shoots straight to your aching core. Your cunt practically drools from all the attention he’s showering over your body. The fabric in your mouth grows damp from your saliva.

The machine under you shifts into a higher gear, the drum spinning even faster, the vibrations kicking it up a notch. Bucky takes it as a personal challenge and increases his own pace. A third finger enters your body; your drenched, quivering walls, greeting it like an old friend. At this point, you’re not sure if the wet sounds filling the laundry room are coming more from you or the washing machine.

“Ngh!” Your teeth clamp down on the bunched fabric as a tremor travels down your legs. Bucky’s fingers thrust and pulse against your G-spot, the stimulation becoming too much to bear. They press and curl against that spongy tissue inside you, over and over, pushing the height of your pleasure further up with every overwhelming touch. Your brow furrows, muscles twitching in other parts of your body from the overstimulation. Something feels different this time, but you’re too overloaded with pleasure to be able to concentrate on anything long enough to figure out what. There’s almost too much pleasure that you feel like you’re about to burst. It presses against the inside of your skin, making it feel too tight, like there’s not enough room to contain it.

Your thighs shake, hips convulsing, breasts heaving. Every place that Bucky touches you feels like sparks scattering across your skin. You can’t take it anymore; it’s entirely too much. You have to let it out somehow, or you’re going to explode. Just as that thought crosses your mind, you feel the pressure intensify between your legs, before it bursts out of you like a broken fire hydrant. Liquid sprays in an arc, past Bucky’s fingers, and soaks immediately into the front of his shirt. The bottom of your sweatshirt falls out of your mouth as your jaw slackens, no longer muffling the wail of your pleasure in acoustic form. Your back arches and your hips jerk into his unrelenting touch. He makes you squirt again with a perfectly timed thrust into your sopping cunt.

“Fuck! Oh my God—Bucky!” Your entire world has tilted off its axis. Gravity is skewed; physics off balance; hell, even the law of thermodynamics could be reversed, for all you know. There’s only you, Bucky, and an endless ocean of pleasure and release.

His mouth gives a parting suck to your breast before he lifts his head to watch you fall apart. His eyes sparkle with wonder and awe, like he’s witnessing something holy and sacred. Like the offering he’s provided to his deity has been met with all the answers he was looking for. He’s been baptized in your pleasure and come out the other side as a new man.

Your legs still jolt with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Bucky carefully extracts his fingers. Wet metal leaves streaks against bare skin where he rubs soothingly against twitching muscles in your thigh. His flesh hand is a steadying weight against your rib cage, just under your pounding heart. Your sweatshirt is still bunched up to the armpits, leaving your heaving breasts on full display, one shiny with spit, the other still achingly hard. You look like a downright mess, but by the look in Bucky’s eyes, you’ve never felt more beautiful. In an unhinged, debauched sort of way…

He glances down at his soaked shirt, then back at you. “Didn’t know you could do that.” His mouth curls into that half smile again.

The embarrassment hits you nearly as hard as the orgasm. “Didn’t know either. I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be.” He cuts in before you can spiral into your mortification. He cups the back of your neck, flesh fingers massaging the base of your skull. “I’m already coming up with 37 ways that I can get you to do it again.”

You scoff, half incredulous, half in relief that he’s not mad or disgusted. In fact, he looks quite pleased with himself instead. “Only 37?”

His grin turns positively feral. “I’m sure more will come to me in time.”

“That’s not the only thing coming.” The two of you share a laugh at the innuendo. “We should probably get out of here before the team comes back.” You try to be the voice of reason, but with the way you’re still clinging onto him, your mind and body appear to be at odds.

His eyes flicker between yours. “Mine or yours?” Clearly, he’s not done with you either.

You smile back. “You have a bigger shower.”

He lifts you off the washing machine and carries you down the hall to his personal suite. You’re grateful that the dorm level is still empty, since your bare ass is definitely in full view. Discarded clothing litters the floor of Bucky’s bathroom, steam making the air thick. Hot skin presses to cold tile, both slick with water and soapy suds. He kisses you long and slow, like someone who doesn’t need to worry about their water bill. Your fingers card through his wet hair, made soft by conditioner and smelling of rosemary and peppermint.

He hikes your knee higher up against his hip and rocks into you like he has all the time in the world. Rivulets of water drip down his chest and mix with the wetness from where he’s buried inside you. All the tension from the day has melted from his shoulders and now circles the shower drain. Your heady moans and breathy mewls echo around the space, making him feel like he’s entirely surrounded by you. He kisses your neck and shoulders reverently, worshiping the body that means more to him than his own. He thrusts into your moist heat, feeling every shudder, clench, and squeeze of your cunt around his cock.

There’s no rush. No frenzied urgency to reach the end. Just two bodies moving as one, skin hot, eyes glassy. Shared breath, nimble kisses, lingering touches. It’s more than sex. It’s souls intertwining. He doesn’t say it with words, but you feel his love, breathe his devotion. He’s attentive and careful, making sure you’re right there with him, every step of the way. He doesn’t treat you like a tool. He thrives off your pleasure as much as his own.

He sinks into you, as deep as he can get, and grinds his pelvic bone into your clit. He recaptures your mouth, tongues tangling, tasting, and consuming your pleasure. Your next orgasm rolls into you like rumbling thunder, not quite as sharp and sudden as lightning, but no less powerful. Bucky grunts low in his chest as your pussy clamps down around him. A few sloppy thrusts later, and he’s spilling into you, thick milky cum painting your walls white.

He continues to hold you close, chin resting against your damp hair, his skin turning pink from a combination of the hot water and postcoital bliss. You press your cheek to his chest while you attempt to catch your breath, fingers tracing the gold patterns on his shoulder. You listen to his heartbeat as it steadily evens out; his recovering much faster than yours. Words aren’t needed to fill the silence. Everything’s already been said in other ways.

Metal fingers slowly lower your lifted knee off his hip, then travel up your outer thigh and settle at your waist. They follow the trails of water droplets in reverse, like they’re jealous of the tracks those droplets have left behind and want to cover your skin in traces of their own. His fingers leave behind marks that can’t be seen physically, but they’re painted on your soul.

You’re not sure how long you spend wrapped up in each other. And thanks to the great mind of Tony Stark, the hot water in this building is practically limitless. The bathroom is starting to turn into a sauna by the time you and Bucky finally part and finish cleaning yourselves up. He wraps a large, extra fluffy towel around your shoulders and makes sure it’s secure before casually wrapping one loosely around his waist.

A cloud of steam billows out as soon as the bathroom door is opened. You follow Bucky into his bedroom, using the edge of your towel to scrunch your hair dry. He opens one of his drawers and pulls out a Henley he knows is your favorite. Then he opens a different drawer and pulls out a set of boxer briefs and a pair of undies. He casually hands you the shirt and undies, then drops his towel and pulls on the briefs.

Your brow furrows in confusion. You lift the panties up, leaving the fabric to dangle from your fingers. “These aren’t mine…”

He bends down to grab his towel once more and dabs at the water droplets on his chest, barely even glancing at the underwear in question. “They’re new.”

You blink several times in shock, probably looking a little too much like that one guy in the meme. You look at the drawer Bucky pulled these out of, then back at him. “You bought me new underwear?”

He smiles, half sheepish—half cheeky, all charming. “I figured you were getting low.”

You give him an incredulous look, but have to laugh. “And you couldn’t have told me earlier?” You pull his Henley on and then drop your own towel. You step into your new panties and pull them up your legs. They fit perfectly. Comfortable, soft, just the way you like it.

“I’m telling you now.” Humor makes his eyes sparkle like gemstones.

You reach for the side of his face and pull him in for a kiss. “Thank you,” you mumble against his lips.

“My pleasure,” he breathes before kissing you back. He cradles your face between his hands, holding you so gently, you’d never guess what sort of gruesome things those very hands had been forced to do in another life. His nose brushes against yours, lips ghosting across your cheek. There’s a brief moment when you feel him seem to hesitate before his lips part and he speaks. “I want to tell the team.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “What?” You search his eyes, wondering if he’s truly saying what you think he’s saying.

He looks back, like he’s searching for the same thing in your eyes. “I want to tell them about us.”

You suck in a harsh breath. Yes, he is definitely saying what you thought he was saying. You stare up at him, eyes wide, and suddenly you’re envisioning everything you’ve been desperately trying not to for months. Cuddles on the couch during movie nights. Giggling at the breakfast table, stealing each other’s toast and coffee. Flirting openly during sparring sessions. No more hiding, no more sneaking, no more dark corners.

“…Or not?” Bucky frowns when you don’t respond to his proposal.

“No!” you shout unnecessarily loud, given your proximity. “I mean, yes—I mean…” You take a breath and try to steady yourself. You place your hands on his chest and meet his gaze straight on. “I want to tell the team, too.”

His mouth lifts into a tilted smile, eyes going soft and tender. “Yeah?”

You smile back, your heart pounding in excitement. “Yeah,” you confirm.

“We should probably prepare ourselves, then. The teasing is about to become insufferable.”

You laugh openly. “Well, then we can just start making out obnoxiously until they all get uncomfortable and leave.”

He chuckles back. “I like the way you think.”

You share another heated kiss before you pull away with a groan. “I need to go move my laundry.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offers immediately.

You shoot him with a dubious expression. “I’ll be back in like five minutes.”

He looks back solemnly. “That’s entirely too long.”

You scoff in amusement and begin heading for the front door of his suite. “Who knew metal-armed super soldiers were so needy?”

“The neediest,” he confirms.

You push open the front door and stumble out into the hall with Bucky’s arm around your waist and half glued to your back. You’ve barely taken two steps when the ding of the elevator has you freezing in place. There’s no time to react before the doors open, revealing all the remaining members of the team. They stare at the two of you, and you both stare back. Time suddenly comes to a screeching halt. A beat passes, then two.

Bucky’s arm tightening around your waist snaps you out of it right before he lifts you up and turns his back toward the team, shielding you from view. “Don’t look. She’s indecent.”

You gawk and sputter for words. “You’re wearing even less than I am!” you protest, fidgeting in his hold.

“I knew it!” Yelena screams in validation. Her hand darts out to stop the elevator doors from closing as she points at you both accusingly with the other. “I knew you were making kissy faces at each other when you thought we weren’t looking!”

“Ah…” Ava makes a sound like she’s just reached a profound conclusion. “Now the box of women’s underwear that was delivered to Barnes makes more sense.”

“You looked through my packages?!” Bucky glares incredulously over his shoulder.

She shrugs casually. “More like phased through them. Security protocol. And personal curiosity.”

Everyone pauses for a second, minds scrambling to figure out what packages of theirs might have been discovered by Ava.

Bob clears his throat and raises his hand before speaking. “I accidentally heard the two of them in a compromising position through the wall once.”

Ava narrows her eyes and points toward him. “Noise canceling headphones?” She guesses, recalling the purchase he made a few weeks back.

He flushes in embarrassment and nods. “Yep… got those after it happened.”

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Alexei laughs heartily and goes next. “I saw lipstick stain on Barnes’ neck at fundraising gala. Same shade as what she was wearing,” he gestures toward you.

“Wait…” John looks around the group. “So, am I the only one that didn’t know about this?”

“Yes,” they all collectively respond.

“Oh my God…” you groan behind your hands as you cover your face in mortification. So much for thinking you were getting away with this the whole time.

“Well, on the bright side,” Bucky starts, whispering directly into your ear. “Looks like we don’t have to tell them.”

“Yeah, you think?!”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

simon having a girlfriend, the 141 knows about it but they've never seen her, only glimpses of it on ghost's phone. one day (idk how) they all meet, and she's nothing like they expected : even more quiet than ghost, rbf, even kind of aloof. they just expected simon with a sweet thing...

Unexpected

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Strong language, implied injury, Ghost being surprisingly soft, the team being nosy

Author's Note: This was such a fun request! I love the idea of Ghost being with someone even more intimidating than him especially since people (including me) write Si with an Angel of a partner who’s normally so sweet and soft. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: The 141 has always known Ghost had a girlfriend, but they’d never met her—until now. She’s nothing like they expected.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The first time Soap caught sight of the name Love on Ghost’s phone, he nearly choked on his drink.

“You—wait. Hold on,” he sputtered, jabbing a finger at the screen before Ghost locked it. “Who the hell is Love?”

Ghost just stared at him with that unreadable expression, dark eyes betraying nothing. “My bird.”

Gaz perked up. “Your bird? As in—”

“As in my girlfriend, yeah,” Ghost said, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

It sent the team into a spiral. They had known something was up. Ghost occasionally disappeared for a few days of leave with no explanation, and while that wasn’t entirely unusual, there had been signs—the faintest traces of something softer underneath all that darkness. The rare moments he checked his phone with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. The times he was quieter than usual, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Still, the idea of Ghost—their Ghost—having a girlfriend was mind-blowing.

Soap was convinced she must be the kindest, softest woman alive to put up with Simon. “Bet she’s the sweetest thing,” he had said more than once. “Real gentle. Y’know, keeps him sane.”

Gaz figured she was probably a civilian, something normal and grounding for him. “No way she’s in the military,” he reasoned. “He needs someone to balance all that out.”

Price had never commented much, but he assumed she must be warm. Someone who balanced out Ghost’s sharp edges. Someone who could crack that armor of his.

And yet, despite all their curiosity, Ghost had never offered them anything. No name. No stories. Just the knowledge that she existed and the occasional glimpse of her name flashing on his phone screen.

Then came the mission where Ghost took a minor hit—not serious enough for the medics to worry, but enough for bruises and a few stitches. He brushed it off as nothing, but his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the way back to base.

Love: Heard about the mission. You alive?

Love: Simon. Answer the phone.

Love: I’m coming to base.

Price, ever the observant one, had glanced at the messages and raised an eyebrow. “She’s persistent.”

Ghost sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. She is.”

Soap, meanwhile, was grinning like an idiot. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

——

The moment she stepped onto the base, the temperature seemed to drop.

They had been expecting someone soft, someone warm—maybe the kind of woman who would fuss over Ghost the second she saw him. Instead, the woman who strode into the room was silent. Unreadable. Her eyes scanned the space with sharp precision, lingering on each of them for a moment before locking onto Ghost.

Her expression was flat. No smile. No relief.

She crossed the room in a few steps and stood in front of him, arms crossed. A heavy silence fell between them before she muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

Soap actually gawked.

Ghost—who barely let anyone within arm’s reach—let her step right into his space. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stiffen. Instead, he just huffed out a quiet laugh, something close to amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Hello to you too, love,” he said, voice softer than the team had ever heard it.

She didn’t react much beyond narrowing her eyes at him. “Let me see.”

Ghost sighed but didn’t argue. He let her reach for his arm, fingers grazing along the bandage. It was a touch the rest of them would have never dared, but Ghost stood still, letting her check him over with a quiet, practiced efficiency.

“You should be resting,” she muttered, finally releasing him.

“I’m fine,” Ghost said.

She exhaled through her nose, clearly unimpressed, before finally turning toward the rest of the team.

Gaz, ever the diplomat, offered a friendly smile. “So, you’re—”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Soap cleared his throat. “Uh, we were expectin’—”

“She’s not what you thought,” Ghost cut in smoothly.

“No,” Price said, watching her with open curiosity. “She’s not.”

——

Soap was the first to attempt conversation. “So… how’d you two meet?”

She just blinked at him. “That’s classified.”

Soap’s eyes widened. “Wait. For real?”

“No,” she said, voice flat. “But I’m not telling you.”

Ghost actually chuckled. A small sound, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The team stared.

Price just nodded to himself, as if he finally understood something none of them did.

Gaz leaned in, whispering to Soap, “Mate, I think he found his match.”

Soap didn’t respond, too busy processing the fact that this woman might actually be more intimidating than Ghost.

——

Later that evening, when they were finally alone in Simon’s quarters, she stood in front of him with her arms crossed.

“Let me see,” she said again, gentler this time.

Simon sighed but sat down on the edge of his cot, allowing her to kneel beside him. Her fingers brushed over his forearm, carefully unwrapping the bandage to check his stitches.

She didn’t scold him this time. Didn’t say anything at all at first. Just traced over his skin lightly, checking for any signs of trouble.

After a moment, she muttered, “I worry about you.”

Simon let out a quiet breath. He reached out, his fingers curling around her wrist, grounding himself in her touch. “I know.”

She didn’t say anything else, but she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder. Simon closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in.

The silence between them was familiar, comfortable.

She wasn’t soft in the way the team had expected. She didn’t fuss over him, didn’t spill over with affection or warmth. But she cared. She knew when to push, when to hold back. She knew how to settle into his quiet without trying to fill it.

“Stay the night,” Simon murmured.

She nodded against his shoulder. “I was going to.”

His lips quirked up slightly. Of course she was.

——

The next morning, as she walked past the rest of the team, she gave them a single nod before leaving.

Soap watched her go, then turned to Simon. “I gotta say… didn’t see that comin’.”

Price hummed. “Neither did I.”

Gaz smirked. “She’s just like you.”

Soap shook his head. “No. She might be worse.”

Simon, unbothered, just muttered, “Good.”

Because if there was anyone who could stand beside him—who could understand his silences, match his sharp edges, and still choose him—he knew it was her.

And that was more than enough.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[callsigns-haze]

Silly little life

Summary: Hangman skips a mission to be by Y/N's side during a tough labor, and together they welcome their baby girl into the world, showing just how strong their bond is.

Warning: Contains intense depictions of labor pain and emotional distress during childbirth.

Word count: 3476 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part two of Little Life

Part 3

The Dagger squad gathered in the briefing room, the usual air of anticipation hanging thick in the space. Maverick stood at the front, arms crossed over his chest as he looked out at the group. Phoenix leaned back in her chair, her legs casually crossed, while Rooster sat forward, elbows on the table, a curious look on his face. Fanboy and Payback were murmuring something under their breath, probably joking about who’d outfly who on the next mission. Coyote sat closest to the front, sharp-eyed and waiting for instructions. Bob, as usual, was quietly observing from the corner, his ever-attentive gaze locked on Maverick.

But one thing was missing—Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

It wasn’t unusual for Jake to cut it close, swaggering in just as the briefing started, flashing his cocky grin as if the world bent to his timing. But today, he was nowhere to be seen.

Maverick cleared his throat, and the chatter in the room died down, all eyes turning toward him. He gave them a measured look, the kind of expression that immediately told the group something was off.

“I’m going to keep this short,” Maverick began, his voice calm but firm. “As you’ve all noticed, Hangman’s not here.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in her chair. “Where is he? It’s not like Jake to miss a briefing.”

Rooster shot her a look, his expression sceptical. “Maybe he’s just late. Hangman never misses a chance to show off.”

Maverick shook his head. “He’s not late. He’s not coming.”

A murmur ran through the squad, surprise rippling across their faces. Payback’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Fanboy exchanged a quick glance with Coyote, who looked genuinely confused.

Bob, ever the quiet one, spoke up from the back, his voice soft but clear. “Why not? What happened?”

Maverick let out a slow breath, his gaze steady. “Jake’s not going to be joining us on this mission. He’s dealing with... important family business.” The way he said it left little room for questions. It was vague, deliberate. He wasn’t going to share more than that, and the squad knew it.

Phoenix frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced around the room. “Family business?” she echoed. “Jake never mentioned—”

“He didn’t have to,” Maverick interrupted, his tone kind but firm. “Whatever it is, it’s personal, and it’s not your place to pry. The information only belongs to him and his commanders.”

There was a pause, the weight of the unspoken questions hanging in the air. The Dagger squad wasn’t used to Jake missing missions, especially without an explanation. He was Hangman—their most confident, always-present wingman: bit of a douche too. The idea of him having something outside of flying, something that pulled him away, was almost unimaginable.

Rooster scratched at his chin, his brow furrowed. “Is he okay?”

Maverick’s gaze flickered to Rooster, then to the rest of the squad. “He’s fine,” he reassured them, though his voice held a tone that indicated there was more to the story than he was letting on. “He’ll be back when he’s ready. Until then, you focus on the mission at hand.”

Coyote, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his deep voice filled with concern. “So we’re just supposed to carry on without him?”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” Maverick replied, his voice sharp. “Hangman knows what he’s doing, and he knows when to step back. Right now, his focus is where it needs to be.”

There was a silence in the room, heavy with unanswered questions. The squad exchanged glances, each one processing the news in their own way. Phoenix looked thoughtful, her mind clearly working through what “family business” could mean for someone like Jake, someone who seemed to live for the thrill of flying and the camaraderie of the squad. Rooster’s expression remained puzzled, though a part of him seemed to respect the privacy Maverick was asking for.

Bob, still calm and collected, nodded quietly to himself. “Understood.”

Maverick gave them all a final, serious look. “Jake will be back when he’s ready. Until then, we move forward. Focus on the mission. That’s all.”

With that, Maverick turned and walked out, leaving the room in a quiet, subdued atmosphere. The Dagger squad sat for a moment longer, absorbing the reality that Hangman wouldn’t be flying with them this time.

But none of them could shake the question lingering in their minds: What kind of family business was important enough to pull Jake Seresin away from the skies?

---

Hours. It felt like you’d been in labor for days instead of hours. Every contraction tore through you, leaving you drenched in sweat, your muscles aching from the strain. The hospital room was dimly lit, the rhythmic beeping of the monitor the only constant in the chaos of your body. You tossed and turned on the bed, trying to find some relief, but nothing seemed to help.

Your hair stuck to your forehead, damp and tangled, and every breath felt labored, like your lungs could barely keep up with the demands of your body. Groaning in discomfort, you shifted again, the cold sheets doing nothing to cool your overheated skin. Your hand gripped the side of the bed as another wave of pain hit, your knuckles white from the pressure.

Jake was beside you, his hand on your arm, trying his best to soothe you. His voice was soft, calm, like he was trying to talk you through a flight manoeuvre. “You’re doing amazing, darlin’,” he whispered, his other hand gently brushing the hair from your face. “Breathe through it, okay? We’re almost there.”

But his words didn’t bring you the comfort they usually did. You were too far gone in the discomfort, the contractions relentless, your body feeling like it was fighting against itself. You groaned again, louder this time, unable to hold back the frustration as the pressure built in your lower abdomen.

“Jake, I can’t—” you panted, squeezing your eyes shut as another contraction took hold. The pain was unlike anything you’d ever felt, a deep, all-consuming force that made you want to scream, cry, or both. You could feel Jake’s hand rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder, but it wasn’t enough.

“I know, baby, I know,” he said softly, his voice tight with worry. “You’re so strong. Just keep going, alright?”

You cracked one eye open, looking at him through the haze of exhaustion. His face was lined with concern, his brow furrowed as he held the small plastic cup of ice chips in his hand. You could tell he was trying to be strong for you, but you could also see the fear in his eyes—the helplessness. He hated seeing you like this, and even though he was doing everything he could, there was nothing that could truly ease your pain.

He brought a spoonful of ice chips to your lips, his touch gentle, careful. “Here, darlin’, try to take a little more,” he urged, but you turned your head slightly, too tired, too uncomfortable to want anything in that moment.

“I don’t want the damn ice,” you snapped, immediately feeling bad as soon as the words left your mouth. But you were so frustrated, so overwhelmed with the never-ending discomfort.

Jake didn’t take it personally. He just nodded, setting the cup down on the table beside him before leaning in, his hand still resting on your arm. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re doing great. I’m right here.”

You groaned again, a deep, guttural sound that came from the pit of your stomach as your body prepared for another contraction. The pressure in your hips and lower back was unbearable, and no amount of repositioning or soothing touches could make it stop.

You tossed your head back against the pillow, panting, desperate for this to end. You could feel the sweat trickling down your neck, your whole body shaking with the effort of holding on. Every time you thought the pain had peaked, it got worse, and your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to ride through it.

Jake’s hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. He was trying to help, you knew that, but nothing he did seemed to touch the raw intensity of what you were feeling. You could hear him murmuring something under his breath—soft encouragements, maybe—or a prayer that this would be over soon.

Your grip on his hand tightened as another wave hit, and you groaned again, your whole body arching off the bed with the sheer force of it. It felt like you were being pulled apart, every muscle in your body straining as you fought to stay in control. But it was slipping. You were slipping.

“Jake,” you panted, your voice breaking. “I—I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “You’re almost there, baby. I promise. Just a little longer, okay? You’ve got this.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to hold onto his words and let them carry you through. But right now, it felt like there was no end in sight. Just more pain, more pressure, more of this endless battle between your body and the life you were about to bring into the world.

But through the haze of discomfort and exhaustion, you could feel his presence, solid and unwavering, anchoring you to the moment. And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, that was enough to keep you going.

Even if the ice chips weren’t.

The hours dragged on, and it felt like you were stuck in a whirlwind of pain and exhaustion. Every contraction was a tidal wave, crashing over you, pulling you under. You’d lost track of time, your body trembling with the effort it took just to breathe through each one. Jake hadn’t left your side, his hand gripping yours firmly, as if he could somehow share in the pain.

The nurse's calm voice broke through the fog, "It’s almost time to push, Y/N."

Your breath hitched as another contraction seized you, so powerful that you couldn’t stop the low groan that escaped your lips. Your muscles were tight, your back arching against the bed. Every fibre of your being was screaming for this to end, for the overwhelming pressure to stop.

"Almost time?" you muttered between pants, your voice ragged from hours of groaning and yelling. "Feels like I’ve been at this forever."

Jake leaned closer, his face full of concern, his hand never leaving yours. “You’re almost there, sweetheart. Just a little longer,” he whispered, though you could hear the tension in his voice. You could see the worry etched on his face, the furrow in his brow. He was scared, even if he was doing his best to hide it from you.

The doctor’s voice cut through the haze. "Okay, Y/N, the baby’s almost here. I need you to push when you feel the next contraction, alright?"

You nodded, your chest heaving as you tried to gather every last ounce of strength left in your body. When the next wave hit, you bore down, groaning through clenched teeth as you pushed with everything you had.

"Good! That’s it," the doctor encouraged, her voice steady. "Keep going."

But the pressure—it felt like you were being torn in two. "Oh my God," you groaned, panting. "This baby… this baby has your fat head!"

You heard Jake choke back a laugh, his voice tight with emotion. "Hey now, darlin’, let’s not go blaming me for that," he teased, trying to lighten the mood, but you weren’t in the mood for jokes.

You growled through another push, your face contorting in pain. "I swear, Jake, if this kid has your big-ass head, I’m never letting you forget it!"

He kissed your forehead, his voice soft but laced with a chuckle. “You can blame me all you want, but you’re doing amazing, baby. You’re so strong.”

Another contraction ripped through you, and you squeezed his hand so hard you were sure you’d break it. You could barely focus, barely think beyond the burning pressure and the overwhelming need to push. But even through the haze of agony, the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"I swear to God, Jake, I’m never doing this again!” you groaned. “Never!"

He nodded, his eyes filled with warmth and concern as he whispered soothingly. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Whatever you say."

But the next contraction hit, and despite the pain, you pushed harder, feeling the unbearable pressure of the baby moving down. The pain was white-hot, and you let out a strangled cry, your body trembling from the effort.

"Oh my God!" you gasped, tossing your head back against the pillow. "I hate you, Jake! This is your fault!"

Jake squeezed your hand, his voice gentle but steady. "You can hate me all you want, darlin’. You’re doing incredible. Almost there."

You groaned again, guilt mixing with the frustration. You didn’t mean any of it—not really—but the pain had twisted everything inside you, and you couldn’t help but lash out. The guilt made it worse, made your heart ache even through the physical agony.

"I’m sorry," you gasped between ragged breaths. "I don’t… I don’t mean it, I just—" another contraction cut you off, and you screamed, pushing as hard as you could. The burn was intense, and you could feel the baby’s head beginning to crown.

"You’re okay, you’re okay," Jake murmured, his forehead resting against yours now, his voice a grounding force in the chaos. "You’ve got this. You’re almost there, sweetheart."

You bore down again, your whole body trembling as you pushed with everything you had left. The pain was searing, and you could feel the baby’s head stretching you, the sensation overwhelming.

"I swear this kid has your huge head!" you groaned again, your voice a mix of pain and humour as you struggled to keep going.

The doctor’s voice cut through, sharp and encouraging. "One more big push, Y/N. The head’s almost out."

You clenched your jaw, took a deep breath, and pushed again, harder than before. The pressure built to an unbearable peak, and then—

Suddenly, the pain shifted. There was a release, and the tension in your body eased. You gasped for air, your heart pounding in your chest, and then, you heard it—a sharp, clear cry that echoed through the room.

The baby’s first cry.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the doctor held up the tiny, wriggling form for you to see. "It’s a girl!" she announced, and for a moment, all the pain, all the exhaustion, melted away. Your heart swelled as you looked at her—your baby girl.

Jake let out a shaky breath beside you, his voice breaking as he whispered, "We have a daughter."

You watched through tear-filled eyes as the nurse cleaned her up, bringing her over and placing her carefully in your arms. She was so small, her little face scrunched up, her tiny fists waving in the air. You felt Jake’s arm around your shoulders, his hand resting gently on your baby girl’s head as the two of you gazed down at her.

All the pain, all the frustration and discomfort—it didn’t matter anymore. You smiled softly, still breathless, tears rolling down your cheeks as you cradled your daughter to your chest.

"She’s perfect," you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You’re perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You did it, darlin’. You brought our little girl into the world."

As the room quieted, the nurses moved about with practiced ease, cleaning and tidying up, but all your attention was on Jake and your baby girl. After a moment of letting you hold her, Jake gently reached down, his large hands cradling her tiny form as he took her from your arms, holding her with such tenderness that it made your heart ache. The way he looked at her—with awe, love, and the purest joy—made your breath catch.

But as soon as she left your arms, a wave of emotion hit you like a tidal wave. You were still shaky, still exhausted from labor, but now a new weight settled over your chest. The words you’d shouted, the anger, the frustration—all of it came flooding back. You hadn’t meant any of it, but you couldn’t shake the guilt that twisted in your stomach.

You looked over at Jake, watching him coo softly to your baby girl, his thumb brushing over her cheek as she wriggled slightly in his arms. The sight should have filled you with nothing but joy, but instead, tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks before you could even try to hold them back.

You wiped at your face, embarrassed by the sudden flood of emotions, but it only made the tears come harder. The sobs were quiet at first, but soon, your shoulders shook with the force of them, each breath hitching in your chest.

Jake’s head whipped toward you immediately. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent. He moved closer, still holding your daughter, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you in pain? What’s going on?”

You shook your head, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. You tried to take a deep breath, but it only made the sobs come harder. The guilt weighed on you, heavy and crushing, and you couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you choked, your voice barely a whisper through the tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Jake’s eyes softened, and he knelt beside you, carefully balancing your daughter in his arms while reaching out to take your hand. “Sorry? Darlin’, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

But you couldn’t stop. The guilt gnawed at you, every word you’d said during labor echoing in your mind. “I yelled at you. I—I said such awful things. I blamed you, and it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean any of it, Jake, I swear, I didn’t.” Your voice broke again, tears streaming down your face as you looked at him through blurry eyes.

Jake’s face softened even more, his expression full of understanding and love. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “You just went through hell bringing our little girl into the world. You were in pain. I know you didn’t mean any of that.”

You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “But I—” you started, but Jake leaned in closer, cutting you off gently.

“No buts,” he whispered, his voice firm but filled with warmth. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I love you, and I’m so damn proud of you. You were incredible, Y/N. And our little girl is here because of you.” His gaze flickered down to the tiny bundle in his arms, her little eyes closed as she slept soundly.

You let out a shaky breath, your sobs quieting but still present as you watched Jake cradle your daughter so carefully. “I just… I feel so bad,” you whispered, your chest still tight with guilt. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Jake leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back. “Darlin’, you could’ve called me every name in the book, and I still wouldn’t hold it against you. You brought our baby into the world. That’s all that matters.”

You looked up at him, your vision still blurred with tears, but his words cut through the guilt, soothing the ache in your heart. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he looked at you with so much love and admiration.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with emotion.

“I love you too,” Jake replied softly, his eyes never leaving yours as he gently shifted your daughter back into your arms. The warmth of her tiny body against yours made your heart swell, the tears still slipping down your cheeks, but this time, they were different. The guilt was still there, but it was fading, replaced by the overwhelming love you felt for your little family.

Jake sat beside you on the bed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you held your daughter between you. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “And now we’ve got this perfect little girl. We did it, darlin’.”

You nodded, sniffling as you looked down at your baby, the small miracle you and Jake had brought into the world. And despite the exhaustion, despite the tears, you couldn’t help but smile through it all. You had your family, and that was everything.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged

Part 3

[mercy-burning]

Father Figure (1/2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer becomes an unlikely source of comfort after his son breaks up with you. (PART 1 of 2) Category: Mature (18+) Content: Adults w/age gap, perv!Spencer strikes again, masturbation, drinking, kissing. Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Pushing the hot old man agenda once again, I'm not even sorry about it. Smut will be in Part 2, which I'm almost done with--I just have to workshop the end a little bit. And remember, pals: If he wanted to, he would. And if he won't, then his dad will (AKA the quote I saw on TikTok that inspired this fic lmao) Also, I apologize if adding a real song with real lyrics in the middle of this is cringey, but I had A Vision, and I needed it to be realized, okay? Let a girl have some fun!!!

---------------

...THE COFFEE SHOP

Spying on his son was never exactly a pastime of Spencer's, even less so now since the kid is not really a kid anymore. Still, when that kid breaks up with his long-term girlfriend of four years and then goes on a first date a day later, a father is left to wonder...

He feels bad especially for the ex-girlfriend, who had been nothing but an absolute joy; always bringing gifts and snacks to the house, celebrating the Reid boys' birthdays with extra love and care, and bringing a warm and happy energy that demanded love and care right back.

He can't imagine how you must be feeling.

Your face dances in flashes behind his eyelids as he pokes around the corner of the coffee shop, wondering what could possibly be so enticing about this other woman that his son would throw away something so extraordinary.

Even as he spots Cameron, beaming and eagerly listening to the beautiful young woman in front of him, it pains Spencer to imagine the other side of the coin.

He sighs and turns away, wondering what could have changed his son's mind, but understanding that ultimately it's not any of his business. From what he knows about the breakup, Cameron had been kind and forthright through all of it, offering his father the simple explanation of, "I don't dislike her at all, she's a nice girl... I just don't love her anymore. That's all."

That's all...

When you've spent the first half of your young adult life with the same someone, that logic isn't impossible; Inevitably you'll meet new people and feel bright, new feelings, and old feelings can dissipate just as quickly.

On every logical level, there's nothing inherently wrong with this situation, and still, Spencer can't fight off the uneasy tension in his chest as he sits with it.

As he turns the corner and begins to try and place where exactly that feeling might come from, a loud gasp stops him in his tracks.

His eyes take a moment to look you over, looking to anyone else like he might need some time to process that it's you, but really, his brain knows it right away. Admittedly, he's just glad to see you. Though right now you're visibly shocked and perhaps a little embarrassed, you still radiate that undeniable warmth that brings a slow smile to his face. The tension he feels doesn't fade so much as it shifts, from uneasy to something more electric. More problematic.

What the fuck is your problem? his inner-voice barks, so loudly he almost thinks he's said it out loud.

Spencer shifts direction quickly, reminding himself how to act like a normal human being, and more importantly, how to act when faced with his son's ex-girlfriend, who is clearly doing the same thing he's doing.

"What a pleasant surprise," he beams reaching forward to offer a hug, which you take. Perhaps a dumb move considering the funk he just had to snap himself out of, but if he can carefully guide you in the other direction to save you the spiral of spying on your ex-boyfriend's new date, then so-be-it.

You pull away and he does too, his hands lingering but not touching you. Still, he feels you just as vividly.

"Doctor Reid, what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to hold his eye contact but ultimately succumbing to the urge to glance at the window behind him.

He sighs, offering a sympathetic smile. "The same thing as you, I'm afraid..."

The horror on your face makes his stomach churn, but then it's gone in an instant, replaced by an eye-crinkling laugh that takes him by surprise.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about!"

You're trying so hard to convince him, and probably yourself as well, and it unfortunately amuses him. Your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, not bright and genuine like he's always known, but it's still beautiful. His gaze lingers a little too long on it before he meets your eyes again, watching them flash with something petrified as he grins.

"Clearly..."

You cross your arms, jutting your chin out and attempting a new tactic. "Look, I'm not that pathetic, okay? I don't like what you're implying. Besides, why are you spying on Cam, huh? It's not like he broke up with you to be with your best friend..."

The smile slowly disappears from his face as you speak, that sharp sense of unease creeping back into his system and curling up through his lungs like cigarette smoke. "What?"

You don't bother trying to hide it anymore, a sad shrug weighing down your body as your face softens into something melancholic and distant. Your voice is barely there when you speak, the sound of nearby traffic nearly drowning you out. "Guess he didn't tell you that part, huh..."

"No, he didn't."

You sigh and tighten your arms, seemingly holding yourself together as not to fall apart at the seams. "Did you see them? Did they look happy?"

Spencer's stomach churns again, and he shakes his head incredulously. "Hon, maybe you should—"

"Did they?" you ask again more desperately, your voice cracking between words. He can hear the sadness in it, the devastation and the confusion, the need to understand...

An irrational anger starts to brew somewhere in the depths of his being, even though he knows he doesn't have the whole story. But he firmly decides that he can grapple with Cameron and his choice of a girlfriend at a more appropriate time, and probably even have a man-to-man conversation with him about the whole thing... He also firmly decides that the arrival of these indescribable tense feelings should also be dealt with, though preferably in his next therapy session and not right this second.

Because right now, there's a bright young woman on the verge of tears right in front of him, her sparkle dulling with each passing second, and the best thing to do is to get her away from the problem at large—Not to do anything that will only make it worse.

Spencer rushes to you and gently scoops you into another hug, your body nestling into his with an exhaustion that he fears he knows all too well. As you squeeze his shirt and start to cry, he leads you away from the building and down the sidewalk, wondering if you can hear how loudly his heart is breaking for you.

Eventually he leads you away from public eye, a small clearing about three blocks away and beyond some trees. Being late August, they've started to change color, but not by much. By now you've removed yourself from his full embrace, but still cling to his arm as you find the room to calm down, looking up at the trees.

He walks silently beside you, giving you the space to breathe and think. To rest. The sun is high in the sky, bright beams poking through the leaves and limbs, and when you finally stop walking, one of them catches your eye. It glistens with tears that haven't fallen yet, and when you stare up at the sky and close your eyelids, a small droplet finally strolls down your cheek.

Your arms tighten around Spencer's and he fights the urge to wipe the tear from your face with his free hand.

"I'm so sorry," he says instead. "I wish I knew what to do."

You open your eyes then, a small breeze picking up and rustling the trees. He can hear wind chimes in the distance, he thinks, or maybe it's just a figment of his imagination—a manifestation of the dulcet, melodic comfort you've brought to his life over the years. In a strange way, he supposes you do somewhat feel like home to him. Normalcy. Softness. Beauty.

He hadn't even realized it until your sadness had overwhelmed him.

"Thank you," you tell him, pulling away finally to look him dead-on. You smile again, and though it's sad, and still beautiful, this time it finally reaches your eyes. "You're a good man, Doctor Reid."

He certainly doesn't feel like a good man.

Not when you reach up and hug him with your arms draped over his shoulders. Not when his hands feel right at home at the small of your back. Not when he can hardly breathe as your mouth murmurs another, "thank you," into the crook of his neck. Not when you start to pull away, sliding your soft hands down over his shoulder blades and tilting your head. Not when your thankful lips make contact with his cheek, featherlight and heavy all the same. Not when, even after you pull away completely, your presence is still with him, making him warm and fluttery and stupid.

Not when he misses you, hours later, still buzzing from your touch...

And when Cameron comes home that evening, practically walking on clouds and beaming with lovesick stupor after his day out with your best friend, that tension and irrational anger starts to grow stronger, muddled with confusion.

No. Spencer Reid is convinced that he is not a good man.

If he was, he wouldn't be laying awake at night, absentmindedly caressing his face where your lips had been hours before, staring at the photo on his bedside table of the three of you just a year ago.

Right after you and Cam had graduated college, you all took a road trip to the Grand Canyon and a stranger offered to take your photo. You were happy and in love, holding on to Cam's arm the same way you held onto Spencer's earlier today. The sun was shining on your face, though back then it wasn't illuminating drying tears. Your smile reached your eyes, but it wasn't masking profound sadness.

If Spencer Reid was a good man, he would be letting it go and moving on instead of vowing to spend eternity trying to mend a heart he didn't break. He wouldn't be exacting his own twisted form of vengeance under the covers, stroking himself to the thought of you—to the thought of treating you right.

If he was a good man, he certainly wouldn't be staring at your photo on his bedside table as he did so, calling out your name in a hushed whisper—a prayer.

And yet, here he lays, the thought of you bringing him to completion.

"He didn't deserve you, sweet girl," he confesses breathlessly, right at the precipice. He comes in hot ropes over his bare stomach, visions of your bright eyes and warm, beautiful lips helping him right along.

His first exhale of breath as the high subsides comes out as a form of maniacal laughter; Not only is he now stuck with a mess he has to clean at almost two in the morning, but he's also devolving, clarity smacking right into him like a freight train.

Spencer swears, wishing he'd simply ignored the feeling that urged him to follow Cameron on his date earlier that day. He wishes he'd let it go.

He looks at your picture again and sighs, laughing to himself. "I don't deserve you either."

...THE BAR

Two weeks and two therapy sessions later, and Spencer doesn't feel any better, really.

He hasn't seen you since that day at the coffee shop, but it's like he sees you every day anyway. You're there when he sleeps, mostly. He meets you in dreams, wiping your tears and kissing you better. Each time, you gladly return the favor, kissing him back and subsequently healing some deep part of him he hadn't even realized was ailed.

But obviously that's just a product of this strange, pathetic, fucked-up obsession he's spiraled into, and not anchored to the truth in any way.

That's what he tells himself, at least... no matter how badly he wants there to be truth in it.

Still, it's hard when even the time and distance between you can't seem to shake your effect on him.

Though, perhaps Cameron's role in all of this could be the key to this lingering feeling. He is a common denominator, after all, and the knowledge that he'd chosen to be with your best friend instead of you so soon after breaking it off still rubs him the wrong way. Which, in all honesty, is a conversation he doesn't want to have just yet; It would probably be best if he had a clear mind, one not constantly plagued by daydreams of railing you under the trees in the clearing where you last touched him.

Spencer sighs and takes his glasses off, tossing them aside. He presses his palms into the sides of his face, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he can until he sees stars, and promptly decides that he needs to leave the house.

Fresh air usually does the trick, but for whatever reason, this long walk to the park is not doing him any favors. The way the leaves rustle in the wind only brings him back to that fateful moment with you in his arms, seeking comfort, and quite frankly, the August heat is making him more irritable.

So, he wanders off to uncharted territories: a random bar that should be pretty dead on a random Wednesday mid-afternoon. He's not exactly sure what it is he hopes to find, but as long as it's a good enough distraction, or even some peace and quiet, he'll gladly take it.

The place isn't very busy, or bright. Neon signs and dim table lamps are about the only sources of light, but compared to the sun outside, Spencer finds it more than comfortable. Some Country duet he doesn't recognize booms over the speakers, low-tempo and sad, but not horrible. The melancholic melody swims nicely through his brain, setting the scene as he sits down at a random table somewhere near the back.

A hostess is quick to ask him what he wants to drink and offers a menu, but all he orders is a glass of water. Whether she questions it or not, he doesn't pay attention. But when she returns about a minute later with his glass, he does notice that the song has finished and started over.

"Hope you don't mind the song," the hostess says with a sigh, noting his quiet curiosity. "Poor thing over there requested it on a loop until she got drunk enough to forget about it..."

Spencer's eyes follow her head-nod towards the corner of the room, where a girl sits slumped over the table with her chin in her hand, the other hand tearing at a napkin.

His heart sinks and skips at the same time as recognition strikes him like lightning.

The hostess has walked away by now, and his still gaze can't seem to wander anywhere else. The odds of him going somewhere random to distract himself from thought of you, only to be graced with your presence, feels too coincidental. It's too good of an excuse to just ignore, consequences be damned.

Right?

Should he say hello? Should he offer to get you home before you truly do become too drunk to be aware of your surroundings?

Regardless of how he feels about you, that would be the responsible, parental thing to do, right?

Jesus fucking Christ, he sighs to himself, downing his water before getting up to see you.

As he gets closer, he hears you humming along to the song, sighing dramatically in between breaths, until you look up to finally meet his eyes and it becomes a gasp.

"Doctor Reid!" you exclaim, sitting straight up and thrusting your arms out in welcome. Your smile is tired, but life has ever-so-slightly begun to creep back into your features. The thought of being a familiar face, and a pleasant one at that, to bring you that life does more to him than he should admit out loud.

A warmth settles into him as your eyes rake over his figure, half-like you can't quite decide if he's real and half-like you might be checking him out.

Don't be weird, he scolds himself, though he's still unable to keep the amused grin from his lips as he greets you gently. Cautiously. "Hello again, sweetheart."

"I'm not spying on Cameron this time, what's your excuse?"

It doesn't entirely make sense, but he understands what you mean. Still, it's not like he can tell you that he was trying to distract himself from thinking about you, so he simply shrugs. "Felt like a change of scenery. I don't get out much."

You giggle a little and slump back down, resting your chin against your hands, still smiling. "Yeah, I know. Are you sad about something, too?"

Spencer shakes his head. "No... Just... bored, I guess."

"Well, you're welcome to join me! I'm not much fun like I used t'be, but the company'd be nice."

How could he deny your invitation, when you're exaggerating a toothy, tipsy smile and batting your eyes like you want something? It charms him almost as much as it scares him.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," he tells you, pulling up a chair across from you and sliding in. His leg accidentally bumps into yours, and it sends a chill through him. He tries to keep himself calm and collected, but wonders if he looks spooked, because you give him a look.

Turns out, it's just an inebriated look of disbelief. "No, I really am pathetic these days... You don't have to be nice to me, I know it's the truth."

He knows better than to argue with a woman, especially on a subject so sore, so he takes a different approach. "Well, pathetic or not, I still care about you anyway. So I'm more than happy to sit with you for however long you need the company."

You consider his words and then pout, finishing off your drink before you loudly wave your desire for another drink. "And bring one for my new best friend, too!"

Spencer can't help the laugh that leaves him, though you're too caught up in your own little world to notice it.

The same hostess brings over two drinks, eyeing him suspiciously, but before she walks away, you laugh. "It's okay, Anna! That's Doctor Reid, he's my best friend now. My old best friend is out screwing my ex-boyfriend."

"Who happens to be my son," he offers as a more clear explanation as to why he's taken to 'befriending' this drunk woman in a near-empty bar.

Anna looks between you two and nods, amused but not questioning the drama. "Gotcha. If you need anything, just holler."

The song has started over again by this point, and though Spencer's had a bit more excitement than anticipated, it's not enough to forget about it. He recalls Anna's words and the pitying tone in her voice, and tilts his head, watching as you take another sip of your drink. "How many times have you heard this song today?"

"Dunno," you sigh. "Lost count. Cam and I used to sing it together all the time. Not very well, but it was our thing..."

"Hmm, I didn't know that... I don't think I've heard it until today."

"Yeah, well you don't get out much."

A laugh bubbles up out of him involuntarily once again, your charm—even influenced by alcohol and misery—a natural harbinger of joy. The fact that you probably don't even know it only adds to the experience.

Even the way you laugh at his laughing is infectious, until the two of you are mutually giggling and sipping your drinks, and while the song is not forgotten, it's at the very least drowned out by the sound of laughter. Alcohol still may be involved, sure, but where you'd been tired and lost before, the weariness has been lifted by his hand, if only for a moment, and so for now that would have to do.

Eventually, there's a rather quiet moment between you, a lull in conversation that isn't driven by awkwardness or boredom, but by something else that Spencer can't quite put his finger on. He's not entirely convinced that you've sobered up at all, but the hazy look in your eyes isn't so much drunkenness as much as it is mystified. By what, he doesn't know, but it's making him warmer inside than a singular ounce of any alcohol could ever accomplish.

The thought makes him set down his glass; Perhaps he's had enough.

"What's that look for, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, a little too afraid that he should have omitted the nickname. Where it'd been intended innocently before, this time it comes out entirely different, his enamored, lust-drunk curiosity getting the better of him before he can think differently.

His stomach twists.

Still, that look on your face intensifies, and your head tilts thoughtfully, eyes studying him again. Their trail winds everywhere, from his mouth to his hands to his neck... When you finally meet his gaze again, you lean back in your chair. A smile unlike any other he's ever seen adorns your face and sends a jolt through his nervous system.

"I like when you call me that, you know..."

"Yeah?"

Stop it, Spencer...

You nod slowly, never taking your eyes off of him.

If he were a good man, he'd blame it on the drinking and tell you to get home safe, being on his merry way, considering the fact that you're probably just hurting and desperate to get back at Cameron somehow, and that he's a convenient means to a sweet, revengeful end.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a while, holding your stare and feeling his resolve start to crumble beneath the weight of it. That damn song still drawls out beneath the sharp, distant clatter of dishes and late-lunch conversation, and your pretty eyes are easily the brightest source of light in the whole place, begging him to make a move and singing just as loudly, too. They're waiting. Eager. Hungry... All of it is almost too much to take at once.

And then...

"Let me take you home, sweetheart."

He knows it's mean. He also knows that it's going to hurt. But if he doesn't, he knows he'll end up regretting it.

Spencer helps you out of the building and gives Anna a twenty-dollar tip on the way out.

You're more stable than he thought you'd be, walking in a straight line and not stumbling at all as he takes you to your car. He holds his hand out for your keys, to which you oblige without problem, letting your touch linger. As he helps you in the passenger seat and buckles your seat belt, he notices your eyes are closed, but that you're smiling.

"Something funny?" he asks, getting the buckle in place. Still he remains there, arms trapping you into the seat.

You shake your head and open your eyes, searching the features of his face and sinking further into the upholstery. Your smile softens, but doesn't waver in its genuine joy, which is why it breaks his heart when you reply, "Nope." The word is quiet. Serious. The moment is everything he wished it could be, your eyes swimming with some form of devotion that calls to him like a sirens' song.

Only, he can still smell the inebriation on your breath, potent and grounding him to reality, and so he must continue to be mean.

He smiles at you before pulling away and closing your door, then walking to the drivers' side while taking the deepest breath of his life. It's courage and disappointment and humor all in one fucked-up intake of oxygen, but it gives him the push he needs to finally open the car door and begin your journey home.

The ride is mostly quiet, though, save for your humming. The haunting melody will stick around in his head for weeks, he's sure, just another thing to constantly remind him of you, and another thing to break his heart every time he sees his son's smiling face.

Even though he can feel the fury and confusion and lust swimming around in his body like a whirlpool, Spencer manages to walk you up the stairs of your apartment, and to your door, without losing any ounce of control. He leads you gently through your home until you've reached the bedroom, and even then he doesn't falter.

It does make him nervous though, feeling your hands on him. You're a little more unsteady now, though he attributes that to the soon-to-be broken, unspoken promise of sex. It pains him, knowing he used your influenced in-the-moment attraction to him as an excuse to get you safely home. But had he simply left you there to suffer alone, at the mercy of substances and strangers who might not have been so kind, he would have felt worse.

He helps you take off your shoes and puts your belongings on the bedside table, feeling your eyes on him and hoping you won't remember enough of this later to hate him or hate yourself after the fact.

When Spencer turns around, you're already sitting on the bed, and while the sight of it entices him more than words could accurately say, he refrains. He puts on his most fatherly face, crosses his arms, and braces himself for the blow.

"Come on. Under the covers."

"It's only like noon."

Not quite the response he was expecting, but he can work with it. He smiles, just a little. "It's almost Three-PM. You should really get some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Your eyes drop to the floor, and Spencer can feel his heart drop there, too, when you say quietly, "I haven't..."

Against his better judgement, he steps forward and catches your attention again, your head lifting to meet his eyes.

"I know, sweetheart. Sleep."

Your response is a shaky breath and big, watery eyes, the last few weeks of sadness catching up to you. Watching it unfold in real-time is utterly heartbreaking, so much so that when you ask him an unexpected question, he doesn't have the heart, or the brain, to say no.

"Will you sing me to sleep?"

"Of course."

You lie down then, shuffling your way under the covers as Spencer sits down beside you, helping you settle in. His hand instinctively reaches out to gently massage your scalp, something that had always put Cameron to sleep when he'd wake up with nightmares.

Though, he never sang to him. He never was good at it...

Still, because he can't seem to resist your charms, he tries anyway, singing the only thing he can think of at the moment. A newly familiar smoky tune that he now knows every single word to.

"Every woman deserves a moment of weakness. Last night with me was yours, I guess. I must have whispered what you wanted to hear. And when I asked you, you probably said yes."

Softly, you hum along with him on the next part, a duet of desperation and longing that definitely sounds better over the bar speakers, but feels more accurate in this small, sorrowful bedroom.

"Cause it sounds like something I'd say, in the midst of lonely and the Marlboro haze. It sounds better in the dark than in the light of day, but it sounds like something I'd say."

With your eyes closed, you smile, breathing a small laugh through your nose. "You're better at it than he was."

Spencer is surprised by your words and how much they twist this serrated, beautiful knife. They only remind him of the gravity of the situation at hand—at how badly he shouldn't be here right now... He shouldn't care so much, he shouldn't revel in the fact that you're actively feeding into this fantasy where he's healing you and fixing the mistake that his son made...

He shouldn't be falling in love with you.

Of course, he refuses to even consider that possibility, even though he's feeling things around you that he's only ever felt for a few others.

Still, it rattles him enough that after you've finally fallen fast asleep and he walks home, he schedules an extra session with his therapist and takes a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away any lingering trace of you.

Naturally, no amount of scorching water, soap, or steam seems to do the trick.

He wonders if it ever will.

...THE CLEARING

Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, and in your brain, and in your fingertips... You can practically feel it thrumming in every part of your body as you sit on a log and soak up what small rays of sunshine manage to find their way through the trees.

Thank you for bringing me home earlier... I'm sorry if I made your day weird or inconvenient.

The world around you is beautiful, bright, and lively, though something nameless is missing. You know whatever it is will appear with vivid recognition when he shows up, but there's a small lick of fear creeping up the back of your neck and finding its way into your brain that wonders if he won't... That somehow you've fabricated this whole thing—plucked out imaginary moments of warmth from a desperate place in need of comfort, and neatly placed them in the massive hole left in your heart by Cameron and Danica and their betrayal.

It's not a problem at all. I'm glad you got home safe. Rest, and remember to take your time. These things don't heal overnight.

You hadn't expected Spencer to text you back right away, given that it was just after midnight and you'd never really known him to be much of a night owl. Not to mention you probably should have deleted his phone number after the breakup in the first place. Sure, he had been kind to you after everything which was a relief and a comfort, but there had to be some unspoken rule about late-night texting your ex-boyfriend's dad and expecting a response, much less right away.

But then, your phone lit up with his message almost immediately, and there was an odd clenching in your stomach that refused to subside even long into the early hours of morning.

Your fingers moved in response before your brain had a chance to think it over.

Did you sing to me or did I make that up?

There was a bit more time after that until he responded, and you swore you'd fucked it all up. You threw up and downed a glass of water, but when you picked up your phone again, his name was there. You were suddenly nauseous again, but at the mercy of something else, something familiar and foreign all at once.

I don't know if I'd call what I did "singing"... But sure. Ha

God, you hadn't smiled so hard in... Could you even remember how long it had been? Even now, you think on it and can't even come up with a ballpark answer, which should sadden you but only makes your heart flutter once more. In that moment, reading his words, memories came flooding back. Flickers of your drunken afternoon with Spencer started to string together, feeling more like a movie and less like a silly revenge fantasy.

Without even thinking, you texted him with the truth, even if you didn't quite know what it meant yet.

Either way, I like hearing your voice. It'd be nice to hear it more often.

His response made you laugh so hard you almost threw up again.

Are you still drunk?

You weren't, and you aren't, but you may as well be. Merely the thought of him has you dizzy, and every day it grows worse and worse as you text and talk on the phone like you're best friends.

This morning's message still sings in the back of your mind as you wait for him, melodically bright and filling in the gaps of silence where the trees don't rustle.

Is it weird that I really want to see you again?

You replied, Is it weird that I don’t think that’s weird at all?

And since then you’ve wondered, is it even weirder that you’d go so far to say you’re so incredibly flattered by his words that your entire body pulsates with a violent wave of heat just thinking about seeing him face-to-face again?

The gentle breeze does nothing to cool you down, the sweet, damning effect of Spencer Reid burying you alive even hours later.

When you spot him, the world stops rotating. He’s bright smiles and warm eyes and long, fluid limbs, and as he makes his way towards you, you forget how to stand. Your ass is completely glued to its resting spot on the log, and your legs are of no help. All you can do is stare at him and feel your heart flutter rapidly in your chest. You’re not even sure if you’re smiling, though the thought of being caught just staring at him with your tongue practically hanging out is embarrassing enough to pull one from you anyway.

Only when his hand extends to help you up do you finally snap out of whatever dream-world you’ve put yourself in and clear your throat with an avoidant laugh.

“Hi,” you greet him stupidly, still too overwhelmed by him to try anything more interesting.

Spencer grins down at you, your gaze trailing softly upwards along the length of his face until you meet his eyes, and only then does he reply, “Hi.”

The word is infinitely more interesting coming from his well-spoken, experienced lips. They even go the extra mile, twitching up into a larger grin at your silence.

You’re lovesick, he’s amused, and this is entirely fucked.

“What were you up to today?”

Thankfully, even your poor attempt at small talk is merely a small embarrassment scrawled in sand and violently washed away by the tides of his voice. When he speaks, it cleanses you. Clears your mind. Offers a clean slate.

“Nothing special… Read a couple books, made some lunch… If I’m being honest, I mostly just tried to occupy my mind while I waited to come see you.”

Despite the clear setup for him to be cheeky or smug about it, Spencer’s words only exude comfortable honesty. He doesn’t tell you this to get you blushing or to take advantage of this situation. No, every word is spoken without an ulterior motive at all. Though, his sparkling eyes seem to tell a different story.

“Same,” you confess through a small laugh. “I know I joked about you being my new best friend at the bar, but these days it really does feel like it.”

“So you do remember that day…”

“Most of it, yeah. Kind of embarrassed about that to be honest…”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, only hums consideringly as he squeezes your hand. The small gesture suddenly reminds you of his physical presence, and a rush of warmth pulses at your fingertips.

“Truthfully, I am, too.”

This takes you by surprise. “How?”

He seems to regret saying anything, a quick flash of panic in his eyes before he sighs and squeezes your hand again. “Knowing it was my son who did that to you, and not understanding why… You have no idea how much I… I hate that I can’t figure it out.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not your responsibility… I guess that’s mostly why I’m embarrassed about the whole thing. You shouldn’t have to fix something that you didn’t break.”

“Didn’t I, though? In one way or another?”

The intense emotion swirling in his eyes takes over you like a tidal wave, and suddenly you’re heartbroken for another reason entirely.

“Don’t get all philosophical on me over this,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand back. “Cameron made that decision, not you. You’re not him.”

“But he’s part of me.”

“So? You didn’t break my heart, he did. And I don’t care what you have to say about that. You are a good man and a good father, and you shouldn’t doubt that.”

You aren’t sure what you expected as a response, but it surely wasn’t the bitter laugh that tumbles from his lips.

“What?” you ask sharply in desperation, grabbing his other hand and practically begging him to listen to you. “What’s so funny?”

Spencer sighs, pulling you flush to his body and taking your breath away in one second flat.

“I doubt those things every damn second I’m with you…”

Not only is your breath gone, but now the ability to think has gone with it. All you know is Spencer. His eyes are pulling you in and daring you to look away. His hands are sliding up the expanse of your arms, and chills erupt in their wake. The world around you has faded to a nothingness that isn’t even scary. It’s just forgotten. Irrelevant.

The only thing that feels natural is the way you tilt your head to brush your lips over his. Just lightly, barely even a touch at all. Still, the intimate contact shocks you at first, bringing you to life in a way you hadn’t thought possible. Slowly, you lean into it, and he does, too. With each second that passes, this one press of your lips against his becomes stronger, the two of you drawing more and more near until it’s all there is.

And then, when his mouth parts, inviting you deeper, it’s like he swallows you whole. Your body melts into his as he welcomes you into his entire world, hugging and kissing you at the same time. Behind closed lids, your eyes flutter to the back of your head, a soft whine escaping your throat and feeding Spencer’s desire until it becomes heavy.

A slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue into your mouth and the sudden press of his erection to your thigh is what jolts a sense of reality into you, and as much as your body is screaming at you to indulge, you know there will, in fact, be consequences.

You pull yourself away from him, just enough to disconnect your lips and remove yourself from the world of lust he’s opened for you. Still, his arms embrace you, loose and comforting and ready to conform to however you see fit.

Spencer stares at you, waiting, studying your kissed-out, panting lips and the panic settling in your eyes as the reality of the situation catches up with you.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, still clutching onto his shirt and then letting it go to smooth it out. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

When you meet his eyes again, they haven’t changed. A vibrant chill runs through you again, but you’re still cognisant— Still worried about how fucked it is that you’ve just made out with your ex-boyfriend’s father. Still praying to whoever or whatever is listening that you didn’t just ruin this beautiful friendship you’ve started to form—the one thing that was beginning to pull you out of the darkest period of your life thus far.

You’re scared, you realize, as you stare into Spencer’s eyes, charged, unresolved need hanging thickly in the atmosphere around you. 

You’re terrified, and yet something urges you forward.

Whether it’s insanity or stupidity or desperation to feel something, you don’t know, but the way he practically catches you and welcomes you back without stumbling is satisfying enough to quell the need for answers.

Besides, his lips are the only answer you want, frankly.

You lunge and kiss him with a fervor that makes you question everything about your previous relationship and this new bond you’ve started to form with Spencer after the fact, but only for half a second before his own fervor only rivals it. In fact, the way his mouth possesses yours—coaxing your submission from you with just a few meticulous strokes of the tongue—has you wondering if perhaps he’s going through a similar dilemma.

How long has he wanted this? Has he dreamt of it? He sure as fuck kisses you like he has, but how much of that is truth and how much is merely a product of your unspoken, deep-seeded desire to get Cameron back for what he did to you?

And would he actually be willing to offer you that satisfaction, if you asked?

Perhaps you’ll ask him these things another time, but at the moment, your brain is more than ready to grow numb at the mercy of Spencer’s kisses.

[thoughtssvt]

first times with nanami kento

cw : hand holding, kissing, oral, blow jobs, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, aftercare, gender neutral reader with AFAB terminology in reference to genitals

formatted in a half headcanon half fic style

nanami kento is a gentleman.

nanami kento is the type to be direct with things he wants. he’d wait outside of your place of work so he could walk you home. asking you to wait a moment as you stepped on ahead of him just so he could ask you if it was alright to hold your hand.

nanami kento didn’t steal kisses. his eyes would linger on your face as his heart swelled and skipped a beat. his fingers would dance over your knuckles, “may i kiss you?” he’d ask just above a whisper, only moving to cup your face in his hands when you squeaked a yes. he’d always asked for kisses every time after that. “you don’t have to ask every time,” you giggled nonchalantly like you were teasing him with no real bite to it. his ashen brows would furrow. “of course i do.” he’d wave his hand in dismissal as you stuttered an explanation. “with me you will get used to it,” and you did.

nanami kento seemed to be playing by the rules of some unspoken book. he was a gentleman but after countless dates that always began with permission to hold your hand and ended with a gentle kiss you were beginning to wonder if he was even attracted to you.

you’d come up with a plan to take things to the next step. you’d invited him in, refusing to let the date end with a parting kiss in the frame of your front door. you’d kept the pleasantries before the two of you ended up on your living room couch. “is it alright if i kiss you?” he asked like you heard countless times before and like all the other times you said yes. this time you sat a little closer, this time you rested your hand on his thigh. “i want to… do something tonight,” you’d said with pink tinted cheeks to which kento had listened intently. “well, go on,” he said gently, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk that sent fire flooding into your gut. he’d taken your hand in his, motioning you to stand, setting a pillow down in front of him before leading you between his legs.

nanami kento was big.

you’d just about cursed, screaming in your head how he should’ve warned you about how big he was before you got between his legs, but he was patient. he cupped your face in his palm as you kissed down his shaft, his breath hitching as you licked a steady stripe from the base of his cock right to the tip. he lent you a stable hand at the nape of your neck and for a moment you were worried that he would push you down further, make you take more of his length. it had you rubbing your thighs together, your core growing wet, but you couldn’t really decide if you were disappointed or not when he made no effort to stretch your mouth. as you bobbed your head up and down you’d realized that he was reminding you that he was there with you in the moment. you didn’t need to take more than you could handle if you didn’t want to. with your nerves at ease a newfound excitement grew in your chest. you reveled in the sounds he made. the soft huffs and “fucks” especially the, “you’re doing so good for me, taking me so good it’s driving me crazy.”

you’d looked up at him with half lidded eyes, both of you panting softly. it was his turn to please you.

nanami kento gave you one simple instruction. “lay back and feel good.”

he caged you between his body and the bed, lips intertwining with yours in a heated kiss. humming deep in his chest as he trailed them down your body. just for that moment while his tongue was busy circling your nipples he’d let you look away from him, throw your arm across your eyes because you don’t know if you’ve ever felt something this good.

“keep your eyes on me,” he whispered from where he laid between your bare legs. “watch me,” he rasped as he planted soft kisses along your inner thigh, each getting closer and closer to your heat. you couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as your eyes met and he leaned in to rest his tongue on the growing wet spot of your underwear. he paused for a second, his eyes fluttered closed, the softest moan buzzing through his lips as he savored his first taste of you.

“can you lift your hips for me?” he asked when he was done teasing and you could no longer discern your wetness from his saliva. your hips snapped up almost embarrassingly quick. it was then that you realized what little he’d done had already turned your legs to jelly, your thighs shaking as he pulled the fabric off you so painstakingly slow, though not without a word of praise for how good you did.

nanami kento liked to take his time, you’d realized. he pressed his tongue firmly against your sex, leisurely mapping out each fold, softly hushing you as you bucked your hips when he’d gotten just close enough to your clit but not quite there. he’ll get there, he reassured you. licks then became open mouthed kisses, contented hums soon following as he sunk lower to your weeping hole. he tasted it on his hips first before dipping a relaxed muscle against your entrance. he moaned. much louder than any of his previous sounds.

nanami kento liked to take his time, but that didn’t mean that he could always hold himself back. one taste of you from the source had him in a daze. he couldn’t help himself from moving up to lave at your clit, coaxing more of your sweetness out and onto the sheets below you. you were suspended in a deliciously torturous rhythm of gentle sucks against your bud and his tongue fucking into your slick entrance. he intertwined your hand with his as your shot down toward him when the pleasure became too much, resting your clasped hands on your hips as he continued to eat.

nanami kento was greedy, but that would come some other time. one of these days he’ll spend a whole work day between your legs, a thumb rubbing circles onto your clit so he’d have an endless supply of your nectar. for now he had something else in mind. he opened you up on his fingers, tongue swirling spirals around your sensitive button. when you came he refused to slow his movements until your legs twitched uncontrollably and your moans just about turned into whimpers of pain. he pulled away slowly, licking his lips clean before slipping his fingers out of you, taking his time to lick each digit clean wanting to get as much of you as he could get.

“i’d like to do that again, but i’m assuming you only have one more in you,” he whispered in your ear with a smug grin and he was right. all you wanted now was to be filled with him.

he propped himself up on his left forearm, placing it in the space between your head and your shoulder as he gathered your slick onto his cock, sliding between your folds, letting your body prepare for his intrusion. he’d kept a close eye on you as he pushed in, letting out a shaky breath as the head of his cock popped in. his free hand found its place on the other side of your head as he slipped in inch by inch, immediately stopping at the slightest sign of discomfort.

he forced himself to stop the growl that rumbled within him when he reached the hilt, stopping to wait for your comfort. you were milking him as your body adjusted to his size. he was torn, unable to decide whether he should look away from you to calm his instincts or keep his eyes on you because he didn’t want to miss a single second of this moment. he chose the latter.

his movements were gentle when you assured him that you were okay and that he could move. he’d started with minute rolls of his hips, then short shifts of his hips out and in until all the discomfort dissipated from your face and your whimpers turned into enticing moans. he’d rested his weight onto his forearms, clasping his hands under your head as he craned his neck down to press his lips against yours, his hips moving in sync with your body, thrusts picking up the pace when he knew your moans yearned for more.

nanami kento trusted you when you stuttered for him to cum inside. he’d give you anything you wanted, especially this. he licked the pad of his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your clit as he kept the pace of his thrusts. he fucked you through your orgasm, slowing when his own hit and he began filling you with warm spurts. he snapped his hips with every upstroke making sure to fill you like you wanted. he only pulled out when he began to feel his erection flagging, cooing a shush as you gasped softly, overstimulation uncaring of the fact that he was pulling out and had no further plans of continuing.

you barely noticed his momentary absence until he was between your legs again with a warm wash cloth gently cleaning you up. he massaged your sore hips, letting your legs naturally straighten as the muscles relaxed. he wiped down the rest of your body with another cloth, draping a soft blanket over both of your bodies when he was done. he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. he slowly introduced the conversation of what you liked and what you didn’t like– one list dramatically shorter than the other. the air around you comfortable, soft giggles making your shoulders bounce as your legs tangled together.

you’d confessed that you were beginning to think that he wasn’t attracted to you, which he vehemently denied despite your assurance that you now knew that wasn’t the case. you’d figured out that nanami kento was a gentleman. he wouldn’t dare do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but once he was given the opportunity he would show you just how much he desired you.

A/N : ooo this is the first nsfw piece i'm posting on here how exciting. I hope you enjoyed!

nanami hc pt. 1 | nanami x reader masterlist

MDNI banners by saradika

[daylighted]

all i can think about is frat boy dean whos dating his nerdy little girlfriend and comes over to her dorm when shes studying and shes like struggling but dean tries to help her study even though he doesnt know shit😭 and then hes like “yeah i have no idea what im even saying” while hes trying to explain random crap

anyways ur theme is so cute!!

all of the classes dean was in, she was in the advanced placements for, pretty much an entire year above him. she was so damn smart that dean sometimes felt like she was humbling herself being around him and choosing him, especially in instances like this, where she'd asked him to study with her, and he realized quickly he does not know how to study properly.

"well, see," he's half leaned over her shoulder, chin resting in the little notch between her neck and arm, "the data's gotta have the answer. wouldn't be part of the question if it didn't."

dean did not have a clue what he was looking at. a table chart with so many numbers. a paragraph above it explaining the numbers and adding additional data. the practice question wasn't even multiple choice; who did that?

her smile is slow, and dean knows that again, he's said the wrong thing. but if there's one thing dean does know how to do, is dig his own grave. "like, math, right?" it was science. chemistry. whatever. "take all the numbers, add 'em up, get the average..."

well, now her eye was twitching, like a parent barely refraining from taking the pen and doing the problem themselves. dean's starting to stutter over his explanation. technically, she did ask for this, asking him for assistance, so... "then multiply the average by the number of sections on the chart. with all those steps, it's gotta be the way, baby, trust."

his beautiful, intelligent, quiet girlfriend did not say a word to argue. instead, she did something worse, and took her pretty pen out of his hand and moved the paper in front of her again. the silence was overbearing. now dean had completely abandoned his books and wanted to see this damn problem through, just out of his own disbelief. they made questions like this? without multiple choice? and all these numbers?

he, in fact, does not shut up, even as she's writing numbers and scribbling them out and repeating. "yeah, babe, to be honest? don't know what the fuck i'm saying."

"i know." two words, and she'd managed to dismantle the fragile confidence he had in chemistry-related things. "but thank you for trying to help in your own way."

she might as well have just stabbed him. "just doin' my job, pretty lady," dean saluted her, tipping his baseball cap at her before plucking it off his head and spinning it around. front facing meant business, backwards meant party. he deserved a party after the couple of braincells in his head had sparked and fizzled out. "hey, how 'bout this," the mischief in his smile is absolutely diabolical considering he was really just starting to hinder you more than anything, "every question either of us get right, we take somethin' off?"

her eyebrows raise. "you're gonna be fully clothed and i'm gonna be naked if we do that."

dean leans in to steal a kiss, that devilish grin still on his mouth. "that's precisely the point. get t'solvin', pretty lady."

she wasn't going to argue. especially not when he used precisely right in a sentence.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Yandere Batfam x Bee! Reader

A/N: this is my first post after being a silent reader to the many Yandere Batfam fics I scroll through. Hope I’m good enough for more chapters.

Right, let’s start with the classic neglected! Reader trope for these fanfics. A classic one night stand with a mother, M/N Raine, who was a scientist on her way to revolution. Not just any scientist, but an Entomologist, who studies insects of all sorts.

Your mother, with the funding from Wayne Enterprise, her group searched for a way to sustain life for bees from their mysterious species decline and to study the mindset of a hive mind for potential human advancements.

The funding from Wayne Enterprise got her invited with her science group to galas for support on their Project: Honey, where she met and talked to a young Bruce Wayne. One thing led to another and they had a moment of passion and wine, to which they silently agreed that this wouldn’t lead to anything grand.

It didn’t take long until the symptoms of pregnancy kicked in, and your mother was at a stalemate on what to do. She attempted to contact Bruce through Alfred Pennyworth, however the playboy never responded with her request to meet up.

Your mother couldn’t quit the project, but she couldn’t just give you up. So with her heart on her sleeve, she worked and powered through Project: Honey, never once informing Bruce about her pregnancy until the project ended in tragedy when a crime boss had it out for one of the scientists in her group that ultimately destroyed the lab and every single hard work she and the others had done.

With the project destroyed, your mother decided to not give up, giving birth to a beautiful baby and raising her all by herself lonesome as Bruce turn his back on Project: Honey after the attack from the crime boss and never once contacted any of them, not even your mother to check up on her. Might as well, from what she saw firsthand on how he acted, he never once knew how to act like an adult, so she wouldn’t trust him with you.

Oh how your mother adored you. She may have gotten burned and hurt from the attack, you were still healthy and kicking in her womb. Now that you were able to be seen with her very eyes, she promised she wouldn’t ever leave you. She raised you to be strong, independent, and always keep smiling.

She rebuilt her title from the ground up, earning another funding by another industry that helped her study insects, especially bees. She would hold you in her arms as she studied the worker bees take care of the queen bee. “They protect the queen from the dangers of the outside world. They adore her, just like how I adore you, my little bumble bee,” She would say to you as she kissed your cheek as you watched the bees work.

You looked up to your mother, you saw her as the one who hung up the very stars above you. And just like her, bees fascinate you. Hundreds, even millions of flying insects working hard every single day to make honey and protect their queen? It’s well so amazing and awe struck.

“Why don’t they have kings?” You once asked curiously, making your mom smile and crouch in front of you. “Because only a queen have take care of her subjects, or rather, her children,” She told you while cupping your cheek. “Is that why I don’t have a dad?” You pondered innocently, making your mother’s smile falter, but kept it on the best she could. “Yeah… I doubt he would’ve loved you the way I do,”

It was the age of five when you lost your mother. You were in the greenhouse watching the bees with fascination, letting them crawl on your hand gently before a knock was heard from the front door. You were hesitant to open, but creaked it open ajar to see a tall redhead man with glasses and a beard, looking down with a sad look in his eyes.

You didn’t understand. How can you understand that your mother wasn’t coming back? Where was she? Mr. Gordon, the man who picked you up and took you to the station, gave you a light explanation. Mugging? A criminal? Where was Batman? Oh, he didn’t make it in time…

Where will you go now? Gordon read the records of you and your family. Single mother, no father written on the birth certificate, no other extended families that has been recorded, barely reached elementary school. Not wanting to send you to the foster care, he did the best he can, a DNA test that had sent you into a world of despair and neglect.

If you had known what might’ve happen to you in the future when you were sitting all alone on that police chair, you would’ve taken your chances in foster care.

A/N: I hope you all like the introduction. I have so much story to give and I want it to be good!

And yes, those are redesigns of Beelzebub of Helluva Boss. No, Bee! Reader won’t have the personality of her, I just want the photos for future glimpses of what they will become.

There also a Yandere Batfam fanfic that has bees/honey aesthetics too, and I didn’t want to copy them with decoration wise. So hopefully my story will tell each other apart. Major difference if the drugs topic.

[felinecyan]

Untouchable

[Katsuki Bakugo x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When a classmate breaks a well-known rule within the dorm, you decide to take it upon yourself to “fix” the issue.

WC: 2863

Category: Mega Fluff, Kindhearted!Reader, Todoroki being an icon (like always 💅)

I don’t know about you guys, but writing for Bakugo is the single hardest thing I have ever done. He is SUCH a difficult character to get right 😭

I believe I did him justice, though 🙏🙏

『••✎••』

Kaminari had a death wish. That was the only logical explanation for why the electric blonde was currently in the common room with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, along with a bowl of ramen that just so happened to belong to one Katsuki Bakugo.

Food was the one thing the explosive hero didn't joke around with, and the rest of Class 1-A was painfully aware of that fact. It was like a rule that had been ingrained into everyone's minds after spending any amount of time around the temperamental blonde.

Do not, under any circumstances, mess with Bakugo's food. Ever.

So the moment you had walked out of the kitchen and saw the familiar spice-infused soup in Kaminari's hands, you knew there was about to be a disaster. And that disaster was going to happen at the cost of the boy's life.

You were about to warn Kaminari when a familiar voice stopped you, its monotone quality giving away that it belonged to the heterochromatic hero. "Don't."

Todoroki shook his head at your concerned expression, a sigh leaving his lips. "It's not worth the effort; he'll learn the hard way. I would suggest standing back unless you want to get hit."

As if on cue, the sound of a bowl shattering against the floor echoed through the common room, and you flinched as bits of ramen and broth splattered your pants and shoes. You could only imagine what kind of mess it would have made if you had been standing any closer.

At the same time, Jiro sighed, plugging her ears as she muttered, "So much for getting some peace and quiet today."

Kaminari stood a few feet away from the mess, his entire body trembling in fear. He was too scared to move, frozen to the spot. His golden eyes were glued to the blonde standing before him, a murderous aura surrounding the ash-blonde.

"Bakugo, look, I can explain—"

The blonde's crimson eyes flashed in anger, and his face contorted into a feral snarl as he cut the electric user off. You couldn't stop the flinch that shook your body at the tone. "You... you..."

"It's just one bowl of ramen, dude! I'm sure you could easily make another one!" Kaminari exclaimed, waving his hands in front of his chest frantically. "I mean, come on, I know you love spicy food, but surely you're not that much of a monster that you'd kill me over it! Especially with something so mild as that!"

The room went silent, and Kaminari's words echoed in everyone's ears, but it only took Todoroki’s comment for the tension to change from fearful to downright chaotic.

"That was his last packet."

It was almost comical how fast the blood drained from Kaminari's face and how fast it returned a second later. The electric blonde gulped, a nervous laugh escaping him.

"B-Bakugo, listen—"

He was cut off again, this time by an explosion, which had been aimed right at his face. Thankfully, Bakugo missed on purpose, but the sound had been enough to startle everyone.

"You're so dead, Spark Plug!"

And thus began the chase, with Kaminari being chased around the room by an enraged Bakugo. Kaminari's screams of terror and Bakugo's threats and explosions filled the air, and everyone watched on in amusement.

Well, everyone except for Iida. He was chasing Bakugo, trying to calm the blonde down and yelling at him for using his quirk indoors, but his efforts were fruitless.

"Stop running around the room! You're going to destroy the furniture and break something!"

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, DUNCE FACE! GET BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS!"

Typical afternoon in the U.A. dorms.

After what felt like forever, the chaos eventually died down, with Bakugo calming down enough to sit and stew in his anger and Kaminari passing out from his quirk short-circuiting. You helped Iida clean up the mess that had been left behind, and everyone else returned to their activities.

But you felt bad for Bakugo. Yes, the blonde was a little intense and downright mean sometimes, but you knew what it felt like to crave something you didn't have. Especially when you physically buy that ‘something.' So, you decided to go out and get the angry Pomeranian a replacement packet.

Of course, given the fact that being empathetic was a common occurrence for you, the explosive hero wasn't at all surprised to see you walking toward the doors of the dorms with nothing but your wallet and a smile.

And he was not pleased.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face the blonde, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly, you were still shocked that he was still in his uniform, given he usually changes the moment he walks through the dorms. Not to mention, he even started wearing it properly, which was a feat in itself.

"Umm..."

"If you're about to say the damn store, I'll blow your ass to the moon," he threatened, and you couldn't help the frown that tugged at your lips.

"I'm just going to get you some more packets, okay? It's not a big deal," you said, your eyes softening. "I don't like seeing people upset, especially not over things that can easily be solved."

"Like hell, I'm upset!" He snapped, but the lack of bite in his voice gave him away.

You raised an eyebrow but kept your mouth shut. After knowing Bakugo for as long as you have, you've learned that the best way to deal with him is to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself—at least, all thoughts and opinions about him.

"I'll be back in an hour, okay?" You said, offering him a kind smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

Something about the look in your eyes and the kindness in your voice was enough to make the blonde falter, his resolve slipping. He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face.

But, since he didn't respond, you figured that was all you were going to get from him. So, you turned back around and headed for the doors, intent on leaving.

You hadn't gotten very far, however, when the sound of the couch squeaking alerted you. You turned your head just in time to see Bakugo jump over the back of the sofa, his slacks making a thud sound as he landed, snatching his phone off the coffee table before he headed in your direction.

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath, causing you to tilt your head, but before you could say anything, your wrist was being grabbed, and the front door was opening.

"If we're gonna get the damn ramen, then I'm coming with. It's annoying when people come back with the wrong shit, so it's better to go myself."

"Oh," you hummed, not expecting him to follow you. You smiled up at him, and the scowl on his face deepened. "Well, alright, then. The more, the merrier."

Bakugo grunted in response, dropping his grip on your wrist so he could shove his hands into his pockets. "Just keep up, alright? I don't want to wait for your slow ass."

With that, the blonde walked out of the dorms, and you were quick to follow.

For those twenty minutes, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how quiet the walk to the store was. Normally, Bakugo was yelling at someone for one reason or another. Whether it was because they were stupid, slow, or a bunch of other reasons that seemed to only make sense in his head, he was never silent.

But, currently, it was different. Bakugo wasn't talking, or yelling, or grumbling, or doing any of the things he normally does. He wasn't even walking fast, keeping his pace slow just enough so you could keep up.

He didn’t have a scowl on his face, either. He wasn’t smiling, of course, which would actually terrify you if he was, but there also wasn’t a sign of irritation or anger on his face.

In fact, he was the most relaxed you had ever seen him, his muscles not as tense as usual, and his posture was straight, yet not rigid. And his crimson eyes seemed to have a hint of softness in them, something that you had never noticed before.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even realized that the two of you had arrived at the store until the ash-blonde had started walking through the automatic doors, not waiting for you to catch up.

Shaking your head, you hurried inside, quickly scanning the store for a sign that pointed to the aisle where the ramen packets were. Bakugo was a couple of feet ahead of you, with a look of indifference on his face as he followed the sign. However, he stopped once he reached the right aisle and turned around to look at you.

"Hurry it up, nerd," he growled, his impatience getting the better of him.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile on your face. "I'm going, I'm going."

Bakugo didn't say anything as he turned back around and started walking through the aisles, and you were hot on his heels. Believe it or not, you were on a side mission, determined to not just grab the ramen for him.

He got distracted, and the two of you weren't in a hurry, so you went around and grabbed a few things that you knew your classmates had mentioned wanting. If you were going to take the time to go to the store, you might as well make it count.

After a few minutes, you ran into Bakugo, who had his arms full of different flavors of the ramen brand he liked. He took one singular glance at the contents of your basket and rolled his eyes.

"The hell are you getting all that shit for? I ain’t helping you carry anything."

"Well," you huffed, a pout on your face. He seemed to realize you were about to give him an entire speech because he immediately let out the most dramatic groan you had ever heard from him and began walking away.

You didn't care, though, and continued speaking, following him around the store.

"Well, I was just going to get the ramen and be done with it, but then I ran into Mina, who told me she was craving some 'chocolatey goodness,' which are her words, not mine," you explained, pulling out the package of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Anyway, so, then I ran into Kirishima, who was complaining that there were no manly snacks in the pantry, and the last of his protein bars were eaten the other day, ironically also by Kaminari," you added, showing him the small box of protein bars. "So, I figured I'd get him some more and make sure Kaminari has his own snacks."

Bakugo groaned once more, still refusing to look at you. And, again, you ignored him and kept speaking.

"Also, Sero wanted more chips, and Koda was asking for some extra treats for the animals," you continued, showing him the chips and animal treats. "I didn't run into Midoriya, but he’s been awfully kind with his notes, so I'm pretty sure he would appreciate some gummies and pocky."

"Alright, I get it," Bakugo grumbled, a grimace on his face.

"Mineta also asked if I could grab him a new bag of limes, but I figured, after that little stunt he pulled in the changing room, that he doesn't deserve to have his gross habits indulged." You scoffed, trying to make a dramatic gesture but failing, given the items in your arms.

Bakugo paused in the middle of the aisle, turning around to finally face you, his arms still full. "You done?"

"Hey, you asked." You shrugged, a smile on your face. "I wasn't finished, though. Jiro wants more popcorn, Ojiro needs some more protein powder, Hagakure needs—"

"Is any of that shit even for you?" He cut you off, narrowing his eyes at you.

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "No. Why?"

"You came all this way, wasting money on everyone else's crap, and didn't even think about grabbing shit for yourself?" He asked, his eyes narrowing further. "Are you stupid or something?"

"Um, well, no?" You answered although it came out as more of a question. "It's not a big deal. I was already going here, anyway."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He walked forward and, without a word, dropped his armful of ramen onto your own. "Hold these."

Before you could protest, the ash-blonde walked past you and disappeared from view. Confused, you spun around and tried to follow him, but the sudden weight in your arms made it hard to move.

"Bakugo, wait up! I can't move!"

"Then stop moving, idiot." His voice was muffled by the shelves, and you couldn't tell where exactly he was. But, as if he had a sixth sense for things like this, Bakugo returned to the aisle, his arms full of random snack foods and drinks.

"What are you—"

"Shut up and follow me," he said, not letting you finish your sentence. You opened your mouth to speak, but a sharp glare from the blonde made you close it.

Bakugo led you through the aisles and dropped the items onto the conveyor belt, much to the surprise of the cashier. The young girl didn't dare comment on the large pile of utter junk food, however, and merely rang it all up, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Once the total came up, you pulled out your wallet to hand the girl the money, not wanting Bakugo to waste any of his own money on you, but the blonde snatched the bills from your fingers before you could pay.

"Hey, what—"

"I said, shut up." He clicked his tongue and turned away, his back facing you. You could hear the rustle of his pockets as he fished out his own wallet, and you were quick to shake your head.

"Bakugo, the whole point of me coming here was so I could pay. You were the one who got his last packet stolen, so I was supposed to be paying for the new one, and—"

"Do you ever shut the hell up?" Bakugo interrupted, his voice gruff. He didn't turn around to face you, but his tone was enough for you to shut up. "I don't give a shit about the money. It's my own damn fault for letting that dunce face near my food, anyway."

"But—"

"And it's not like I need the money," he added, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet and handing them to the cashier. "My parents are loaded. It's not a big deal."

Way to show off, Blasty.

But you knew better than to say that. Instead, you closed your mouth, your eyes softening. It didn't make sense to you, though, because not only was he buying his own replacement ramen, but he was also buying an abundance of junk food, which, while tasty, wasn't for him or you.

It's always about repaying the favor with him, but this was just... unnecessary.

"Thank you," you said instead, knowing that he would only get irritated if you kept protesting. "That was... unexpectedly nice of you."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," he grumbled, picking up a few of the bags. He handed them to you, and you struggled to balance the weight, but you didn't complain. "It was your fault for being too damn nice."

You blinked, not sure if you were supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult. Either way, you didn't say anything and merely nodded. Bakugo didn't spare you a second glance as he grabbed the rest of the bags and began walking toward the exit.

"You coming, or what?" He called out, not looking back at you.

A smile grew on your face, and despite him not even looking at you, something told you he could sense the happiness radiating from you. You hurried forward, struggling a bit to balance the bags in your arms and keep up with Mr. Grumps, but the smile didn't leave your face.

"So... does this mean we're friends now?"

"The hell? No!"

"I think we are, Blasty."

"Don't call me that." He narrowed his eyes at you, but you merely giggled.

"Would you rather it be Kacchan? Kaminari's been using that one a lot lately."

"Call me that, and I'll blast you into the fucking sun."

"Blasty it shall be, then."

Needless to say, the walk back to the dorms was the complete opposite of the walk to the store. But, just as the silence between the two of you was comfortable then, the bickering and teasing and overall playful nature of the conversation was comfortable now.

Bakugo would never admit it, and you knew better than to ask, but he didn't have a problem with the nickname or the new friendship that blossomed between the two of you.

And you didn't have a problem, either.

[luvbinnies]

i made a promise, to distance myself

A boy who kept his feelings locked away and someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. When he walked away, it was without warning, without reason. And they refused to wait for an explanation. Now few months later, forced to work together on a project neither can escape, old wounds resurface. Silence turns into stolen glances, resentments bleeds into something dangerously familiar, and the past refuses to stay buried.

Genre: fluff, angst, exs to lovers, el oh el.

warnings: swearing, isaac newton mentioned, could be sad ig (?), i can't think of anything else

a/n: im back from the dead, recently fell under a moving car and got dumped el oh el, some parts in here are inspo by like my actual life, i have a list of all the similarities if anyone is curiosu at the end of the story. basically wake up from a dream where me and my ex got back together and wrote this.

wc: 9.6k (longest fic ever el oh el)

Jumping off a flight of stairs was probably not the best idea, but it was the only thing you could think of at the moment.

Reluctantly moving down the stairs and following the loud clunk sounds of your stupid bright neon green water bottle. Books and papers of drawings and blueprints that won't fit into your messenger bag without getting damaged. Maybe you should’ve listened to when people said getting a regular backpack was much more convenient than the bag you had now, but it was much more fashionable. 

Landing at the bottom of the staircase, take a moment to breathe and prepare yourself for having to go back up five flights of stairs to get to class. Because even though the school is one of the prestigious in the country, they refuse to have any sort of elevators to ruin their “dark academic” aesthetic of the building. 

Eyes traveling on the old cobbled stoned flooring, trying to locate a neo-coded water bottle, your mother insisted on getting since she read somewhere green is this year's lucky colour. Probably found in some ridiculous article, really got to get her off social media. 

Bright neon green slipped through your peripheral vision, turning to face the still rolling bottle and walking towards it before it makes you late for your next class. It stops in front of a pair of solid black shoes, one that looks all too familiar. The figure stops at the feeling of the ratchet bottle that wants to ruin your day even more than it already has. 

A recognizable pale hand, with a silver ring on the index,  hesitantly drops down to pick up the bottle that led you down a path to the literal pits of hell for you. Eyes not dare looking up from the ground, taking your somewhat free hand and extending out your pinky to the now stranger you have a bitter taste in your mouth everytime you come near. Once the feeling of your pinky is weighted down by the feeling of the water bottle’s hook, you take off up the stairs with energy that you didn’t think you had anymore left of, as it’s your third time climbing these stairs in the past ten minutes. 

Not a care in the world if a stranger walks by and deem you as a rude bastard who can’t even say thank you, because you can;t even say a word to the “nice stranger” who handed you your water bottle. All you can do around him now is just run and avoid. That’s what you continue to do until you reach your class, probably looking a little weird as you were also cursing at your bottle and gravity, mainly isaac newton, he’s usually the bane of all your problems lately, besides the man you used to call yours. 

—

His friends would sometimes joke to him that the world is too fast for him at times, usually when he doesn’t get a joke right away or for him zoning out, especially as it has been worse in these past few months. 

But that happened so fast, he has no idea what to do, or how to react but just to stare at your figure rushing up the stairs. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens as you fade away up the many flights of stairs. Acting like he is some contagious virus, even afraid to touch him, much less look at him. 

He would remember when their friend group was still intact and when they would all hang out, how sometimes the gang would get too overwhelming, even from the other side of the room you would catch his eye and always give him a comforting smile. And the simple eye contact with one another, while the world moves along around them. 

But he had lost that with you and it’s all his fault. 

—

Taking a little break from the assignment in front of you to angrily tap on your phone so the ads on your music app stop, knowing you aren’t really actually doing anything to get rid of them unless you become one of the apps victims and pay for music. But your stubbornness and being broke, so aggressively hitting your phone is your next best solution. 

The little silence after the ad is finally done and the next song is about to start, you can hear a mechanical pencil roll off of a desk. A quiet clatter could barely be noticed in the slight hum of the library. You didn’t hear it at first, the angry high you had because of the ad made you lock out of concentrating from your work— until you noticed the hand reaching for it making you pause.

Long pale fingers. A silver ring on the index.

You know those hands, it's your second time seeing them in… you weren’t too sure the last time you saw those hands when they were wrapped around your water bottle. All you knew was that you were seeing those hands much sooner than you needed to. 

Those hands, you remember the weight of those hands in yours, the way they used to hold your face and caress your cheek, the way they tug at your sleeves on your sweater absentmindedly. 

And you recognize the pencil.

It’s yours.

Not exactly, but you did buy that pencil. 

Something in you starts feeling nauseous, or light-headed, you couldn’t really figure out in the moment because without thinking, you reach out and yank that pencil right out of his grip. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, because now that gross boy opened his mouth, but you didn’t care. 

Sunghoon blinks. “Hey did you just—”

Whenever you were bored in class you would always do fun pencil tricks and even taught him how to do some with this said pencil in your hands. 

Spinning the pencil around, inspecting it with feigned interest, not caring about the boy next to you with his mouth open like a fish staring at you. “Huh. I forgot how nice this pencil was.”

Now his mouth is close as he clenches his jaw, his  stare sharpening. “You can’t be serious.”

Finally turning your head to look at him, trying to maintain the emotions on your face. Instead of saying something you might end up regretting, in the fear of sounding cringe, you just shrug. 

“Give it back.”

“Why?” Resting your chin on your hand. “It’s mine.”

He exhales sharply, the kind of exasperated breath he used to let out when you teased for taking things too seriously. Except now there’s a little bit of an edge to everything. 

“You gave it to me.”

You tilt your head “Did I?”

You weren’t sure if he could clench his jaw any harder, but somehow he does. “Yeah. You did.”

Your grip on the pencil tightens. You can’t say you remember everything that was said the night of the break up, but you remember the way you felt, the way he left without explanation— like he couldn’t bear to stay with you any second longer. As if he couldn’t stand to hold on to something that was already slipping away. 

He didn’t even let you have a say, you didn’t get the chance to do anything, not even fight for what was yours then. 

So now you hold on to that damn pencil. 

“Well,” you say, voice light, “technically, it was mine first.”

Sunghoon lets out a humorless laugh, one you don’t recognize in this fever dream daze of nostalgia. Leaning against the table, he’s close now, closer than you could've prepared for. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself at the lack of distance, at the way he still smells the same— like something clean and sharp, a little cologne you had bought him about a year ago for his birthday. 

His voice drops an octave. “You’re seriously pulling this shit?”

Shrugging again, simply just pulling a stare you hope doesn’t reveal how fast your heart is beating stupidly like it used to. 

He watches you for a long second, his brown eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what type of game you were playing. But then, not arguing, instead of pushing back, he just exhales softly. 

“Fine,” he mutters, “Keep it.”

And then, right before he turns away— so quiet you almost think you had imagined it—

“It suits you better anyways.”

You blink.

Before you could say anything, maybe asking what the fuck he meant by what he said, he’s already walking off. Leaving you with a mechanical pencil in your hands and this time you watching him as he walks away, with a taste of words you don’t quite understand.

—

Two year ago

Rain pitter patters against the windows, a dull hum in the background in the near-empty classroom. It’s late— too late for anyone to be here— you didn’t care, you were too stubborn. Chewing on your nail, brows furrowed in concentration as you glare at your notebook, completely oblivious to the fact that Sunghoon hasn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. 

He should be focusing. He should be running through formulas in his head, thinking about the test tomorrow, or at the very least be pretending to be studying. Instead, he’s watching you— watching the way you puff out your cheeks when you stop understanding what you were just doing, the way you spin the pencil in your hand absentmindedly, the way you whisper to yourself while doing each exercise when you think no one’s listening.

You’re always like this– loud without meaning to be, pulling attention without even trying. 

He should’ve known sooner. That you were dangerous in the kind of way that crept up on him, slipping past his defenses before he had the chance to stop it. 

“Sunghoon.”

Your voice snaps him back to reality, he straightens, forcing his face into something neutral. “What?”

Pushing your notebook towards him, sighing dramatically. “Did you do this one yet? I don’t know if I did it correctly.”

He glances at your notebook, eyes widening a little, as to the most he could see on the page was a bunch of scribbles and some incoherent formulas and calculation. Having a hard time reading it , before shifting his chair closer. You don’t think twice about it when your shoulders brush. You never do. 

But he does.

He always does. 

“Is this your answer, at the corner?” he asks, taking your pencil without thinking, to circle the little number at the bottom of the page. Your fingers graze for a second, and he wonders if you feel the static the way he does. Probably not. You’d pull away if you did.

He attempted to go over your work, commenting on what you have written in a voice that’s much steadier than he feels. You nod along, resting your chin on your hand, eye flickering between his face and page. 

“I hate Isaac Newton and that stupid apple.” you grumble.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh shaking his head. “You just overthink everything.”

You groan. “I wish that apple killed that stupid white man.” 

He watches as you bury your head in your arms on the table, tapping your forehead lightly with the end of the pencil before setting it back down. “Just stop overthinking and wishing death upon an already dead man.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him, lips parting like you want to argue, but for a brief moment, something passes between the two of you— something neither of you have a name for yet.

And then you roll your eyes, reaching for your notebook. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, idiot.”

Sunghoon watches as you turn your pages to start a new question, completely unaware of the way his fingers twitch against his knee, resisting the urge to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble. 

—

A few months ago

The night air is cold, but not as cold as the space between you.

Your arms are crossed. His hands are shoved into his pockets.

A street light flickers overhead. A car passes in the distance. 

Sunghoon exhales, steadying himself.

Then. before he can stop it— before he can think too hard about what he’s about to lose—

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

The kind that swallows everything whole.

Your lips part, but no words come out. 

Your lips part, but no words come out.

The look in your eyes— confusion, disbelief, then something else, something that burns— 

“What-Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does, but it’s not the right thing.

It’s never the right thing.

The air is heavy, thick with things neither of you are saying.

Then, finally— your voice, quieter this time.

“Okay.”

A single step back. Then another.

And then—

Nothing. 

—

The classroom hums with chatter, students moving around and the teacher speaking about some project, but you were barely listening. Your attention is elsewhere— on your notebook, on the scratches of pen against paper, literally anything but him.

He was two rows ahead, resting his chin on his hand, half-focused on his laptop. Almost similar to you right now. Too similar. 

You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself.

But then—

“For the project, you’ll be working in pairs.”

There is a ripple of movement through the room, students glancing around already choosing their partners. 

“I’ve assigned them to you.”

Your stomach twists. 

You sit a little straighter. Your fingers tighten around your pen. 

 The professor starts listing off names. One by one, students find their partner. You’re holding your breath, waiting for—

And then—

Your name.

And then, immediately after—

His. 

You freeze.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. 

Someone nudges your arm, murmuring something about how lucky you are since you get to work with the “hottest guy on campus”, but their voice is distant, muffled by the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your gaze. 

Sunghoon had turned in his seat. 

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look surprised. 

—

Sunghoon doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

Not a text, not a call— nothing.

And the, at exactly 11:51 pm., an email lands in his inbox.

Subject: Project Task

From: yn@beliftuniversity.com

To: parksunghoon@beliftuniversity.com 

Attached is the project outline. I’ve divided the tasks. I’ll handle the structural analysis and concept sketches. You can do the mechanical components. Tell me when you are done. 

Sent from my phone

That’s it. No greeting. No unnecessary words. Not  even your name.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, clicking open the file. You’ve already set up everything— titles, labels, even deadlines. You’ve practically built a wall of professionalism between you, as if you were never anything but classmates. 

And it pisses him off.

Fine. two can play this game. 

He types a reply, short and to the point.

Subject: Re: Project Tasks

Got it. 

He doesn’t hit send. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard. His jaw clenches.

Then, in a moment of stubborn impulse, he types—

You can’t avoid me forever.

And hits send before he can take it back.

—

“You know, he’s right.”

You shoot a glare over at Sunoo. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, kicking his feet up on the bench. “You can’t ignore him forever.”

“I can, actually.” you sip your matcha pointedly. “It’s called email.”

He snorts. “You sound like a middle-aged professor.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone then.”

Sunoo raises an eyebrow. “He literally told you, ‘You can’t avoid me forever.’”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and? I don’t care.”

The words are barely out of your mouth when Sunoo suddenly stiffens, eyes darting over your shoulder. 

“Uh—”

You don’t even have to ask. You just know.

There’s a familiar shift to the air, an awareness pressing down on your skin. 

And then, just to confirm it—

“Shit,” Sunoo mutters. “He’s down the hall.”

You don’t think. You just move.

Your hands shoot out, gripping his sleeve as you drag them down the corridor. 

“Are you serious?!” he hiss between stumbling steps.

“Shut up, shut up , shut up—”

“Please can we stop running, I don’t think he would be chasing us down for sport.”

You don’t care. You don’t turn around because you know if you do, you’ll see Sunghoon standing there, staring after you, that unreadable look on his face. 

And you are not giving him that satisfaction.

Not today. 

—

Staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the flashing cursor blinking back at you in defiance. You’ve been avoiding this email for days— every time you think about it your stomach churns, and you mind races with excuses. 

You don’t want to deal with him. Not now. Not ever again.

The project, the meeting, the unavoidable tension. You had hoped, foolishly, that you could really just avoid Sunghoon completely— keep everything strictly professional, send email, handle the assignment without having to face him in person. But that plan was crushed the moment the email landed in your inbox, his name in bold. 

“Let’s meet in person tomorrow to go over the project. I’ll bring the drafts.”

Of course, Sunghoon had to take the initiative. You had a suspicion he’d never let you hide behind your screen forever. He was stubborn, too, in a way that always seemed to get under your skin. 

You arrived at the library, dragging your feet, already feeling the weight of the situation settle in your chest. The project was an assignment, but the real challenge was having to sit across from him, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that the last year— no, the last months— hadn’t been a whirlwind of frustration and heartache.

But here you were, faced with reality. You walked into the library, hoping to avoid eye contact, but you couldn’t escape the familiar sight of him sitting at a table with all his papers neatly organized, a slight form on his face as he scanned the documents. 

His eyes flicked up when he saw you enter, and for a second, your heart skipped a beat. But you force yourself to remain calm. He was just a classmate now, just another part of your academic routine. Nothing more. 

You set your things down at the table across from him, pulling your laptop out with the practiced motions of someone who had done this a thousand times before. You weren;t going to make this more personal than it had to be. No small talk. No catching up. Just the project. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice neutral but carrying the weight of something unsaid. He glanced at the papers in front of you and then back to you. “Are you okay with everything so far? I made some revisions to the outline.”

You didn;t look at him. Instead, you glanced at the project papers and began sorting through them, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I’ll read them over later. Just… let’s focus on getting it done.”

You felt his eyes on you, the tension palpable in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. You had your own part to do, your own work to focus on. Nothing else mattered right now. The project was the only thing that mattered. 

—

Sunghoon sighed, and you could hear the edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Look, I know this isn;t easy for either of us, but we’re stuck with each other for this project. We might as well get it done right.”

“I’m not here to talk,” you snapped back, the words sharp and defensive. “Just focus on your part. I’ll handle mine.”

His expression hardened , but he didn’t push it any further. He opened up his own laptop and began typing, the sound of the keyboard tapping filling the silence between the both of you. 

For a while, it was quiet— just the sound of typing, rustling of papers. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn;’t shake the nagging feeling that he was watching you. His presence was like a shadow that followed your every move you made, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. You shouldn’t feel like this. You had no reason to. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. It was just a project. 

But then, suddenly, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice quieter, almost reluctant.

“You know,” he said, voice low but insistent, “we used to work well together. Back in high school. Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

You froze, your fingers still on the keyboard. You could feel the old pain creep up your throat, but you swallowed it down, shoving it away. No. Don’t go there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice steady but with a hint of something you don’t want to put a name to. And then, with a sigh, he turned his attention back to his laptop, typing in silence for a long time. 

—

Two year ago

 It had been a late night at the library, the kind where the air felt thick with concentration and the promise of deadlines hanging over every student in the building. You were sitting at the same table as Sunghoon, both of you buried in textbooks, trying to get ahead before the weekend.

It was supposed to be just another study session, but something felt different. Maybe it was the way the soft overhead lights cast shadows over his features or how the silence between you two wasn’t awkward but comfortable. You couldn’t help it— his face was so focused, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, and for some reason, the sight of him studying like that made your heart skip. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

You blinked and quickly looked away, flustered. “No … it’s just, you look… nice when you study.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower than usual. “Nice, huh? That’s a first.”

You wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment, but instead you found yourself smiling despite the heat in your cheeks. Something about being with him felt so easy, so natural.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “You look… pretty. When you study.”

There was a long pause, and then Sunghoon chuckled, his smile widening. “Pretty, huh? Well, that’s new.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed too, the awkwardness melting away in the warmth of his gaze. That moment— when you both realized that maybe there was something more there— was when it all started. 

—

The silence in the library stretches again. You go back to your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. But the memory of that moment, of those words you’d said so long ago, hangs in the air like a ghost.

Sunghoon’s presence is undeniable now. Every time his shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches for his drink, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to keep working, to ignore the way his proximity makes your heart race. 

“You know, if we just worked together instead of pretending we’re strangers, this would be a lot easier,” Sunghoon says again, his voice a little more insistent now, but still carrying that gentle tone. 

You refuse to look up, clenching your jaw. “Just finish your part. I’ll finish mine.”

“I’ve always liked how stubborn you are,” he mutters, but there’s a soft fondness behind the words. “But you’re going to make this harder than it has to be, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But the reality is that he’s right. You are making this harder. You’re making everything harder by refusing to acknowledge how much you still feel for him.

But you can’t admit that, not now, not when the walls between you two are so high, so insurmountable. 

—

It’s late—too late for anyone to be at the library anymore. The harsh overhead lights flicker in the empty room, casting long shadows on the tables where students usually sat, buried in their books. But not you. You’re still here, alone, a stack of textbooks and papers spread out before you. The hum of the fluorescent lights fills the air, broken only by the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

You’ve been here for hours, the deadline looming closer with every passing second. Your mind is tired, but you won’t leave until you finish. It’s like a race against time. A way to distract yourself from everything else.

But then, you feel it. A presence.

You look up, and there’s Sunghoon, standing by the entrance, his gaze scanning the room. You immediately look away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Why is he here? You weren’t supposed to see him, not tonight.

He walks toward you slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You keep your eyes down, focused on the papers in front of you, but you can feel him getting closer.

“You’re still here?” Sunghoon says, his voice low, like he’s not sure what to make of the situation.

You sigh, unwilling to make this a conversation. “I’m working. Is that a problem?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but there’s a softness to his tone now. Something gentler. “Just... thought you’d left by now.”

You don’t look up, but you hear him pull out the chair opposite you. He sits down, but doesn’t speak immediately. You don’t say anything either. It’s awkward. You try to focus on the work in front of you, trying to ignore the feeling of his presence, so close but still so far away.

You keep your head down, but the longer you stay in the silence, the more you feel the walls you’ve built start to crumble, piece by piece. He doesn’t push you. Doesn’t force a conversation. He just... stays.

You try not to think too much about it. It’s just Sunghoon. Just a classmate.

But then, hours later, you’re blinking, your head feeling heavy as you try to focus on the screen in front of you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until your eyelids started to flutter. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion catches up with you.

You don’t even realize you’ve nodded off until you’re suddenly jerked awake, your head jerking up from the desk. The library is quiet, almost too quiet, and the light from the desk lamp casts a soft glow around the room. That’s when you notice it.

A jacket—dark, heavy, and familiar—draped over your shoulders.

You blink, still groggy from sleep, and turn to see that Sunghoon is gone, his chair empty. You try to shake the fogginess from your mind, but there’s no denying it: He left his jacket with you.

You didn’t hear him come back. Didn’t feel him approaching. But somehow, he’d slipped it onto you while you were asleep, without a sound.

You sit there for a moment, the jacket still warm against your skin. His scent clings to it, and you find yourself unable to take it off. It feels wrong to just leave it behind, but you’re not sure why it feels so important to keep it on.

You look down at your own hands, your fingers grazing the sleeve, feeling the weight of the jacket, both literally and emotionally. You’re not sure if it’s the jacket that’s weighing on you or the memories that come with it. But it’s there. And so is he.

You stay there for a few more minutes, just sitting in the quiet, knowing that it would be impossible to get anything more done tonight. You pack up your things, but you don’t take off the jacket. Instead, you walk out of the library with it on, your heart a little heavier than when you came in.

—

It was dark outside, and the bus was filled with the soft chatter of your classmates. You and Sunghoon were sitting in the same seat, your shoulders brushing as you both leaned against the window, tired from the day’s activities.

You’d always been close, never quite aware of how it felt to have someone just be there with you. But that day, there was something different about it. It was like you both had settled into this quiet rhythm—comfortable, easy.

You leaned your head against the window, gazing out at the passing lights. The bus was warm, and your eyes were starting to grow heavy from the day’s exhaustion. Without realizing it, you drifted off, your head slipping onto Sunghoon’s shoulder.

He didn’t immediately pull away, didn’t complain. He just let you sleep, his body slightly tensing at the sudden closeness, but not enough to push you away.

And when you woke up, it wasn’t awkward. You just rubbed your eyes, looked up at him, and smiled.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured.

Sunghoon chuckled softly. “You really just fell asleep on me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I didn’t even realize.”

And even though it had only been a few seconds, you both lingered in that moment, your eyes meeting briefly before he gave you a smile that made your heart flutter.

You’d brushed it off as nothing—just a friendly gesture.

—

You’re still sitting in your room, the jacket still on your shoulders. It feels like a weight, not because it’s heavy, but because of the memories it brings. The warmth lingers on your skin, but so does the uncertainty. You can’t figure out why this is bothering you so much.

Your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. A new email. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s from him. Sunghoon.

The message is simple: “Still need help with the project. Let me know if you want to meet up.”

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath. You want to ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see it. But you can’t. Because part of you wants him to be there. Part of you wants him to still be the one to help you, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You stand up, pacing around the room, the jacket slipping slightly off your shoulders as you move. You pull it tighter around you, almost subconsciously.

You know you’ll have to face him again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner. Hopefully later. But right now, with his jacket still draped over you, you’re not sure if you're ready.

But for some reason, you know you’re going to have to take it off.

—

You walk into the classroom, clutching the jacket in your hands. It’s been a couple of days since you woke up to find it draped over your shoulders, Sunghoon’s jacket—a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. He hadn’t said anything when you first found it. It had simply been there. At first, you thought it was an accident, but the longer you held onto it, the more it felt like something else. You hadn’t returned it immediately, unsure why you kept it. But now, with the fact the two of you share a class together, it felt like the right time.

You spot him sitting by the window, alone, lost in whatever thoughts occupy his mind. He doesn’t notice you as you approach, and the moment feels strangely... intimate, even though you're still far from the comfort you once shared.

You stand in front of him, holding out the jacket, but he doesn’t immediately take it. His eyes flicker up, and for a split second, something unreadable passes between you. He reaches for the jacket, but as his fingers brush yours, it’s more of a reflex than any real desire to touch.

Before you can pull away, a voice from behind you cuts through the moment.

"Are you two... together or just friends?"

You glance over to find a couple of classmates watching you both curiously. It’s a casual question, but the curiosity in their eyes is unmistakable. Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-motion, his fingers still hovering over the jacket. He looks back at them briefly, his gaze faltering, not quite meeting yours.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. You notice how Sunghoon looks at the ground, avoiding any real response. His lips press together, his hand still unsure of whether to take the jacket back or not. He’s hesitant, as always.

You, on the other hand, feel the weight of the question, but you don’t shy away from it. Not this time. You stand tall, glancing over at your classmates and meeting their gaze.

“We’re just friends,” you say, your voice steady and clear. “Nothing more.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He just takes the jacket from your hand, his fingers brushing yours again, but this time it’s almost mechanical. You turn away quickly, the moment lingering behind you like an unspoken tension.

Your classmates exchange glances, their curiosity piqued, but they don’t push further. They turn their attention to the front of the room as class starts, but the question still lingers in the air.

You sit down at your desk, feeling the eyes of your classmates on you for a moment longer than usual. You force yourself to focus, pretending it doesn’t matter, but the thought of that brief interaction, the way Sunghoon avoided the question, settles heavily in your chest.

The class continues, but your mind drifts, back to that jacket and the weight of unspoken words. You can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said if you hadn’t answered for both of you.

No, that’s what he should’ve said because you guys were not dating, he broke up with you, and now the two of you were simply forced to work together. That’s it. 

—

The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet street. The school festival had just ended, and the distant hum of laughter and music still echoed behind you. Groups of students were lingering back at the event, but somehow, the two of you ended up here, together, away from it all. 

It wasn’t planned. It never was with him. It was just how things always seemed to happen.

You hugged your arms around yourself because of the cold, cursing at yourself for not bringing a bigger jacket knowing the weather but wanting to look good for the event. He walked a little ahead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jackets, his head tilted slightly towards you as if he was waiting for you to say something. 

You had always been the talker between the both of you. The one who made friends easily, the one who never hesitated. But right now, the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken. 

He let out a small sigh, looking up at the sky. “It’s late.”

“You should’ve left earlier then.”

He huffed, a tiny, almost-smile tugging at his lips before he looked back ahead. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like staying.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The festival had been fine, fun even. But then you’d seen him standing by himself, lingering near the edges of the crowd, not quite a part of it. And suddenly, the excitement of it all had dimmed. 

He kicked a small rock with the tip of his shoe, watching it tumble along the pavement. “Didn’t think you were the type to leave a party early.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

A breeze picked up, and instinctively, you crossed your arms tighter over yourself. Without a word, Sunghoon shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

You scoffed. “I’m not cold.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding the jacket out with that blank expression of his— the one that meant he wasn;t going to argue. You hesitated for a second too long, and then, as if deciding for you, he draped it over your shoulders himself. 

You looked up at him, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but then you caught the way his fingers lingered just a second longer against your shoulder, the way he swallowed, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Your heart did something stranger in your chest, a quiet stutter. But then he pulled away, shoving his hands back into his pockets, eyes flickering elsewhere like it was no big deal.

Like he didn’t just leave you standing there in the middle of the empty street, drowning in the scent of his cologne, trying not to overthink what had just happened. 

“Let’s go.” he said, his voice calm, steady. Like always. 

You didn’t move right away. You just watched him, this boy who always seemed out of reach.

Then you exhaled and started walking again, side by side, your steps falling in sync.

And if your hands brushed once— just once— neither of you said a word about it. 

—

After class, you head out of the room, your mind still lingering on the awkward exchange. As you walk down the hallway, you notice Sunghoon a few paces behind you, his expression neutral. You don’t turn around, but you can feel his presence. It;s the same as always, but somehow it’s different.

The hallway stretches ahead of you both, and you find yourself wondering if it’s the same for him, if he’s feeling the same weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air between you. But then you push the thought away. You can’t keep thinking about it. Not now. Not like this.

The day continues, but it doesn’t feel the same. Something has shifted again. Not a big thing, just the subtle change in the air whenever Sunghoon is around. But for now, you focus on the present. The project. The work. There’s no room for anything else. At least not yet. 

—

Sunghoon hated studying in public places. He hated the noise, the crowded spaces, the way it was impossible to concentrate. But for some reason, he was here.

With you.

The library was dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the occasional turning of pages and the soft clicking of keyboards. It was nearly empty at this hour, just the two of you tucked away in a corner, buried under textbooks and notes.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head before slumping onto the desk. “I’m going to die here.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his notes. “You say that every time we study.”

“Yeah, and one day it’ll be true. And when that day comes, I hope you feel bad about it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic.”

You turned your head to look at him, resting your cheek against your arm. The lamplight softened his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his skin. 

He was so pretty.

Unfairly so.

You frowned, furrowing your brows. “Do you know you’re pretty?”

That finally made him look up. He blinked at you, pen pausing mid-air. “What?”

“What?”

There was a flicker of something in his expression— surprise, amusement, something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think about that kind of stuff.”

You scoff. “Oh shut up.”

Sunghoon shook his head, turning back to his notes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s a weird question.”

“It’s not weird.” You sighed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I just think it’s unfair that some people get to be smart and pretty.”

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You’re calling me smart too?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just a passing thought, casual observation. But for some reason. Sunghoon kept stealing glances at you for the rest of the night, his fingers tapping idly against his notebook, like he was trying to figure something out. 

—

The library is quieter than usual tonight. The steady hum of air conditioning fills the space, and the dim, golden glow of the desk lamps casts long shadows on the wooden tables. It’s late— too late to still be working— but neither of you have left.

At first, you barely acknowledged each other. The project was the only thing keeping you here and even then, you refused to speak unless absolutely necessary. You typed your sections. He worked on his. Simple.

But at some point, between the furious clicking of keys and the scratching of his pen against paper, something shifted. 

The silence wasn’t as sharpe anymore. The air between you wasn’t quite so cold.

You were still stubborn, still keeping your distance, but Sunghoon had started to slip through the cracks. 

It was in the way he quietly slid your match closer when he noticed you reaching for it absentmindedly. In the way his eyes lingered a second longer than necessary whenever you furrowed your brows at the screen, lost in thought. In the way he wordlessly handed you a new pen when yours ran out of ink, his fingers brushing yours just for a second.

Little things.

Things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Things that made it harder to pretend that you hadn’t missed this— missed him.

You force yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. On him. On the past. 

—

It had been a long night.

You weren’t supposed to stay out this late, but somehow, time slipped away. It was just the two of you, walking home after an evening study session, the sky stretched out in a blanket of deep navy blue. The air was crisp, autumn settling in with a quiet chill, and your footsteps echoed against the empty sidewalk.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you muttered, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Sunghoon glanced at you, amused. “Then why didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Because I didn’t know it’d be this cold.”

“You say that every year.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And every year, I am caught off guard.”

He rolled his eyes but reached for your sleeve, tugging your arm towards him. Before you could react, he took one of your hands in his, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket along with his own.

The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine— not from the cold, but from something else. 

Something you hadn’t quite named yet.

Neither of you said anything about it. You just kept walkin, the streelights casting soft golden halos around you.

You reached your doorstep too soon. 

Sunghoon stood there, shifting on his feet, his fingers still loosely curled around yours.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve said goodnight. But instead, you just stood there staring at him.

The light from the porch illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark eyes softened when they met yours. His gaze flickered down— just for a second— before he quickly looked away.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. “Are you gonna keep standing there, or—”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

And then—-

He kissed you. 

It was hesitant, barely a whisper of contact. But it sent your heart into a frenzy, your breath hitching, fingers tightening around him without thinking. 

When he pulled away, his ears were red, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I— I wasn’t planning to do that.”

You blinked at him, mind still catching up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, this time smiling.

Sunghoon exhaled, sometimes easing his shoulders.

“You;re still holding my hand.” you pointed out. 

He let go immediately, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Shut up.”

But you could see the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

—

You stare at the screen in front of you, but the words are a blur. The memory lingers, making your chest feel tight.

Sunghoon shifts besides you stretching out his arms. His sleeves push up slightly, revealing the faint outline of veins along his forearms. You look away quickly, annoyed with yourself. 

This is ridiculous.

You don’t care. You don’t.

“Take a break,” he says, voice low.

You exhale, rubbing at your temples. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You shoot him a glare, but he’s already looking back at his screen, unaffected. Typical. 

Silence settles between you again, but it’s different now. He’s too close, the air between you too charged. 

And then—

“Do you still hate me?”

Your breath catches. The question is quiet, but it feels deafening.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what feels like hours. His eyes are steady, but there’s something else there— something raw, something careful. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

He swallows. “ you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to scoff, to roll your eyes. “I look at you all the time.”

“Not like before.”

That makes you freeze.

Because he’s right. 

Before— before everything— you had looked at him like he held the universe in his hands. And maybe, in some ways, he had.

But that was then.

And now—

Now you don’t know what to do with this version of him, this version of you.

The air is thick with something you don’t want to name. 

And before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself—

You kiss him. 

It's reckless, desperate, a collision of past and present, of things left unsaid and things you don’t want to admit.

His lips part slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in, his fingers grazing your jaw, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And maybe you are too. 

But then—

Reality crashed back in.

Your eyes widen, and you pull away abruptly, breathless, heart hammering.

Sunghoon blinks, still processing, “Wait—”

But you’re already pushing away from the table, standing up too quickly, your chair scraping against the floor.

“I have to go,” you say, voice unsteady.

And before he can stop you, before he can say anything else—

You turn and walk away.

Leaving him sitting there, watching you go.

Again. 

—

Avoidance has always been your best defense.

You mastered it after the breakup, convincing yourself that if you could just stay out of Sunghoon’s orbit, then none of it— none of the pain, none of the unanswered questions, none of him— could touch you.

But ever since that kiss, it’s been impossible to keep up the act.

You stop sitting in your usual spots in the library. You change your walking routes between classes. You leave early to avoid any chance of running into him. Your emails about the project become even shorter, even more detached.

And still— it doesn’t feel like enough

Because the problem isn’t just him.

It’s you.

It’s the way your mind keeps replaying that night in the library, the way your lips still burn with the memory of his, the way your chest aches everytime you think about how you didn’t pull away immediately.

You shouldn’t have let it happen.

You shouldn’t have wanted it to.

But worst of all— you shouldn’t still want it now.

You tell yourself this over and over again. But nine of it matters when you turn the corner one evening, only to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. 

Sunghoon.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew.

“You’re avoiding me again,” he says, his voice eerily calm.

You grip your bag tighter and look away. “I’m busy.”

“Liar.”

The word lands heavier than it should.

You take a step back, but he matches it, blocking your way. His eyes search yours, and you can feel how tired he is— tired of the silence, of the pretending, of whatever this is. 

“Do you hate me that much?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp and desperate. 

You exhale hardly. “Sunghoon—”

“Just answer me,” he pressed, jaw clenched. “Do you hate me?”

The words catch in your throat. 

You should say yes. You should give him the finality he seems to be looking for. 

But you can’t. 

And maybe he sees it— maybe he sees the way you falter, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag— because his expression shifts.

And then—

The door beside you suddenly swings open. A group of students spills out, laughing and chatting, shoving past both of you. 

You barely register it before someone crashes into you from behind, sending you stumbling backwards—

Right into the supply closet.

And of course— because the universe must hate you— the force of it slams Sunghoon into the tiny space as well. 

And before either of you can react— click.

The door locks

Silence.

Then—

“You have got to be kidding me,” you hiss. 

Sunghoon tries the handle, but it doesn’t budge. He exhales sharply, resting his forehead against the door for a second before turning back to you. 

“Great.”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “What, you think I planned this?”

“No, but it’s convenient, isn’t it?” He glares at you, frustration bleeding into every word. “You’re always running away, and now you can’t.”

Your pulse spikes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he mutters. “You left the night. You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You won’t even talk to me—”

“Because there’s nothing to say!” you snap.

“Bullshit!” His voice rises, his patience unraveling. “Don’t act like you don’t care. You kissed me, and then you ran away like it meant nothing.”

You freeze.

Because he’s right.

It wasn’t nothing.

But admitting that? Giving him that satisfaction? You can’t.

So you do what you do best. 

You push back

“You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here, Sunghoon,” you say, voice colder now. “Not when you broke up with me.”

Something flickers across his face.

“And not just that,” you continue, the weight of everything you’ve bottled up finally breaking through. “You left me without any warning. You didn’t talk to me about what was wrong. You didn’t even try. You just decided one day that it was over and that was it.”

—

It had been an ordinary afternoon. You remember it oo well— how he wouldn’t look at you, how his hands trembled slightly as he shoved them into his pockets.

And then—

“I think we should break up.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You laughed at first, thinking it was some sort of joke. But then you saw the way he avoided your gaze. The way his fingers curled into fists.

“Why?” Your voice had cracked. “What happened? Did I do something?”

He had only shaken his head. “It’s just…. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“What—”

“I am not sure I am what you really need.”

It was the last thing you expected to hear.

But it was the only explanation he ever gave you.

That's what started it, why you just started running away from him. 

—

“You thought it wouldn’t work?” you glare at him now, eye burning. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, like he regretted saying it. But it’s too late.

“You didn’t even give us a chance,” you continue, voice rising. “You just decided that it wasn’t going to work out for the both of us.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I was what you really needed.”

Your breath catches. “Sunghoon—”

“You’re always surrounded by people. You make friends so easily. I wasn’t like that, I am not like that.” His voice is quiet now. “I feel like I was always holding you back.”

You shake your head, feeling something sharp and painful twist in your chest. “That’s what you thought?” You let out another bitter laugh. “You know, I thought that’s what brought us together. That we were so different. That worked because of that.”

Sunghoon looks at you then, something unreadable in his expression. 

“There were two people in our relationship, you and me. You made that decision that we don’t work well, for the both of us.” you say, voice shaking. “And now you think it’s going to work now just because you want it to?”

He doesn’t answer. 

And you hate how much that silence still hurts.

You exhale shakily, turning away. “I don’t trust you., Sunghoon.”

His jaw clenches. “I know.”

“And I don’t trust myself to let this happen again. Because if you could leave that easily once, what makes you think I believe you won’t do it again?”

This time, he doesn’t try to deny it. 

Because he knows.

Because he did leave. 

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that. You hated yourself for never being able to hate him at all. 

The only sound in the tiny space is the faint buzz of the overhead light—

And the deafening weight of everything left unsaid. 

The supply closet is cold, but the tension in the air is suffocating. When the door finally swings open, neither of you move right away. Sunghoon steps back first, his jaw clenched, like he’s holding back something he’ll never say. You follow a second later, not looking at him as you walk away.

After that, things are different.

You don’t avoid him anymore. Not really. You still exchange emails about the project, still sit across from each other in the library, still in the same space without outright hostility. But the sharpness between you dulls— replaced by something softer, something sadder. 

One night, long after the library should’ve closed, you look up from your notes to see Sunghoon staring at you. He doesn’t look away this time. Neither do you. For a moment, the world stills. 

Then you blink, and the moment is gone.

—

The project ends.

So does your reason to stay in each other’s orbits.

You expect things to go back to normal, whether normal is supposed to be. You expect distance to creep back in, the silence to settle. 

But somehow, Sunghoon lingers. 

He doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t push. But you catch him in the corners of your vision— watching, waiting, hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next.

—

Then one evening, you run into him.

It’s late. The air is cold, thick with the scent of winter. Sunghoon is standing outside the campus gates, hands shoved into his pockets, the street lights casting long shadows around him. He notices you before you can turn away.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You hesitate. Then, “Hey.”

There’s so much unsaid between you, so much left unfinished. 

A part of you wonders— is this it? The last conversation before you both fade from each other’s lives completely?

Sunghoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say something more, but you shake your head, stopping him. 

“It’s okay.” you say. “You don’t have to.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He nods.

The streetlamps flicker above you. A car passes, its headlights flashing between you like a border, a final dividing line. 

You should say something else. You should tell him you’ll see him around, that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll find your way back to him someday.

But you don’t.

Instead you step back, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Take care, okay?”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. But then, finally— softly— he nods.

“You too.”

You turn around first. You don’t look back.

Sunghoon watches you walk away, his hands still in his pockets, his lips parts like he wants to stop you— but he never does.

The night swallows the both of you whole.

And just like that, it’s over. 

—

The city hums in silence in the distance, but here, on the rooftop, it’s quiet/ the two of you sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The night is warm, the stars barely visible through the glow of streetlights. 

“You’re gonna fall,” Sunghoon murmurs, eyeing the way you lean forwards slightly, hands bracing against the ledge. 

You grin, tilting your head towards him. “You’d catch me.”

He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but won’t let himself.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing through the strand, smoothing them down. Sunghoon stills at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“You do that a lot,” he says after a moment.

“What?” 

“Touch my hair.”

You blink, your hand dropping back to your lap. “Does it bother you?”

He exhales, looking away, down at the glittering streets below. “No.”

That’s all he says. But in the way his fingers clench slightly against his knee, in the way his shoulders stay tense even as the night air cools his skin— you realize something.

Sunghoon likes it.

He likes being close to you.

The thought makes your chest feel warm, something soft and fluttering settling behind your ribs. You don’t say anything about it, don’t tease or push. Instead, you lean back on your palms staring up at the sky. 

“Feels like we could stay here forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon glances at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“Yeah.” 

-

author's note: basically everything in here thats inpso from irl with my actaully ex. the water bottle incident but it was in a classroom. us actually having fucking class with each other the next semester. me running away constantly every time i see him now. me buying him a pencil as a present and him still using it (i really want to steal it back). him asking me if i hate him cuz i keep running away and even dragged a friend as i run away from him. him saying "i dont think it's going to work out" and thinking becuase im very outgoing and him being a big introvert was something that would lead to us breaking up, haha but it was just him and him not communicating with me about his feelings. el oh el.