#high and listening to ceilings on repeat

[dianadeadwing]

After the amazing and fun art storm of roudiseweek here’s a sappy courtship Boblin drabble fic I wrote back when I was really in the boblin feels.

Warning for fragmentary sentence construction.

Word count: 2,147

Tw: vague mentions of Bob’s mom’s death / fear of losing loved ones

--

He doesn't tell his Dad. He doesn't want to hear about all the things that could go wrong. All the things that he did wrong. Right now meeting Linda sits like this perfect little crystalline moment in his head. Almost as if he'd watched it in a movie and everything that had happened had just enfolded completely separate from any action Bob could have taken.

Not for the first time Bob thinks about how significant days start the same as any other. It's not like the movies with a sense of overwhelming dread and dramatic dips in the music. The day starts with tooth brushing and burnt coffee and too bright incandescent lighting. It starts feeling normal and just...

--

Once when he was twelve sitting on the bench after school. He remembered thinking that his dad was late. Later than usual. Because he was often late. There was so much going on. Mom in the hospital, and Dad trying to balance that and the restaurant. Sometimes Bob just thought it'd be better if he walked home to make it easier on both of them. But his Dad always showed up eventually, stubbornly, pretending everything was normal.

So he waited.

And waited.

This time until dark.

---

"So Bobby," Linda chirps, her soft fingers trailing along the hair on his arm. And Bob thinks about how no one has really called him that since--

"I--" It comes out his mouth without warning. Stupid. Stupid. "Do you really mean--? Do you really want--" And, God, he wishes he could be confident and assured but this has to be a mistake.

Linda, vibrant, firework, sparkler, Linda can't be looking at him with eyes all lidded and that smile and she can't why would she--

"Want to buy me a drink?" Linda answers in all the confidence he lacks. Her eyes glitter in the dimly lit bar, eyelashes lowered looking at him like he matters at least a little bit. "I definitely, want you to buy me a drink."

And her smile is wow. Wow. Wow. wow.

"Um," He must have been staring for a moment too long. Linda doesn't seem to mind the attention but her friend giggles lightly into her own beverage. "What would you like?"

He's helpless, stupid, starstruck by her.

"Mmm..." Linda pretends to think and there's so much mirth behind her eyes as they meet his own, "Something this big," She moves her hands about a foot apart, winking one eye to make really sure of the distance, "And full of alcohol!"

"Yeah," He says immediately and turns to flag down a waiter. He can't think of a single drink that exists on the planet so he just tells the waiter to keep it coming on him. Linda giggles.

"So Bobby," she starts, and he's too caught up in her to notice the large glittering engagement ring on her finger, "What is it you do for a living?"

And that, that he can answer, so with a big smile, a true honest to god smile he meets her eyes and says, "I cook."

--

And miracle of miracle he sees her again. and again. And again. Every time he thinks this surely must be the end. Someone like her so full of life and laughter must be fed up with someone like him. But she isn't she keeps coming back. She keeps laughing at his dumb jokes. And he tells her about all of the things he hopes for and all of the things he's afraid of and he swears she listens.

--

It hits him one day. They are sitting in a drive in snuggled up close movie theater watching something about robots and Linda hums under her breath while periodically kissing him under his ear before turning away pretending she hadn't done a thing.

He never asks her what she wants out of life. He's talked at length about his own dreams of starting a restaurant. Of making all of these interesting and flavorful burgers. Of washing his own dishes and locking the door with his own key. He's never asked her what she wants. What she dreams about her life looking like. And that's important if they are doing to be-- If they will be-- If all this is to keep going forward.

"Lin," He starts. But Linda is a firework, glittering and explosive so she derails him.

"What, Bobby? Can't focus on the movie?" Linda laughs and her eyes are lit up from from explosion on the screen he definitely hadn't been paying attention to.

"I--" Bring it back, this is important he tells himself, "Linda? What do you want? I mean? In the future? I want my restaurant but what..." He gestures vaguely, "What's your dream."

And Linda just smiles at him big and bright, like he's being a little bit dumb and he probably is, he usually is, but he can't really think of why this time.

"It's not a thing." She says still smiling like she's in on a joke he's not even close to getting, "I just want to be happy."

---

Happy.

He can't remember the last time he was really and truly happy. And then there she is. And he can't help but feel every piece of himself light up every time she so much as looks in his direction. He's working as a grill cook at some random dive to pay the rent and singing at the top of his lungs. So much when he finally quiets down there's actually applause. Wolf whistles.

At the end of his shift a coworker whispers "Must be some girl you've got."

And Bob can't help the sappy smile on his face, "She is."

---

And the first time she stays over at his little studio apartment he spends way too much time cleaning and trying to make everything perfect. He lights candles. He plays music really low and even gets her flowers. He has to make everything perfect. He has to convince her to see past every little glaring flaw and stay with him regardless.

Bob feels selfish and arrogant but he can't help it. He's somehow tricked her into being with him this long if he can just keep it going possibly forever then he never has to go back.

It's funny how before didn't feel so bad but the thought of going back to life before Linda makes him feel like death now. There is no going back. He can't. He knows what it's like to love someone.

---

And of course, she's bright and funny and a million miles ahead of him. The moment she enters his apartment and sees all the silly little candles she blows one out. Makes a little wish under her breath and turns to him with a big smile.

"I love you," She says before he can even say hello.

And instead of being cool and composed and acting like he's been there before he wraps her up in his arms to keep her from seeing how close to crying he is.

"I love you too," He whispers into her shoulder and hopes she can hear him over the sappy jazz he is playing.

---

And he just can't. Every day feels like he's getting closer and closer to the sun. He feels its warmth deeper and deeper in his skin, his bones, his soul. And he can't lose her. He can't.

But he could.

---

"Pop," Bob says. He's picking at a little crusted-on stain on the countertop of his father's diner. He can't look at him for this. He doesn't want to see what's there. He's afraid of it.

"What?" His father responds tersely, "You've been wound up since you got here. Just spit it out."

To his credit, Bob doesn't even bristle at his tone. He's too in his head.

"I want you to meet someone." And it's surprising how easily the words come out of his mouth. It's the truth but it's also. It's something else.

"Oh," His father responds. And it's uncharacteristically silent in the once bustling diner. It's after closing usually there's the sound of dishes hitting together rags on counter tops. But now nothing.

"Linda." And in spite of his own nerves, he looks up to see his father. He thought he'd be embarrassed or ashamed or something but all he is... "I-- she's my girlfriend," He smiles without meaning to, " I care about her a lot."

He didn't know what he expected but the smile on his father's face is big and genuine and not even a little bit bitter.

"I'd love to meet her." He says.

---

And they get along like. Well, people that get along really well. Linda's very good at stuff like that. Walking into a room and making everyone comfortable and at ease.

The first time she meets Big Bob she wraps him up in a hug that leaves little Bob and his father surprised.

"How are you, Big Bob," She says, laughter in her voice acting like old friends, "Hah, love the mustache. I see where Bobby gets his lip wig from."

How can she do that? Enter a room of strangers and be totally at ease? Bob had been so nervous to have Linda meet his father. He'd been so nervous about so many things and then comes Linda showing him that he had nothing to be nervous about after all.

Bob finds himself elated to see the smile lit up on his father's face.

–

Linda gets them drink for drink into the night. There may have been some singing and dancing on tables. He doesn't even notice when his father leaves them to their own devices.

--

"Linda's a great girl." Big Bob says the next morning over coffee.

"I love her," Bob says in return and he hadn't intended to say anything of the sort it just comes spilling out of him unwilling to be unheard.

Neither of them says anything after that. It's just morning sounds of doors opening and garbage trucks. But Bob can see the sad little smile on his father's face.

--

"I was twelve," Bob tells her one night, they are half naked snuggled up in bed together in that sweet place between sleep and wakefulness, "When she died."

"Your mom," Linda says calmly, because she's good at these things but he feels the ways her shoulders square up under his bare fingers.

"Yeah," It squeaks out, "And um, Dad was never the same. I was never..."

Linda props her chin up on his chest and Bob feels himself drawn into her as he always is. Her eyes are always laughing but with something else brewing beneath. "Tell me about her."

And he can't help but laugh. Like, it's so easy. Like it's not daggers. Like it's not a reminder of all he lost.

But still, "She was happy. We were happy." he leaves out and then we weren't.

---

Linda has sort of moved into his apartment. From the moment he met her honestly. She's terrible at keeping track of her things. Something of hers is always lingering around his apartment. At least he assumed she always was forgetting things but maybe she was just always leaving open a reason to come back.

He realizes after what had to have been a least a month that she hasn't left. Every morning she's giggling at him over coffee, wiping leftover food from his mustache kissing his cheeks, nose, and eyebrows before he heads off to work, straightening the collar on his shirt.

Every night he lays in a bed that smells like her. Hears her chattering away in another room or grinning at him while talking on the phone. She's so beautiful it hurts. And he can't go back to before. He absolutely cannot imagine being without her. He doesn't know who he even used to be.

--

It's not a big affair. He wishes he'd thought about it more. Been able to plan things and give her something special. But they are just ending the day together wrapped in each other's arms on the couch. Linda is telling some good-natured story about something that happened at her day job. her whole face lighting up and bearing down in anger at the appropriate moment. And he kisses her before she finishes a sentence.

"Bobby," she snorts undignified and he loves he loves her so much he's shaking with it, "Were you even listening?"

"No." He blurts of and she gives him a half-hearted little slap feigning offense.

"Last time I--"

"Marry me." Bob blurts out. Pulls back, "I mean, will you--"

And she's just laughing so hard there are little tears in her reddened eyes, "Absolutely."

And then Bob can't stop laughing with her.

And it's like hitting rewind on a cassette tape, a VHS. Back to the start, one, two, three. Only this time he hopes for a better ending.

[anglbunny]

credit completion ♡ Fratboy!Gojo satoru

cw: smut mdni, frat boy!gojo, teacher!reader, dub-con

୨୧

You should’ve known Satoru Gojo wouldn’t take you seriously.

Leaning back in the stiff chair across from your desk, legs spread obnoxiously wide, eyes hidden behind those stupid sunglasses, he didn’t even try to act like he was listening. You droned on about his attendance, the assignments he hasn’t turned in, the grades that were circling the drain. He looked at the ceiling, the clock, his phone, until finally your voice snapped sharp—stern, professional, done.

“Gojo, if you don’t pull your grades up, you’re going to have to repeat this class. That’s not a warning anymore—it’s a fact.”

That finally made his attention flick lazily toward you, lips curling into that cocky, frat boy smirk. “Damn, teach, you sound so serious… makes me think you want me to stick around longer.”

You clenched your jaw, ready to throw him out, but he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something sinfully low.

“Or maybe… I could raise my grade another way?”

You blinked. “…Excuse me?”

Gojo’s grin widened, tongue flicking over his teeth. “C’mon, now. Don’t play dumb. Bet you get off on being in control, huh? All that authority. But when’s the last time someone made you beg?”

You stood to dismiss him, heart pounding, but before you could speak, he was already around the desk, crowding you, caging you in. He smelled like expensive cologne, bad decisions, and frat party smoke. And despite every fiber of your professional brain screaming no—your body melted when he pressed you down onto your own desk, his palm splayed over the small of your back.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Bent over like a cheap slut on campus, skirt bunched around your hips, his cock slamming deep into you, stretching you until your vision blurred. The sound of skin slapping filled the empty lecture hall, along with your helpless moans, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you clawed at the polished wood.

“See, Ms.l/n,” Gojo groaned behind you, fucking into you like he owned your body, “bet you never got ruined on your own fuckin’ desk, huh? Look at you—fuckin’ drooling. S’this the face of a professional? Yeah? You like when the student teaches you a lesson?”

You couldn’t answer—not when his hand was around your throat, making you dizzy, high off the filthy way he stretched you out. All you could do was take it, sobbing his name into the varnish while he pounded into you like he wanted you to fail him.

And Gojo?

Gojo was grinning, knowing he’d just found his new favorite after-class activity.

Taglist:@samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt

A/N: i tried

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[masterlist]

[bbluefllame]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 .ᐟ

synopsis: college au texts (& small hcs) with the girls + tropes<3

characters: jinx, vi, caitlyn, sevika

notes: SHE'S BACKKKKK!!! sorry for being gone for so long #igotintoleagueoflegends(thegame.), regular posting will be back !! other than that, sevikas part was my fave bless.

vi. + fake dating (also biker! vi)

- how this whole fake dating thing started was through a hook up actually!!

- both of you got shitfaced & you two were already friends, so after vi saw Maddie with caitlyn she was like "nah fuck it I'm gonna get her back!!" (classic, sigh.)

- this is random, but she's actually a really good cook (in my head) and she's probably made some fire meals 4 you

- for some reason.. she gives me xxxtentacion listener like she loves "I don't even speak Spanish lol" in this au but when she's emo over cait, bring out the sad! and shit like that 😭

- her ass would be on the ground staring at the ceiling, sad! blasting, and her roommate would be like SHUT THAT SHIT DOWN!!!!!

- avid marvel rivals player, loves luna snow no questions.

- don't ask why she texts like that she js does 😔

- she goes "this is for you" before scoring in a game and trips while running and falls on her face instead😭

- she is nawt NAWT!! a womanizer(?) fuckgirl(is that the female equivalent?????) idgaf what ppl say, sure she flirts occasionally but she's super loyal if she's in a rs, she's an awesome gf !!! we love vi in this household!!!!

jinx. + childhood bsfs 2 lovers

- matching pfps & bios on tiktok and insta I'm telling u. it'd be smth like "sniper, sniper, sniper" then "wifey, wifey, wifey"

- random hc cs yay, vi probably accidentally killed her pet hamster when they were kids and you had to comfort her cs her ass was crying for HOURRSSSS. there was a funeral for it with a tiny casket. (it died cs of the microwave beeping when vi's instant noodles were done)

- one of those ppl who gets high grades without trying, don't ask her grade unless you wanna feel hurt cs she js says "98" while being hungover.

- her music taste is so all over the place but I'm so certain she sticks to loud music!! she gets sleepy if it's calm😭

- engineering major no doubt abt it

- doesn't know how to cook but not cs she can't, it's bcs she doesn't want to

- she probably asked you out in a cutesy way like imagine after ur bday you're watching the stars tg and she's like staring at you w hearts in her eyes and she js says "I love you" and you're like "awww I love you too!!" cs ur bsfs, but she then repeats it "no like I LOVE you" and ur like woah.. then u start to makeout or whatever w stars in the bg, end scene!!

- genuinely the best gift giver ever, everything's homemade and made w love 🙏🙏 i lauv her sm😔😔

caitlyn. + academic rivals (+ forced proximity)

first pic isn't rlly connected to the rest, js to show their rs

- after the project you two actually got alot closer, you could even say FRIENDS 🤯, there is still competition but it isn't like as bad as before, it's more so "Haha, I got higher." "wtvvv 🙄 I'll buy u ice cream 😔"

- sevika was the prof btw, she wanted to fuck with u guys 🙏

- archer cait. that's all I gotta say. (also equestrian u can't tell me other wise)

- HEAR ME OUT! imagine she invites you to her archery training & during it ur like, "Can I try?" she says alright and then when you're holding the bow she goes behind you and starts fixing how ur holding it, then she wraps a hand around ur waist and brushes it off as "oh your posture was incorrect" when she lets go.

- moving on, I imagine her having a doll collection like don't ask why but she collects monster high dolls. (please ask her about every single doll, she'll proudly infodump)

- when u get closer to her she's alot less formal, its very cutie of her !!!

- has a fitness tiktok account and she drinks apple cider vinegar daily (NASTYYYY IDGAF IF ITS HEALTHY!!!!).

- modern au cait is like a cat in my head, idk she's js so cutie in it please give her love that's it😔

sevika. + grumpy x sunshine (professor! sevika)

- her students try to tease her when she smiles at your notes, she shuts them down so fast it's scary. her expression goes from 😊 to 🤨, then they stfu and go to their seat.

- only person who teases her and gets away with it is jinx I fear.

- you and sevika have a nightly routine of dancing together (she's so soft w u don't play w me.) her fave song to play is love by Keyshia Cole (ARGUFJWHFIWJ 😭😭😭😭😭)

- regular gym goer, she has an insta she barely posts on besides the occasional video of her hitting a new record while her students comment "omg MISS SEVIKA!!!!!" then she blocks them when she sees the notif.

- doesn't trust anyone to cut her hair besides you cs apparently you js do it better, her words, not mine! 🤷‍♀️

- one of those, mean to everyone besides you, types (minus isha and jinx cs those r FAM!)

- loves reading idk I js get that vibe from her, after a long day, she opens her kindle (that she got from you as a bday gift) and relaxes.

- first time her students saw you, they glanced at both of you like a million times before it registered you were together, cs how'd she end up with such a sweet cutie!!

- they ask her a billion questions and she's like "I don't talk about my personal life, end of story."

- she's trying to quit smoking for u trust 😞 it's js hard but she's getting there!!

- she loves u so dearly please never let go of her.😔😔

sevikas part was too long I'm sorry 😭 ...there were gonna be a couple NSFW hcs for her but 5 minutes after I wrote them I got food poisoning so I was like "I'll die if I post them."😔😔 anws hope u liked these

[toorusluvr]

... 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

characters: sylus (love and deepspace) x f!reader

content warnings: vaginal penetration sex + p in v + cowgirl position + mirror sex + sylus being cocky and sarcastic + kneeling sex + missionary sex + unprotected sex + not proofread lol i'm sorry this was written on a whim

notes from nis: my first ever sylus smut lol he has been on my mind ever since the first day he was announced! he has no business being this hot! anyway, if you're also a haikyuu fan pls check out my series featuring iwaizumi hajime ehe. as usual, your likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated! <333 listen to around me - metro boomin ft. don toliver while reading! (only bcs i listened to it on repeat while writing this it's my new fav song atm!!)

sylus who got really interested and was in awe the entire time you were riding him. sylus sees himself as someone who would rather take the initiative in everything that he does, especially sex. after all, he always carries this dominating aura to wherever he goes. but he's not dumb enough to turn down his sweet little girlfriend's intriguing offer to be on top. you wanna show him? go ahead, sweetie. he's your audience and he wants you to entertain him. stun him, make him praise you.

what got sylus going was how enthusiastic you looked when you were on top of him, riding him to the extent your legs were sore enough to walk the moment after. sylus's cock was big and thick. it was no picnic to be on top, taking all of him while trying to work on your hips back and forth, grinding on his cock. you whimpered and moaned endlessly. from grinding to bouncing on his cock but he never once interrupted your hard work.

"mm, sylus, please. need you," you whined, hips stuttering to continue fucking yourself dumb on his cock. it's been almost half an hour but your orgasm was so close yet so far. sylus knew you were starting to get desperate to come, to chase that high you were desperate for. but, he needed you to last longer so you know he won't be giving in to you easily.

sylus's laugh was deep and warm, like the gentle roll of thunder. his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook as his chuckles filled the room. "sweetie, you know the drills when you got on top of me. why don't you be a good girl and finish what you started, hm?" his hand then smacked your bottom as a sign of disapproval. seemed like sylus wasn't too happy when you were whining to him.

you threw your head back, groaning in frustration. this man wouldn't let you give up easily. said that you must persevere no matter what the occasions are. you must rise and be the strongest. but not like this! not when you were vulnerable, aching and desperate for him to take control.

both your hands were now planted on his sculpted chest. his chest glistened with sweat, a bit slippery for you to hold. you then moved closer, your tits pressed against his chest. your arms circled around his broad shoulders. sylus shifted uncomfortably beneath you as he felt your hardened nipples brushed against his sensitive chest. fuck.

again, you rocked your hips, slowly grinding on his cock filling you up so good. all warm and thick inside of you. there was a large full-length mirror next to his bed. from ceiling to floor kind of mirror. he installed it long time ago but you never knew what purpose does it serve. maybe now it finally clicked in your mind.

you've always enjoyed seeing yourself in the mirror or any other reflective surface. maybe this moment needed you to focus on yourself instead of the man underneath you. slowly, you got up. your attention was no longer on sylus but the mirror next to the bed. sylus then shifted his gaze towards the mirror too. now, both of you were staring into each other's eyes through the reflection.

your naked bodies exposed, displaying your most intimate time together. slowly, you rocked your hips, trying to find your rhythm. the tip of his cock nudging your sensitive spot with each thrust. your soft yet heavy pants coming from you filled sylus's room. the man didn't even bat an eye at your noises. his hands then moved to your waist, keeping your hips steady.

since sylus won't take control, you decided to take the matter into your own hands. you know too well he'd end up a whining mess if you started bouncing on his cock. since he was too smug to help you, you planted both your hands on his lower abdomen. your hips moved sensually, grinding on him slowly before you got on your knees and moved up and down his cock. sylus let out a staggered breath once he felt your cunt clenched tightly around his aroused cock.

his larger hands had a firm grip on your waist. he didn't even have to guide your hips now that you did it all by yourself. you alternate between grinding and bouncing up and down his cock. sylus let out soft grunts when your hips started moving faster, just fucking yourself with his cock. what pissed him off was that your attention wasn't even on him but the stupid mirror.

you looked at your drop dead gorgeous reflection in the mirror, bouncing up and down his cock. your tits jiggled with each bounce. you whimpered pathetically at the way his cock nudged your most sensitive spot. "fuck me," you muttered under your breath.

sylus's eyebrows knitted as he grumbled, "you're already doing that, sweetie. using my cock like a sex toy, huh?"

still, you weren't looking at him. he got frustrated so he flipped both of you over. he had the upper hand and he used it to his advantage. he couldn't stand not looking at you in the eyes. to not have your attention on him is fatal to him. sylus needs those beautiful pair of eyes to be on him at all times.

you squealed the moment he used his force to flip you guys over. your back pressed against his bed, his height towered over you. "what's so interesting about that mirror, hm? i need your eyes on me, kitten," he spoke in between sharp intakes of breath, each exhalation coming out raggedly.

sylus's thrust was merciless. he kept fucking you like tomorrow doesn't exist. his patience runs thin when he's inside you. he loves taking his time with you but now, he just wants to make you a crying mess. you stumbled upon your words, unable to speak when your cunt being stretched by his thick cock.

you clawed against his back. several faint scratches decorating his muscular back. "fuck, sylus! give me more, please!"

sylus then cupped your chin when you had your eyes shut. he tightened the hold on your cheeks, "open your eyes, sweetie. i need your eyes on me or else i'll leave you high and dry. eyes on me, sweetie. it's now or never." sylus's voice was a dark, smooth blend of sensuality and power, each words punctuated with a commanding edge. typical sylus.

feeling so dazed in your lust, you slowly opened your eyes. his handsome face came into your sight. hair all messy and some strands were sticking to his forehead that was glistened with sweats. he smirked, crimson eyes looking down at you. his gaze filled with hidden desires.

sylus once again flipped both of you over. this time, he got you on all fours, positioning you in front of the mirror. you gasped loudly when he didn't give you any break from his punishing thrusts. at this point, your cunt could remember his cock so damn well. you tried hanging your head low, shying away from the intense gaze sylus was giving you. but he tugged on your hair, making you squeal.

it's like he had you on a leash with the way he tugged on your hair. not until he pressed your back against his front. now both of you were skin to skin again. sylus's ragged breaths felt warm, tingling your ear. you gulped hard. the heat radiating from sylus's body engulfed your skin. sweats started to run along your back. both of you were sweaty and satiated but no one had their first orgasm yet.

"fuck, look at you, sweetie. looking grumpy just because you cannot make yourself come, hm?" sylus's words taunted you. a smirk tugged in the corner of his lips seeing your frustrated expression. yeah, he hit a nail with that one. "my cock is not good enough for you, sweetie?"

you wanted to tell him to shut his mouth but that would be fatal. nah, he won't kill you. he loves you too much. still. you don't dare to go that route yet. "please, sy. i'm tired," you tried bargaining. a negotiation with the devil? yeah, best of luck to that.

sylus scoffed. his jaw ticked at your pitiful plea. "no, not yet, sweetie," he groaned, head thrown back. sylus stifled the rising impulses to come inside you, but he pushed them down with deliberate effort to maintain control over his cold reactions. "ah, fuck," he cursed under his breath.

he fucked you hard and fast, to the point you got overstimulated and tears started streaming down your face. sylus made you watch you cried your eyes out while being pounded relentlessly. your tits jiggled with each punishing thrust. it was sinful, really. but the devil has seen worse. this was blissful. a piece of heaven he could get.

"ah, sylus!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. sylus's hand reached down to cup your pussy, thumb ghosted over your clit. he let his touch lingered there for a while. eventually, he started to draw circles on your puffy clit, waiting for your orgasm to break loose. your breaths came in erratic bursts, each one uneven and sharp as if you were struggling to catch up.

sylus felt the way your pussy clenched around his cock so tightly, it might never want to leave. it was pushing him to his limits too. fuck fuck fuck. he couldn't do this dance any longer. he pushed your body down to the bed, pressing on your back as you arched your back for him. his cock pounded your pussy harder that each breath that came out of you felt hard. you cried with each breath until your orgasm finally broke, releasing the high and endorphins all over the system.

"fuck," you sobbed as you gathered your breath slowly. sylus fucks like a mad man. but he was yet to come so he used you, he used your pussy until his come, hot and thick, filling your womb to the brim. though a wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him, sylus steadied himself and pushed through, determined to check on his girlfriend.

"fuck, sweetie. you were..." he ran out of words. but sylus managed to pick where he left off, "you were so good for me."

you let out a breathless chuckle, "you must persevere, yeah sure i did, babe."

sylus's chuckle was a deep, gravelly rumble, each note rasping out with a rich, textured quality. "mhm, using my words against me, sweetie? have i underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?"

he then laid you down on his bed, limbs tangled with each other. both of you tried to gather your consciousness and breath together. "love to see you get all worked up, sweetie," he whispered before planting a kiss on your cheek. "like a feisty kitten." you then hit him on the chest. what a way to ruin your post-orgasmic bliss. sylus must be tone deaf since he cannot read the room at all. but he's a damn good guy when he wants to be and you happen to love both his good and bad sides. that's what makes him even more special.

divider creds to cafekitsune <3

[heartkaji]

2O WOMEN VS 1 EGOIST !

bllk boys if they were in the videos by the sidemen + beta squad

includes: michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

MICHAEL KAISER !

“kaiser, ask her if she’d let you put your balls in her jaw.”

isagi’s voice is only a static crackle through the ear piece speaker, but it’s more than enough to have kaiser gnashing teeth & wrinkling nose. it was taking everything in his power not to snap the headset between his fingers. kaiser wasn’t even sure why he had to do this ; fuck yoichi and fuck bastard münchen’s publicity team.

he tries for an exhale but his dignity accompanies it, “would you let me put my balls in your jaw ?”

you’re the third girl who’s sat with kaiser so far & fuck his heart is aching— you’re far too pretty for this, blood drenched cheeks & freckled nose & silver draped around your neck like rings of vined ivy. kaiser can’t help but wonder why a pretty thing like you is here seeking male validation in thigh highs & skimpy bralette. surely someone of your beauty would know better, no ?

“what ?”

you ask so sweetly, lashes fluttering as you blink hurriedly as if it’ll help you hear better. if you were actually somebody, michael kaiser would be almost embarrassed by now, but you’re only pink painted lips & syrupy sweet voice so kaiser clears his throat & swallows his pride. he parts his lips to repeat the query but a hiss in his ear interrupts him, “she didn’t hear you, say it a—“

kaiser snaps the headset between his fingers & tosses it somewhere behind him. “i said, can i take you out sometime ?”

ISAGI YOICHI !

“try to sit on her lap while she’s talking.”

“you lot can’t be serious.”

unfortunately for yoichi, hiori & kurona were dead serious. he picked at the earpiece as you babbled on about your ideal first date, teeth kissing as he plotted on how he’d sit himself between your thighs.

“— and i’m not trying to be different or anything, but i think dinner dates are rather boring. i’d rather go to an amusement park or—“

“same, honestly,” yoichi was a charmer with a voice heavier than tree sap. his baritone alone had your guts knotting & spilling. “rides are way more exciting, really get your adrenaline going huh ? and then at the end of the date you share a kiss on the ferris wheel. i fuck with that.”

you blink, flesh pinkening & blush crawling up your throat as your fingers play with your bag strap. yoichi thinks you’re cute. you’re a fucking doll really, a pretty little thing isagi has decided he likes staring at.

yoichi can’t help but tease your further, “you wouldn’t mind if i kissed you on a ferris wheel, right ?”

you bite your inner cheek & yoichi swears you’re the cutest thing in the world. as if rehearsed, you cross your legs, shoulders tucking as you straighten your spine,

“on the first date, isagi ? quite the manwhore aren’t you ?”

it catches him by surprise but also pulls him back to earth. he bites his tongue, “oh ? when would you let me kiss you then ?”

he gets off his seat as he speaks, striding towards you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. you choke on your tongue, “um, me ? on the first date is a bit too— isagi ? what are you—?”

he positions himself on your lap. “you were saying ?”

yoichi’s ear piece blares with booms of laughter. “nah this man’s not real ! man said—“

NAGI SEISHIRO !

“are you a magician ? because when i look at you, everyone else disappears.”

“next.”

this was the eighth girl nagi had rejected. each girl came in with a new pick up line, and to nagi, each one seemed to be worse than the last.

“nagi, you have to say yes to someone already. you’ve rejected almost every— don’t listen to chigiri, nagi ! you don’t have to say yes to any of these bitches—“

nagi was about mid eye roll when you walked in.

you were rose dappled cheeks & fluffy jacket upon crème tee. your eyes met the room before his, scanning the seemingly infinite white walls & high ceiling. you even did a little wave to the camera before taking your seat. cute

even then, your eyes settled everywhere except him.

“hi,” he broke you out of your trance.

“ah— hello !” you flash him a shy grin, dimpled cheeks & freckled nose. “i was supposed to say a pick up line, right ? are you french, because—“

“no, no, please don’t,” nagi interrupts. you’re a pretty thing, red bruised knee bouncing over the other as you tuck away a strand of hair. fuck, you’re like candy for the eye.

“you get a pass.”

“huh ? but my pick up line—“

“no need, it’s a yes from me.”

pretty pink lips bend into a pout & nagi is almost tempted to let you say your line, but he shudders at the thought of your incomplete statement. you nod a bow & show yourself out with another tiny wave to the camera. perhaps this game isn’t all that bad after all.

mid thought, nagi’s earpiece crackles to life. “nagi, why’d you say yes ?! what’s she got that—“

ITOSHI SAE !

“ask her if she’d get with a bisexual dude.”

“what ? stop it shidou he doesn’t like dudes. ask her if she—“

“how about i ask her to shut the fuck up?”

sae says it a bit too loudly so your eyes widen a bit before you seemingly shrink in on yourself. sae hadn’t actually meant it—he was only trying to put a stop to the squabbling in his ears but now your nose is red & you’re biting your lip like you’re about to cry.

truthfully, he doesn’t give a fuck.

but his PR team sure does. sae was live right now & his public image already wasn’t the prettiest. he’d also rather not receive yet another lecture from his manager.

“um, girl number nine ?”

the sound of a facepalm rattles in his earpiece. “isn’t she like, the fourth girl ?”

sae bites his bottom lip. you’re fidgeting with your nails & your breathing seems heavy & your eyes seem to be everywhere but his. you don’t even respond to his call. he sighs.

“that wasn’t meant for you, sorry.” he swallows. “you were talking about red flags in a relationship, right ?”

you seem to perk up—perhaps you thought he wasn’t listening ? you were going on & on but how could sae not pay you any mind when your voice seemed smoother than redwine & myrrh ?

“yes—yes i was ! um, what about you ? any red flags ?”

“when they’re too horny.” a damn-it ! blares through his ear piece.

you nod, “i get that. though honestly, i’m a bit of a freak myself.”

you say it like you didn’t just admit to being a professional dick sucker. “sae, ask her for her number—“

he taps a button & the humming in his ear ceases. “a freak, you say ? do elaborate.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, edit, translate or reupload

[mrkizen]

wrote smth for his bday and then he posted these pics i went insane i fear...

"i miss you." jaehyun says softly through the speaker.

"i miss you." you respond.

typically his birthday would've been celebrated with you and few of his friends. but here you were, a phone pressed up to your ear, a smile small plastered across your face. while jaehyun lay in a slightly comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling.

birthday's should be well celebrated, but trust, next year would be better than ever.

the space in your bed seemed to be larger than normal. the sheets going on for what seemed like miles. you truly longed for him. though it had only been 4 months since you two were ripped from one another's arms, it felt like 4 years.

"happy birthday, baby."

a small laugh was heard from him, something you missed dearly. "thank you, for the tenth time."

"i can't wait till you get a chance for vacation."

"me too...i miss your face," jaehyun says, sighing dramatically loud. "i miss everything about you.."

the both of you share a small laugh, the slight awkwardness making it oddly comforting. jaehyun continued to talk about everything and nothing at the same time, but you let him.

7 was rolling around soon. meaning only an hour remained before jaehyun would have to turn in his phone for the night.

"damn. i could listen to your voice forever." you compliment. the way he talked so softly to you, and low—not to mention how many people were asleep.

"i need you in my life for eternity," jaehyun battled. you could just imagine him grinning at his words.

"can't believe i haven't fucked that pretty pussy in four months." he whined, barely above a whisper.

"what did you say?" a curious tone to your voice. deep down you knew what he said, but for him to repeat it wouldn't be too bad.

"you heard me." he said lowly.

silence filled the call, only your breaths along with his alternating one another. his slowly became more labored as you took notice. a low wet sound emitted from his side and a wide smile plastered across your face.

"keep going," you suddenly say.

"hm?"

"it's okay, birthday boy. i won't judge you for missing me." you purr, a small tease in your voice.

"fuck, y/n i miss you so bad, i can't...help myself." jaehyun whined, the sounds he couldn't contain growing louder. heat pooled between your thighs due to this.

this would be the first time you would have had come, on a phone call. despite that, your free hand slid down your leggings, running your finger between your folds. your stomach tightened, closing your eyes, using his sounds to let yourself free.

slowly, you inserted two fingers into your warm core, whining at the sensation. damp panties against the back of your hand, eyes tightly shut as you fasten your pace with no rhythm.

"jae.." a desperate cry comes out. the noises he made so dulcet to your ears. his low voice in your ear—like he was practically right next to you.

"so close, are you?" jaehyun increases his speed, unable to form words anymore, just small grunts pouring out.

you mutter a small response.

you moan, lowly, continuing to fuck yourself with your fingers. knowing it could never compare to how he could have you. you throw your head back in frustration, moans growing to high pitched whines, climaxing hard against your fingers.

jaehyun was soon to come after, the sounds of you reeling him to the edge. he could not wait for the second he was able to have himself inside you again.

"god i wish i could have you."

"next year."

"i'll be waiting."

[cxvii666]

“LOVE”

pre-relationship hanta sero x fem!reader

“keep it a hundred, i'd rather you trust me than to (love me)”

aka you and sero before you're his 'cool' girlfriend

hanta sero is your friend.

you think?

he treats you like you're one of his friends.

invites you over just because. low-effort texts that say pull up if you want, but when you do, he’s already rolled, your favorite snacks are on the coffee table, and he’s queued up that one playlist you sent him weeks ago. nothing serious—just a chill hangout. some gas, some takeout, a movie neither of you actually watch. easy.

he leans into the couch like he’s made of smoke, legs spread, hoodie too big, rings clinking softly as he adjusts the lighter in his hand. the room always smells like warm cologne and something citrusy and him.

he treats you like his friend.

he smiles when he sees you—lazy, crooked, always with a hint of teeth like he knows something you don’t. pulls you in for a hug, a real one, all chest and chin resting on your shoulder like he’s settling into something familiar. he shares bites off his plate without asking, brushes your hand when he passes you the controller, lets his fingers linger a little too long. holds your hand in crowds, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“don’t wanna lose you,” he says once, hand locked in yours as the two of you navigate a festival. just that. said like it’s nothing. like it’s not crawling around in your chest hours later.

he facetimes you when you're walking home late. says it’s just in case, but he stays on the call even after you get in. listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth. teases you when you talk with a mouthful of toothpaste. lies on his back and talks to your ceiling through the phone, voice growing softer, slower, until you’re both half-asleep and neither of you want to be the one to hang up.

he’s your friend.

he calls you bro. a lot. broooo, with four o’s, like it’s a chant. like if he says it enough, it’ll make everything feel normal.

and yet.

sometimes, he drapes himself across your back at the arcade, chin hooked over your shoulder as you try to beat his high score, and it’s hard to focus with the weight of him so solid and warm. sometimes, during movie night, he falls asleep half on top of you, his fingers drawing nonsense shapes on your spine like he's known you forever.

sometimes, he looks for you first. in a room, in a crowd, at a party. sometimes, when you're talking, he tunes out the rest of the world like you’re saying something important, even when you’re not. his eyes sharpen, brows pull together just a little, and he nods like he really hears you. he offers advice that makes too much sense, or just sits there, a silent anchor when you need one.

sometimes, he lets you talk forever. about the dumbest shit. your dreams. your opinions on movies he hasn’t seen. a weird thing your coworker said. and he just listens—laughs when he should, hums encouragements, occasionally repeats something back to you with surprising accuracy hours or even days later.

and then—sometimes—he leans in.

pretends he can’t hear you. dips his head so close your lips brush the shell of his ear when you repeat yourself. you swear he shivers. swears he doesn’t.

sometimes, when you're talking, his eyes flick down to your lips. not fast. not like an accident. like he’s debating something. like he’s thinking about kissing you in the middle of your sentence. like he’s not going to, but only just.

he throws an arm around your shoulders without thinking. loops his pinky with yours under the table. murmurs something stupid and low right into your ear just to see the way you laugh.

and sometimes, just sometimes, you catch him staring.

not zoned out. not bored. staring. with this look in his eyes—soft and a little wide, like you surprised him just by existing. like he’s memorizing you. like he’s trying not to want something.

and you scream internally. this means something. this means something. but you don’t know what.

because he still calls you bro.

still elbows you when you say something sappy. still pulls his hoodie over your head just to mess up your hair. still acts like it’s no big deal that your legs are tangled up under the blanket.

but then—he flirts. teases. calls you cute and pretends it’s a joke. looks at your lips and pretends he’s not. sits too close. breathes too easy when your thighs press together. touches your knee when he laughs, and doesn’t move it.

you start to wonder.

maybe he’s not your friend.

maybe he’s more.

maybe he’s been more this whole time.

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐬

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Fluff, jealousy (of a pillow), clingy Peter, playful banter, and excessive cuteness!

Summary → Peter spends his first night at your place, only to find himself jealous of your oversized cat pillow stealing all your cuddles.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains. It was Peter's first time sleeping over at your place. Though he'd swung through the city countless times, faced down criminals, and juggled the life of Spider-Man with his high school responsibilities, nothing had made him as nervous as tonight.

After a cozy dinner and a movie marathon, you'd both retreated to your room, chatting lazily as you got ready for bed. Now, the real challenge awaited him: sharing a bed with his girlfriend of two months for the first time.

Peter turned his head slightly, watching as you peacefully snuggled your oversized, ridiculously fluffy cat-shaped cuddle pillow. Your face was pressed against the plush fabric, your arms wrapped tightly around it, and your breathing had slowed into the soft rhythm of sleep.

Peter, on the other hand, was wide awake.

He shifted slightly on the bed, feeling the weight of the blanket against his chest. The bed was warm, the sheets were soft, and the scent of your shampoo lingered in the air. It was perfect. Except for one thing.

That stupid. Giant. Pillow.

Peter’s eyes darted to the pillow, which was far too long for its own good. It stretched nearly the length of the bed, practically barricading him from you. He sighed, sinking further into the mattress.

“Lucky pillow,” he mumbled under his breath, glaring at the inanimate object.

He turned onto his side, his face just inches away from the pillow. “You know, I don’t get it. What’s so special about you?” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “I mean, you’re soft, sure, but I’m soft too! And warm! And…” He groaned softly, running a hand through his curls. “God, I’m talking to a pillow.”

Peter glanced at you again. You were oblivious to his plight, blissfully cuddling the intruder. A soft pout formed on his lips as he debated his options. Should he wake you up? No, you looked so peaceful. Should he push the pillow away? No, that felt mean.

“Maybe if I just…” He reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing the edge of the pillow. He gave it a tentative tug, but you tightened your grip in response, mumbling something incoherent in your sleep.

Peter’s heart melted a little at the sound of your sleepy voice. “You’re not making this easy for me, you know,” he murmured, his tone laced with affection.

For a while, he lay there, trying to distract himself. He counted the little stars on your ceiling, listened to the faint hum of traffic outside, and even considered pulling out his phone to play a game. But the ache for your warmth persisted, gnawing at him.

Finally, with a soft huff, he rolled onto his back and muttered, “Okay, Parker. Time to man up.”

He turned back toward you, his cheeks burning as he summoned the courage to speak. “Y/N?” He whispered tentatively. When you didn’t stir, he tried again, a little louder this time. “Y/N?”

You let out a soft groan, your eyelids fluttering open. “Peter?” You mumbled groggily, your voice thick with sleep.

“Uh, hey,” he said, suddenly feeling shy under your sleepy gaze. He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Sorry to wake you, but, um… I need to talk to you about something important.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you propped yourself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he assured you quickly, waving a hand. “It’s just… I have a problem.”

You blinked, now more awake. “What kind of problem?”

Peter hesitated, glancing at the pillow between you. “It’s about… that.”

You followed his gaze, your eyes landing on the cat pillow. “You mean Mr. Whiskers?”

“Mr. Whiskers?” He repeated, his lips twitching as he tried not to laugh. “That’s its name?”

“Yes,” you said defensively, hugging the pillow closer. “What about him?”

Peter let out a dramatic sigh, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I’m jealous of a pillow.”

You stared at him, your sleepiness evaporating as a laugh bubbled up in your chest. “You’re… jealous? Of Mr. Whiskers?”

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed, sitting up slightly. “You’ve been cuddling him all night, and I’m just… here! All lonely and cold!”

“Lonely and cold?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. “Peter, we’re sharing the same blanket.”

“It’s not the same!” He whined, pouting. “I want cuddles, Y/N. Real cuddles. With you. Not with some oversized stuffed cat.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his adorable sulking. “You should’ve just said so, Pete.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up!” He protested, his cheeks turning pink. “But then you looked so cozy, and I started overthinking it, and- ugh, I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

“A little,” you admitted, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “But it’s also kind of sweet.”

Peter groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed,” you said softly, leaning over to brush a curl away from his forehead. “You’re cute when you’re clingy.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Whiskers doesn’t think so,” he muttered, glaring at the pillow.

You giggled, setting the pillow aside and sliding closer to him. “Better?”

Peter’s eyes lit up as you wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. “Much better,” he said, his voice warm and content.

“You could’ve just asked for cuddles, you know,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shirt.

“I know,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I just… didn’t want to bother you. You’ve been so tired lately, and I didn’t want to be annoying.”

“Peter,” you said, tilting your head to look up at him. “You could never be annoying. If you want cuddles, just ask, okay? I don’t mind. I like cuddling with you.”

A shy smile spread across his face as he tightened his arms around you. “Okay,” he whispered.

For a while, the two of you lay there in comfortable silence, the warmth of your embrace lulling Peter into a state of pure bliss. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his heart swelling with affection.

“You’re really warm,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

“So are you,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest.

Peter chuckled, his fingers gently running through your hair. “I’m never letting Mr. Whiskers steal you from me again.”

“Good,” you said with a smile, your eyes already closing. “Because I like this way better.”

Peter’s heart fluttered at your words, and for the first time that night, he felt completely at ease. As your breathing slowed and you drifted back to sleep in his arms, he made a silent vow: no more cat pillows.

From now on, he’d be the one you cuddled. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[beansprean]

happy valentimes day :')

My Familiar’s Ghost part 91

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. High shot of the cage, the back wall casting a long grid shadow across the floor. Guillermo is still sitting on the cot, watching as Nandor mumbles to himself and paces around, agitated. 1b. Waist up of Nandor, facing away from Guillermo with his hands on his hips, eyes closed and face flushed. He psyches himself up, breathing deeply and whispering 'Okay, okay, okay,' to himself. Behind him on the cot, Guillermo is leaning his face on his hand, looking a little bored. 1c. Close up on Nandor as he whips around suddenly with a determined expression, snapping, 'Guillermo!' Offscreen, Guillermo startles, 'Ah! Yes?' 1d. Full body of Nandor standing in front of Guillermo, who is still sitting on the cot and leaning forward in interest. Nandor has one fist pressed to his heart and announces, as if previously rehearsed, 'It was very brave of you to express your feelings of love toward me, even though you had every reason to believe you would disappear and those feelings would not be reciprocated.' 1e. Knees up of Guillermo on the cot, looking at the floor while his hand taps nervously at his knee. He mumbles, 'Not brave enough to let you say anything back...' 1f. Repeat. Guillermo looks up as Nandor takes his tapping hand in his and raises it to guide him. Nandor replies, 'Then allow me to do so now.'

2a. Shoulders up of them both in profile as Nandor leads Guillermo to standing. The cage walls are visible behind them, as well as a ghostly blue version in the background behind the panels. Nandor raises his chin and holds Guillermo's hand up between them, his other gesturing vaguely as he says, 'I am much braver than you generally, so it is only right that I express those words as well. To you.' Guillermo smiles at him encouragingly. 2b. Nandor places his free hand on top of their joined ones and stares resolutely at the ceiling, cheeks flushed. He continues, 'I think you are kind and clever and have an ass that simply will not quit. So. I have many feelings. About you. One in particular.' Guillermo snorts softly, amused but fond. 2c. Repeat. Nandor falls silent, wide eyes meeting Guillermo's nervously as the other waits patiently. 2d. Repeat. Guillermo leans forward with a teasing grin and asks, '...Was that it?' Nandor cringes, face scrunching up in frustration as he snaps back, 'No! Augh!'

3a. Shoulders up of Nandor as he covers his eyes and turns his back on Guillermo, embarrassed. He admits, 'I do not have good experience saying these things.' Behind him, Guillermo shrugs with a sad smile and looks toward the ground, playing with his fingers. He replies, 'I know, it's okay. You don't have to-' Nandor interrupts him, 'No, you deserve to hear it.' 3b. Chest up of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as he turns back around and hesitantly removes his hands from his face, bashful. The ghostly blue image of the cage behind him begins to warp as a golden glow fades in. Nandor looks shyly up at Guillermo from beneath his lashes and says 'It made me very, very happy when you said it to me. Though it was not a very happy moment in general. And I...' 3c. Reverse shot, chest up of Guillermo. Nandor continues from offscreen, '...I want to make you happy. Even more than myself, sometimes.' Guillermo reacts strongly to this, rearing back in surprise. Tears spring suddenly to his eyes. Behind him, the golden glow strengthens and bursts, tearing the ghostly cage to shreds. 3d. Shoulders up of them both in profile, the background now cage-free in mottled copper and gold. Guillermo, smiling, removes his glasses to wipe his sleeve over his eyes. Nandor steps forward and calls his name in concern, one hand hovering uncertainly. 3e. Repeat. Guillermo composes himself and slides his glasses back on, saying, ''Go on, I'm listening.' Nandor smiles fondly at this, shoulders relaxing, and reaches up a hand toward Guillermo's downturned face. 3f. Shoulders up of Guillermo looking upward in surprise as Nandor's hand comes into frame to brush the backs of his fingers against his cheek. The colors are slowly warming. 3g. Repeat. Warmer. Nandor turns his hand to cup his palm against Guillermo's face and Guillermo leans into the contact like a cat, closing his eyes and nuzzling into it with a smile, his opposite hand coming up to clutch at Nandor's sleeve. Offscreen, Nandor murmurs, 'My...most precious Guillermo...' 3h. Repeat. Warmer still. Nandor has both hands on Guillermo's cheeks now, framing his face as Guillermo nestles in with a contented smile, eyes closed, hands gripping Nandor's forearms.

4. Wide shot, waist up, of them both in profile, a warm golden glow erupting behind them and washing away the dingy rusted blue of the dungeon beyond. They are lined with golden-pink light soft, warm colors. Nandor, hands still on Guillermo's cheeks, leans forward and bows his head to press their foreheads lovingly together. Their eyes are closed, cheeks flushed, reverence in their expressions. Nandor says, 'I dream of eternity with no one else. I love you. I am in love with you.' /end ID

[acowardinmordor]

I think when Steve gets Vecna'd, Eddie adds together what he knows about the situation and comes to a logical conclusion. To him at least. He knows that Steve came here asking for heavy drugs and high quantities. He knows that Steve was sounding a hell of a lot like 'sleep' meant something worse.

He knows that Steve is X, and that means all of the horrible things that Eddie knows X thinks about himself, the guy in front of him thinks that too. He knows that Steve, ever since the letters stopped, has been upsetting the freshmen by being distant and cold.

The only assumption he can come up with is that Steve already took something, and it's hit. Or it's causing a reaction. Or its a bad trip.

He has no hesitation about touching him, immediately checks his breathing and his heart rate. It sorta, kinda seems like an overdose, a little bit could be an allergic reaction, but Steve is trembling like he's scared, and his body is stiff. Those explanations don't make perfect sense, so he watches for something that would mean it IS medical, and heads towards his better guess.

Bad Trip.

Steve is high, and is in a bad brain place, and that means he needs to be grounded. Music helps, right? When he was on that bad trip with Rick after his first senior year, Rick put on one of Eddie's tapes, and talked to him. Calm shit. Encouraging shit.

Eddie fully ignores the flickering lights - electrical gets weird in the trailer sometimes - and grabs the mixtape he made for X, and shoves it into his sorta fucky boombox. It's a mix of X's favorite songs, and the ones he mentioned in his own letters. He doesn't know if Steve ever listened to them, but that tape is the only thought he has.

Gets it playing, and grabs hold of Steve's arms. He knows that Steve stopped talking to him. Since Steve knew who he was, and Eddie didn't know who X was, it means Steve probably doesn't care if Eddie wants him to be okay.

Eddie talks about how everyone else feels.

He tells him about how protective Dustin is. How angry Lucas gets anytime anyone says a bad word about Steve. How Eddie has never seen Robin smile so much. How no one judges him for needing to repeat a year. Everyone knows about how hurt he got, and everyone gets it. No one thinks worse of him for it.

He knows his voice isn't exactly calm and soothing, but the longer this insane eye-flutter, non responsive thing goes, the more terrified Eddie is.

"Steve, please, please, it's okay. Just find your way back. try to breathe, try to feel your body, and you'll be okay. I know - I know I've been an asshole to you. I know, okay. But the boys, Robin, shit, fuck, Steve, I need to apologize for shit, so you gotta slow down your breathing. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. I promise it's not real, okay? Come back to the real world and I can get you feeling better, I promise. Steve? Steve?"

He doesn't notice at first that Steve is starting to float. He's too focused on his face, the way his eyes are still rolled back. He lets go before he can notice his own hands rising with him. Shits too real, this isn't just a bad trip, he needs help, he needs an ambulance, a cop, anyone that can actually help Steve.

He has the phone in hand, and is about to dial when he turns back, needing to keep looking at him while he begs someone to come fast. He sees Steve in the air.

One step closer, then another. He keeps trying, another whispered sentence or three. But the lights are going crazy, and the music is staticky, the dialtone is screaming, and suddenly Steve is flattened to the ceiling, arms pulling slowly to the sides.

Eddie runs.

Leaves the door swung open as he throws himself into his van. His hands are shaking and he's hyperventilating too hard to notice Max Mayfield sprinting across the road, up the stairs and into the trailer. He's pulling away, when Max screams as Steve falls.

He hears the scream, he hears and feels the heavy thump of a weight hitting the ground. He knows what that sound must mean.

Eddie runs.

Behind him with the tape still playing, Max holds onto a terrified Steve, who has trickles of blood on his cheeks, and bruises blooming on his arms.

Steve, alive, cursed, who immediately asks if Eddie is safe.

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 6

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Frottage - Bang Chan

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: Being an award winning actress isn’t as easy as some might think. Award shows themself are one of the more difficult events to tackle. But luckily, during this ceremony, you get to meet some of your favorite idols, and they get to meet their favorite actress.

—————————————————————

“And after the awards ceremony there’s an after party at The Plaza.” Your agent’s voice is strictly business in the back of the limousine. 

You’re playing with the fabric of your gown while absentmindedly listening to her. 

“Do I have to be on set tomorrow?”

“Yes, your call is at 9:00 AM. Transportation will be at your hotel at 7:30.”

You groan and look up at the ceiling. “Why do they always put these award shows on weekdays?”

“Your weekends aren’t exactly free anymore, either.” 

Yes, you’re aware. 

The life of an actress was not easy. Especially an award winning one. Right now, you are the hot, new, up-and-coming actress that everyone has their eye on. The actress that every director wants in their movie, their TV show, their commercials– everything.

Currently, you’re in the middle of filming a TV show that has a high fantasy aesthetic to it. You’re the main role in the show, the main badass warrior that everyone roots for. The kind of character that has a million and thirty Tik Tok edits of her.

It’s one of those shows where your character is constantly going through the wringer. The amount of bruises that you have to sport on camera increases each day; real and fake. 

Your nerves begin to creep up on you the closer you get to the award venue. 

Red carpets were one of the hardest parts of the job. Memorizing lines? Easy. Learning blocking and fight choreo? You do that every day. 

Talk to strangers and pose for pictures? No, thank you. 

Who were you wearing again?

“This dress is Gucci, right?”

“No, it’s Christian Siriano. I’m glad you asked. Your jewelry is Gucci and your shoes are Prada.”

You stare at your agent blankly, she hasn’t looked up from her tablet once. You were not made for this part of the job.

“Jesus…” you sigh and lean back into the cushioned seat. 

“While we’re at it, do you even know what award you’re up for?”

“Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series, right?”

“And?”

“And?” you repeat incredulously. “I thought I was only up for one!”

Finally, your agent looks up with a smirk. “Trick question, you passed. Proud of you.”

You can’t help but laugh and look out the window. “You know I’m nervous as all hell, don’t test me.”

“Don’t be nervous. I’m sure you have this in the bag.”

“That’s exactly what I’m nervous about. I have to get up, walk up those stairs in these Gucci—“

“Prada.”

“Prada shoes. And then make an acceptance speech in front of everyone. Millions of people. No pressure.”

She laughs and looks down at her tablet again. “You’re very charming and everyone loves you, you can talk the paint off a wall, Y/N, just be yourself.”

Grumbling, you cross your arms over your chest. But you can’t sit still in that position for too long at all. You’re too fidgety. 

In front of you, there’s a chilled bottle of champagne. You pour it into one of the flutes and sip it entirely too fast for the quality of the drink. ‘Sip’ is putting it gently, you down it. 

A second glass is poured, but you choose to hold that one in your hand tightly. Absent-mindedly, you swirl the champagne around, watching the bubbles form and pop up at the top. 

A few moments of silence pass, you begin to mutter to yourself to ease the stress. “Christian Siriano dress, Gucci jewelry, Prada shoes. Christian Siriano dress, Gucci jewelry, Prada shoes..”

The crowd starts getting louder the closer you get to the event. Cameras are already flashing outside your limousine. 

“I haven’t even told you who’s going to be there.”

Your agent sounds extremely smug all of a sudden. When you look over at her, there’s a cocky smirk on her face. 

“Who?” With that look, you’re not even sure that you want to know the answer. 

“Maybe put the drink down before I tell you. Wouldn’t want you to spill it on your…”

“Christian Siriano.”

“Christian Siriano dress.”

After downing the contents once more, you put the glass down. 

“Okay, who?”

Her smile grows even wider. “You know Stray Kids, right?”

Your face pales, even under all that makeup all the color drains from your skin. 

“They’re going to be there?”

She knows, she knows you’ve been a fan for a while. You were a Stay before fame came your way. 

Your agent smiles and nods, the light from her tablet illuminating her face. 

“Don’t play with me,” your voice is strained. “That’s mean.”

You’ve been keeping your admiration of them on the down low for so long. Now that you’re in the public eye, you have to be very low key about things. 

It was killing you. 

“They did a soundtrack song for a show, it’s up for an award.”

You were nervous before. Now you’re downright hysterical. 

“They’re going to be there? All eight of them?”

“To my knowledge, yes.”

The limousine comes to a gradual stop. The screams outside are deafening, even through the car doors. 

“Will I see them?” You ask, gathering your skirt up to try and assist with a graceful exit out of the limo. 

“Probably!” There’s a little hint to her voice that you can’t quite put your finger on. What is she doing? What does she know? 

The driver comes around the limousine and you take a deep breath, activating your celebrity face. 

It’s never hard for you to muster a genuine smile. You’re humble about your life, you know how lucky you are. Thinking about how far you’ve come is all the motivation you need to let the corners of your lips perk up.

“Ready?” Your agent asks.

“Yes, ma’am!”

The door opens and the roar of the crowd goes insane. You’re practically blinded by the flashes of the cameras. 

You do your very best to keep a level head and follow the instructions of the security team around you. 

In the meantime, as you walk into the venue, you turn and smile at the fans behind the barricades. 

Sending them hand hearts, waving enthusiastically back at them. You look up at your head security guard.

“Can I please go sign a few autographs?”

He looks down at you, obviously annoyed. But annoyed in the fatherly way. Just by the look on his face, you knew he was going to say yes. 

You quickly pick up your skirt and walk over to the barricade. The screams get louder and louder the closer you get. 

“Hi! Hi!” You greet all the fans as they scream for you. So many different objects are thrust over the fence for you to sign. 

You grab a marker and begin leaving your signature over everything in sight: posters, shirts, books. 

Several selfies are taken with you. Every single fan is so sweet and kind that you can’t help but spend extra time with them. 

They reach out and grab your hands, you hold them back and have conversations with them. 

You always do this. It’s something you’re very well known for. 

“Miss Y/N.” your security guard says gruffly behind you. 

“Okay, okay. I gotta go, guys. It was so nice meeting you, and it was nice seeing you again!” You point to a fan that you recognized from a convention you attended a few months ago. 

After blowing a few more kisses, you leave the barricade and head towards the red carpet. 

If it was up to you, you would’ve stood there and talked with your fans all day and never gone into the awards ceremony. They’re the reason you’re here, after all. 

Walking along the carpet, you plaster a smile on your face and wave to all the photographers. You stand still right in the middle of the space and strike several different practiced poses. 

You make sure to look in all different directions and show off the dress hugging your body beautifully. 

It’s a dark yellow gown with huge puffed sleeves that sit off your shoulders. The center of the gown dips down to show off your cleavage. The rest of the skirt poofs out in a princess style. 

It’s absolutely gorgeous. Crafted to show off your body in the best way.

All the photographers call out your name, all of them trying to get your attention. 

You wave to several that you recognize and say hello to others. 

Your short minutes on the red carpet run out and you quickly make your way across to the other side to link arms with your agent. 

She pats your arm, “Great job! Now for the hard part.”

On the other side of the red carpet there are several different magazines, websites, and other fashion sources lined up with interviewers stationed in front of cameras. 

“I studied for this, remember?” you tease her and hug her arm closer before letting go. 

The first interview you do is with Vogue, they had grabbed your attention so fast you almost got whiplash. 

How’s the show? Who are you wearing? Are you nervous about tonight?

These are all questions you prepared for.  

Next interview was with Vanity Fair. You had recognized the interviewer, so you approached her first. 

“Y/N!” Her face lights up when she sees you.

“Hi!” you answer just as cheerfully, wrapping her in a big hug and then holding her out at arms length. “How have you been?”

“So good, you?”

“Can’t complain– busy. I’m so glad to see you!”

“Me too! Do you have time for an interview?” She asks hopefully. 

“I always have time for you.”

She says thank you and her camera man gets into place. A second microphone is handed to you. Before you can blink, she’s in interview mode. 

You smile and listen to her introduction.

“I am here with, Y/N L/N, star of the Emmy award winning show, Kings and Pirates. How are you doing tonight, Y/N?”

You lift the microphone up to your mouth and speak into it happily. “I’m doing great, thank you! Always a pleasure to be talking with you on the red carpet.”

“You flatter me, Y/N! Now tell us the obvious question here: Who are you wearing?”

“I am wearing an original Christian Siriano dress, Gucci jewelry, and Prada shoes.”

“The entire outfit is beautiful! An amazing dress to hopefully show off when you win Best Actress tonight…?”

You laugh humbly. “I don’t know, there are so many amazing actresses nominated tonight. A girl can hope, but when I see the other names around mine, I can’t help but be anxious.”

The interviewer opens her mouth to ask another question, but the crowd absolutely erupts in cheers. Louder than when you got out of your limo, louder than some concerts you’ve attended. 

“Oh my god, I think someone important just showed up.” You joked into the microphone. 

Both you and the interviewer are looking across the carpet, craning your necks to see if you can get a glimpse of whoever just stepped out. 

“Minho! Hyunjin! Felix!” Crowd members scream out several names and your heart rate skyrockets. 

“Oh my god, it’s Stray Kids.” You accidentally say into the mic. 

“Oh wow! Are you a Stay?” She asks you. Your head whips around and a dark blush covers your cheeks. 

Laughing nervously, you look down at the ground, suddenly sheepish. “Ah… well, yeah. I’ve been a fan of theirs for years now.”

“Did you know they were going to be here tonight?”

“I was told it was a possibility, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Joke after joke makes the interviewer and her cameraman laugh. 

The interview continues without a hitch. But the entire time all you want to do is turn around  and see if you can catch a glimpse of Stray Kids. 

Yes, you’re famous. But you’re just a Stay at heart. 

You say your goodbyes with the interviewer and turn to move onto the next one. 

A gasp catches in your throat as soon as you step away. 

All eight of them are right there, doing their own interview with Buzzfeed. They’re smiling and laughing about something. 

You’re just able to stare. They’re right there. You’ve never been in the same space as them. 

Act professional, Y/N! Stop acting like a fangirl, you’re literally on the clock right now!

Their laughter is contagious and you find yourself smiling as you turn away and walk to another interviewer trying to flag you down. 

“… excited to maybe meet tonight? You guys are usually at music award shows, so this is definitely new for you! There’s some new faces that you probably have never seen before.”

“We actually were just talking about this on the ride over,” Chan says to the interviewer, ever the front man. “We’re all huge fans of Kings and Pirates, we watch it together every week when new episodes come out. We joked that it would be an amazing opportunity to say hi to Y/N L/N.”

It’s like the red carpet is pulled right out from underneath your feet. 

“But that would be like trying to get a private conversation with royalty, you know?”

You? They want to meet you? They watch your show? Every week? Together? 

“I think I just saw her around…” the interviewer trails off, by her tone you can tell she’s looking around for you. 

Act casual, Y/N. Pretend like you weren’t listening to every word of their interview closely. Act normal for once in your life.

“Ah, no way.” Chan’s thick accent reaches your ears. He sounds so shy by his tone. Several other members murmur and tease one another. 

“Oh, there she is! Y/N!” The interviewer grabs your attention— she technically already had it. 

The members begin to get louder when you turn your head to look at the entire group of them staring at you. 

When your eyes meet all of theirs, each of them freeze like a deer in headlights. Do they even know who they are?

You can’t tell if you’ve gone sheet white or bright red. Your heart is beating so fast it might explode. 

The interviewer waves you over, you look over at the other one you were walking to and hold up a finger to say ‘one moment’ before walking over to the large group of them. 

“Hi, hi!” You cheer casually when you come up next to them. 

All right members look absolutely starstruck. Jeongin’s eyes look like they might bug out of his head. 

They all bow politely when you join the group. 

Chan’s bow is a second later than everyone else’s. He’s too busy staring in absolute disbelief. 

“Y/N! It’s so nice to see you!” the interviewer says. You think you recognize her from another event. 

“You as well,” you respond with a beautiful smile.

“Let’s get you a mic— oh, we have no more— maybe someone— can share?”

Chan is the member closest to you, he immediately angles the mic your way. He does it so fast and eagerly it almost hits right into you. 

You giggle and thank him, “Thank you! It’s good to see you too,” you repeat and step a bit closer to him to make sharing easier. 

He smells so good. You can feel his body heat radiating onto your bare shoulders. Thankfully, the outdoor chill isn't affecting you much due to your adrenaline being so high. 

“Y/N, before I ask anything else, I do need to ask who you’re wearing.”

“Oh, a Christian Siriano original with accessories by Gucci and shoes by Prada.”

“Absolutely stunning,” the interviewer compliments. 

A light giggle comes from your chest and you go to thank her. It’s under his breath but you hear Chan say something along the lines of ‘that’s an understatement.’

“I did call you over here for a specific reason, besides the fact that we would love to interview a nominee for Best Actress. It seems you have eight fans all eager to meet you!”

You turn and look over at the members with wide eyes. “Oh my god!” You say out loud and your hand flies to your chest. “I am literally honored!”

“You know Stray Kids?” The interviewer asks. 

Well, if they already said they were fans… 

You lean down into the mic and laugh, “I have been a Stay for so long, are you kidding?”

Every single one of them don shocked expressions. Chan goes stiff as a board. 

You look at each of them with one of the most gorgeous smiles across your face. “When I was called over here with you guys I thought I was going to pass out. I had your discography playing in the room while my stylists got me ready.”

All eight of them move around like little kids meeting their idols for the first time. They each stare at you with literal stars in their eyes. 

“The first album that caught my attention was In Life, actually. Haven is my favorite song.”

You rain compliment after compliment down on them.

“It’s truly an honor to meet you, we’re all such huge fans.” Felix is the one that breaks the silence into the mic. The rest of them all nod eagerly. 

“Since we’re all fans of Kings and Pirates,” the interviewer brings your attention back. “Do you think you could give us a small spoiler for the new season coming out?”

“Ah,” you laugh and look around a bit, sucking your teeth in thought. “I reaaally shouldn’t, but…” You look to the side to make eye contact with all the members but Chan’s piercing gaze is the one that stole your breath away. 

His stylist had done his hair in such a natural, curly way. Every single strand is sitting perfectly on his head. The makeup on his face highlights his features angelically. 

Especially that beautiful nose of his. 

Each of them wore black tie suits with a bit of personal flair on them. Chan’s entire suit, including the undershirt and tie, was black. 

It takes a moment for your brain to reboot, not that anyone noticed. To them, it just looked like you were thinking of a small spoiler to give away. 

“I think that fans can look forward to seeing an old face that we previously had to say goodbye to.”

Jeongin eagerly grabs Han’s arm and says something in his ear. The two of them start whispering about what the spoiler could possibly mean. 

The rest of them all move around anxiously. Except Chan. He continues to stare at you with his lips parted slightly. 

You hold his eye contact for one more moment before looking back at the interviewer with a sinfully sweet smile. 

“Wow!” She says over-dramatically on purpose, “I think us fans have a lot to look forward to. Best of luck to all of you with your nominations tonight!”

“Thank you so much!” You chirp into the mic and stand there with a smile while she does her required sign off to go back to the main camera back in LA. 

During those few moments, you feel Chan shift his weight so that his entire arm brushes against yours. Goosebumps immediately fly up your shoulder and through your neck. 

It takes every muscle in your body not to react to it.

He’s still holding the mic between the two of you just in case you need to speak again. You want to turn your head and look at him so badly. 

You want to talk to him in the worst way; ask him questions about the music, even just how his day is, anything. 

The cameras cut and you instantly let out a sigh of relief, next to you, you see the eight of them deflate a bit too. 

The interviewer says her thanks and the crew takes the mics back from everyone. 

“It really was a pleasure meeting you guys,” you say with your hand on your heart again. “Words cannot describe how honored I am to be talking to you all.”

“Are you kidding?” Chan jokes. “We all feel the same way. I don’t think we even thought we would be able to stand near you tonight.”

You laugh and see your agent signaling you out of the corner of your eye. 

“Bah! I’m just a girl, really! Best of luck to you guys tonight, I’ll be cheering extra loud from the crowd when you win!”

“The same goes for us,” Chan smiles. He sticks his hand out and you immediately grab it. 

Electricity shoots up your arm and you have to bite your cheek to keep yourself from screaming. 

Your hands shake and you say your goodbyes to each of the members before walking away to your next interview. 

As soon as they think you’re out of earshot, they all begin talking rapidly to one another about you. 

“Can you believe it?”

“She’s a Stay!”

“Oh my god, I think I blacked out, did that really happen?”

“You lucky bastard, you got to shake her hand and share your mic with her.”

“Stop acting like a middle schooler.”

Their voices fade into the background the further you get from them. You just can’t help but smile and look down at the floor sheepishly. 

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

“I’ll find you after the awards show, okay, hon?” Your agent catches your attention as you walk into the auditorium. 

She grabs both of your forearms lightly and kisses your cheek. “Best of luck to you, don’t make yourself look stupid on stage.”

That last part is whispered into your ear and it makes you laugh. “I won’t! I won’t!”

She says her goodbyes once more and you look up at the usher waiting for you. 

This award show has its nominees all sitting around large dinner tables. There’s about ten people per table. 

For your show, you were the only one nominated for an award tonight, so not even your director or crew was here to sit with you. 

The usher held out his arm for you to take and you did so with a gracious smile. There’s a reason you’re known for charming everyone you meet. 

He leads you through the vast room. Several fellow actors call your name and greet you, and you respond to each one happily. 

“Here we are, Miss Y/N.”

No way. Absolutely no way. 

Seated around the entire table are the eight members you saw mere minutes ago, their manager taking the ninth seat. 

Sure enough, your name is printed on a sign draped over the back of the chair. 

Minho looks up at you first and waves sheepishly. You immediately wave back.

If Lee Minho waves, you wave back. 

“Hi again!” You greet them all before turning up and gently laying a hand on the usher’s bicep to thank him. He bows his head once and walks off. 

Chan, who was seated next to your empty chair, practically springs out of his seat and stands next to you. 

“I can’t believe this,” you tell him with a wide smile. He mirrors it and holds his hand out to the chair. 

You laugh while he grabs the back of it and pulls it out from the table. 

It takes a little bit of special maneuvering, but you manage to fold your poofy skirt down in order to sit down. Chan pushes your chair back in and takes his seat next to you. 

He now sits on your left, Seungmin on your right. 

“I guess I would’ve met you guys tonight regardless, then!” 

“It seems that way,” Chan answers. He reaches up and rubs the side of his neck with his hand. 

Now, from years of being a fan, you know that’s a nervous tick of his. And with your friendly nature, all you want to do is soothe him. 

“It’s like I’m getting a deluxe, VIP fan meeting. When Stay watches the award ceremony they’re all going to put a bounty on my head.” 

They all laugh and you turn to look at Seungmin, “Can I have an autograph before I die? I didn’t bring any of my albums with me, though.”

He laughs at your joke and your heart smiles with his beautiful grin. 

“I knew I should’ve brought a photocard with me.”

Behind you, Chan shifts around. “You bought our albums?”

You turn back to him, “Of course I did. I wanted to support you guys. Best way to do that is streaming your music and buying the albums, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers nervously, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth. “Yeah, you’re right. Just didn’t think I’d ever meet a celebrity I admired and find out they’re a Stay.”

You giggle and lean forward on the table. “I hope that’s not weird. I think I would’ve exploded if I didn’t tell you guys how big of a fan I was.”

“Not weird at all, just unexpected.”

“I guess I feel the same way, especially after hearing that you guys watch the show.”

“We love the show!” Han tells you from across the table. “Sometimes Minho will cut dance rehearsals early for us to go back and watch it.”

“Seriously?” you ask. “Wow, that really means a lot, you have no idea.”

“It’s easy to be a fan of yours,” Chan grabs your attention. “You’re one of the kindest people we’ve met in a while.”

Oh, you are practically kicking your feet around. 

“Fame is a whole other universe to tackle. I wanted to make sure I treat my fans and everyone around me the way I wanted to be treated before all this happened to me. It’s important not to lose yourself. But I know you guys all know that already. You’re masters at it.”

“Hyunjin still lets it get to his head.” Felix jokes. 

“What!”

The pre-show continues like this as the rest of the celebrities file in. Many stop by your chair and say hello to you.

With each one, you get up out of your seat, hug and kiss them hello, then sit back down only to be interrupted again. 

“You certainly are popular,” Chan comments after you say goodbye to a fellow actor. “That last guy crossed the room to come say hi to you.”

With a giggle, you joke, “Is someone jealous?”

He stiffens for a moment, his back going straight and he clenches his fists on the tabletop for a moment. “No.”

His answer is not firm at all. 

Before you’re able to analyze it, producers come out among the audience to tell everyone the cameras are about to begin rolling. 

“When is your award in the lineup?” You whisper over to Seungmin. 

“Right before yours, actually.”

“Maybe I’ll see you all backstage then.”

You both smile at each other and shift back in your chairs. 

Several cameramen come out into the audience with their large sets of equipment. One of them is very obviously hovering by you. 

You know he’ll signal you if you’re being shown. The teleprompters strategically placed along the venue also show what is being broadcasted. 

Opening music begins playing and the lights dim among the audience. The centerpieces on the tables give off an evening glow. 

A waiter comes over and places your drink on the table. You actually had forgotten you requested one before sitting down. 

You thank him and he takes his leave. 

“What’s that?” Chan whispers in your ear. 

“Espresso martini,” you answer. “Wanna try?”

Chan looks over at his manager, who is busy watching the host make his opening speech. He nods quickly and leans down, taking a long sip off the top. 

A tiny ‘mmm’ comes from the back of his throat and he looks at you while licking his lips a bit. 

“Oh that’s delicious.”

“And dangerous.”

You lift the glass and take a long sip from it and place it back down on the table. 

“I got my first major role fresh out of college. I’m still learning how to not rely on alcohol to have fun.”

Chan just laughs and both of you direct your attention to the host on stage. 

“-and if all else fails, we have our lovely knight in shining armor to protect us, tonight.”

The camera man turns and has the camera on your face. You smile brightly and blow a kiss into the camera. The entire audience lets out several positive reactions. 

When the camera cuts away, you let out a sigh of relief. “I knew they were gonna do that.”

You take another large swig of your drink. It’s almost empty already. Curse these fancy people and their tiny portions. 

Chan leans over and suddenly his hot breath is on your skin. Goosebumps rip down your body and you can’t suppress a shiver. 

“Careful,” he whispers lowly. “I don’t think you want to be stumbling onto the stage.”

“I think you underestimate my alcohol tolerance, Mr. Bang.”

You both make eye contact.

The audience applauds as the host leaves the stage and the first announcer comes on. Both of you clap and Chan leans away from you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip before he pulls it between his teeth.

His cologne lingers around your senses even after he’s gone. 

Dammit, he’s right. But, my god, you need another stiff drink.

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

“And here are the nominees…” The announcer says into the mic. The entire table is holding their breath. 

This was it, this was Stray Kids’ award. Your jaw clenches with anticipation as the names are read off one by one. Individually, you crack each of your knuckles anxiously.

All eight of the members are staring up at the screen, each of them have their own nervous ticks. 

You reach under the table to try and comfort Chan a bit, your hand landing on his knee. He jumps in place at the table at the contact.

Without looking at each other, he places his hand on top of your and squeezes a bit.

“It’s going to suck when I have to sit here by myself after you guys win.” you whisper to him.

“If we win.”

“You’re going to win.” You squeeze his knee again.

“And the winner is…” 

You suck in a breath, all of them stiffen up. Cameras are pointed at each of the nominees tables. 

“Stray Kids!”

Immediately, you spring out of your seat with a gleeful cheer. Clapping your hands together and smiling at each of them. 

Without a second thought, Chan wraps you into a grand hug, pure joy written across his face. Your face morphs into a shocked one, but you hug him back happily.

He’s so warm. His hug is so tight.

After a few heartbeats, he tears himself off of you with an unreadable expression. All eight of them walk up to the stage and grab the award from the presenter.

Sitting back down, you take a second to catch your breath. 

So badly, you want to focus on their acceptance speech, but all you can think about was the way Chan held you. It went straight to your heart, and thanks to the alcohol in your veins, it traveled a bit south as well. 

Nervously, your hand comes up and rubs at your chest by your collarbones, a small nervous tick of yours.

The table feels so empty without the eight of them there. Their manager is the only one left sitting there with you. He’s watching their speech intently.

Both of you stand and clap once more as they walk off the stage. All of them pushing each other gleefully and playing slap ass. It makes you giggle.

All of the lights around the room shift again and another announcer comes into the stage. The same camera man as before comes around the side of the table to stand closer to you.

The announcer goes through their speech about how important actresses are, how each of you stood out, how it was an honorable nomination. Your heart is in your throat, you can feel each thud against your ribcage so closely. 

No one was next to you to hold your knee. 

“And the nominees are…”

Various clips of the other nominees in their element flash behind their names.

Your name is third. Several different dramatic scenes play out within the five second window. They chose some of your best scenes for that little animation. The next few nominees flash after that.

“And the winner is…”

You suck in your breath.

“Y/N L/N! King and Pirates!”

The entire audience erupts in cheers. Practically everyone stands up on their feet.

You bury your face in your hands in disbelief. 

“Oh my god!” you practically yell as you stand up. 

An actor from the next table places his hand on your back to help you out of your chair. You smile gratefully at him and make your way up to the stage. 

During the entire walk, several different people offer you their congratulations, you thank each of them, shaking their hands. 

Climbing your way onto the stage, you make your way over to the announcer, kissing their cheeks as a thank you and turning to speak into the mic.

“Oh wow,” you laugh into the mic, looking down at the award and then back up at the audience. “I know everyone says this, but I really did not expect this! I mean, have you seen any of the other shows?”

A gentle laugh comes from the crowd. 

The rest of your acceptance speech is short, sweet, and to the point. The timer on one of the teleprompters definitely motivated you to speak quickly. 

As you walk away with your award, music plays behind you. A stage manager comes up to you and ushers you through the wings.

Several more congratulations come your way, you respond to each of them humbly.

You turn a corner and are met with a cheer even louder than the one from the auditorium full of people. 

All eight members of Stray Kids are clapping for you, jumping up and down in excitement. Your enthusiasm immediately matches theirs as you come up to them.

“I can’t believe it!” you say loudly, holding the award out to look at. “I think I’m dreaming!”

You turn and look up at Hyunjin, “Pinch me, I have to be asleep!”

He laughs at you and lightly grabs your arm. You yip dramatically and look back down at the trophy. “Nope, definitely awake!”

“If you guys would please find your seats, we need to clear this hallway.” a stagehand ushers your group away. He turns and looks down at you with a soft smile, “They wouldn’t leave until you came back.”

“Aww,” you coo to all of them. Your arm wraps around Jeongin’s, who happens to be the closest at the moment. “You guys are too sweet!” 

Your head rests on his arm and you hug it close as a thank you. He pats your hand and bends his arm to escort you back to your table.

A pair of deep brown eyes burn into the side of your head the more you grab onto Jeongin. Not that you noticed. 

Walking through the hallways, you see one back hall that has signs for the bathroom.

“Actually, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room before going back to the table. I’ll meet you guys back there. Do you mind taking this back to the table for me?”

You drop Jeongin’s arm and hold the trophy out to him. The maknae is hesitant, but takes your award anyway. You laugh at him and rub his arm before you head back to the bathroom.

“Am I allowed to be holding this?” he asks as you walk away.

The venue was a grand, old hotel, you follow so many twists and turns to get to the bathroom. Was there even one back here?

Did you take a wrong turn? There aren’t even workers back here. 

You definitely aren’t supposed to be back here. Turning back and finding another bathroom is probably the best option at this point. 

A gentle grasp on your wrist makes your heart jump and a gasp tear from your throat. Frightened, you turn around and raise your hand to hit whoever snuck up on you. 

“Y/N! It’s just me!” Chan says quickly, cowering behind his hand just in case you still swing. 

“Ugh, Chan! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, I called your name a few times, I guess you didn’t hear me.” You shake your head, he sucks his teeth. “That explains it. Staff told me there’s no bathroom down here, I wanted to grab you before you got too lost.”

Chan chuckles nervously, you laugh too. “That explains it. I guess those signs must’ve been extras that they printed for the venue. Who knows?”

It’s now that you notice he’s still holding your wrist tightly in his hand. His hand is so warm, so soft. 

He nervously licks his lips and his eyes look all around the hall, anywhere but at you. His throat bobs with a gulp. 

“I don’t ah— I don’t believe I gave you a proper congratulations. So, congratulations on the award. You deserve it.”

“Oh!” You giggle. “Thank you! And a hearty congratulations to you as well, I can’t think of anyone who’s worked harder than you guys.”

Taking another step closer to him, you turn your wrist around and take a hold of his hand.

“I also can’t think of any other celebrities I would want to celebrate with.” The corners of your lips pull into a grin, Chan’s twitch as well. “You guys are so sweet, cheering for me. Made the win that much better.”

Slowly, his ears begin to turn red and his jaw clenches a few times. His chocolate brown eyes flit all over your face and around the hall. His nerves on clear display. 

“Yeah, well, you deserve it, so.” Chan clears his throat and adjusts the tie around his neck. “I can’t take credit for it, it was Changbin’s idea to wait for you and all.” 

You reach up on your toes and press a long, soft kiss to his cheek. With his lips right by your ear, you’re able to hear him gasp under his breath and then stop breathing. 

Underneath your lips, you feel how much heat is radiating off his smooth skin. It’s like you kissed a frying pan. 

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his skin. 

The hand around yours twitches and tightens. 

You press another kiss to his cheek before going to back away. 

Quicker than you can blink, Chan’s free hand comes around your body and holds you against him. His hand curls around you to press into the small of your back. 

Your head tucks under his chin, ear against the dip of his throat. His heart is beating just as fast as yours. 

“Not yet,” he whispers so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “Please, not yet.”

Your heart thuds in your chest at his words. How could you not? The Bang Chan is asking you to stay closer to him for just a little while longer. The same man you’ve admired from a distance for years. 

The man who created such a deep parasocial relationship with you that it took a lot of self reflection to bring yourself out of it. And now, here you were, in his arms in real life, tucked away in the hallway of this hotel. 

Smelling his expensive cologne and aftershave, listening to his shallow breathing, the entire world seems to stop. If your past self could see this, she’d probably pass out. 

Hell, you might pass out now. 

You squeeze his hand once and he responds with a grip of his own. 

Slowly, you pull your head back to gaze up at him. He stares down at you with the most thoughtful expression. 

Eyes are windows to the soul; and right now, his soul is so flustered and fulfilled at the same time. 

“I can’t believe tonight is real,” you murmur. 

Several times, you catch Chan’s eyes flicking down to your lips. Each stolen glance adds another butterfly to your stomach. 

His hand on your back pulls you even closer. 

“You keep talking as if you’re not one of the biggest names in the world right now.” he teases and you chuckle softly. “If anyone should be pinching themself, it’s me.”

His breath is cool and minty. Yours is tinged with espresso. 

Your tongue comes out and licks your bottom lip before you pull it between your teeth. Chan watches, trying not to make it obvious. 

“Can I try something?” Your question is deathly quiet. If it wasn’t for the silence of the hallway, there’s no way he would have heard it otherwise. 

“Yes,” he replies immediately. It comes out as a huff; quick, short, and desperate. 

“Close your eyes, Chan.”

He listens right away, his eyes snapping shut. 

You hesitate for a split second, just taking in his ethereal beauty. Every curve of his gorgeous, blemish free face. It’s not fair.

Both of his hands twitch, his jaw clenches. 

You lean up slowly and press a featherlight kiss on his plush lips. 

His shoulders seem to sag inwards, a large, relieved exhale leaves his nose. 

Fireworks explode behind your eyes, tingles shoot down into your fingertips. 

You pull back after a second, his eyes open a bit and Chan stares down at you, his lips parting for a moment. 

He stares intently into your eyes, as if trying to read you or see something within them. 

Without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses you again. You melt into the kiss with half lidded eyes, they unfocus as you fall further into his kiss. 

Chan pulls back for a moment to turn his head and capture your lips once more, his bottom lip slotting between yours. 

Both of your eyes shut. 

Your hands move and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his head closer to yours as he kisses you like his life depends on it. 

Chan holds your waist with both hands, the heat from his hold going right through your dress. 

Each kiss is hot and heavier than the last. His grips at your dress grow needier and needier by the second, he can’t hold you close enough to his body.

Within moments, you’re both opening and closing your mouths, with open mouthed, wet, sloppy kisses. His eyebrows pull together.

Erotic pants fill the empty hallway.

You ever so gently bite down on his bottom lip and pull your head back. 

Chan sighs and his half lidded, hazy eyes look down into yours as his lip snaps back after you release it. 

He takes two long steps and walks you backwards until your back hits the wall. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips before capturing them in another heated kiss. “You’ll have to tell me. I can’t do it myself. Not when I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Your fingers thread up through his hair on the back of his head and you pull him closer against you. 

Tangled tongues and gentle grunts mix together. 

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” you ask lowly in between kisses. 

Chan groans and presses his entire body into yours. 

You felt like you’re on fire with the way you’re so feverishly pulling him closer. 

One his hands moves up and down your waist. The puffiness of your skirt getting in the way of his hips grinding directly into yours. 

“So beautiful,” he mutters between kisses. “So gorgeous.” Kiss. “Wanted you for so long.”

It’s your turn to moan at his praise, you suck on his tongue and his eyes roll back in his skull. 

When you pull away from each other panting, you look around in the hallway. There’s a door right next to you both, where it leads, you’re not sure. 

Chan kisses your cheek and then makes his way down your neck with his lips. 

“Chan,” you moan out. 

“Yeah, baby?”

Fuck. That goes right to your head and makes your stomach flip. 

He presses another wet kiss to your exposed collarbone and your head tilts back, knocking against the wall. He’s making it impossible to try and get any words out.

The hand on your ribcage squeezes when you let out a breathy exhale. 

“Did you need something?” he mouths against your neck and bites down right after. 

Oh, that cocky motherfucker. 

“Fuck, Chan…!” You pull at his hair. 

He brings his head up with a dopey look on his face, eyes half lidded and hazy. 

“Hm?” he hums and leans in, pressing another kiss to your check. 

One of your hands comes down and runs over his chest. You grab a hold of his tie and twist it around your hand before yanking on it. Your lips are right next to his ear and you make sure to let out hot exhales.

Chan gasps and presses a hand on the wall next to your head to keep his balance. A shiver wracks his body.

“You’re starting something you can’t finish.” The low, gravel timbre of your voice shocks even you for a moment. It’s raspy and sexy. It has an effect it has on Chan immediately. His pupils dilate and he takes a sharp intake of air.

“Oh, princess,” Chan bites your earlobe before blowing against it lightly. “I’ve never started something I didn’t intend on finishing.”

God, his voice. It’s like running your fingers over velvet. You yank his tie to the side and drag him towards the room like he’s on a leash.

Chan lets out a surprised grunt, but follows you nonetheless. Just like your little puppy begging you for your attention.

The entire walk over to the door, his hands are on your body. Anywhere Chan can reach, he’s touching you. 

When you push open the door, you’re happily surprised to find an empty dressing room. All the lights are off– perfect.

Once you both are inside, the door shuts and you push Chan against the back of it. Your lips desperately smashing together.

He’s everywhere on your body. His hands don’t stay in the same place for more than two seconds before he’s groping somewhere else. 

Blindly, he reaches for the door handle and clicks the lock in place. 

Your fist is still tightly curled around his tie, you wind it around your hand a few more times while your tongues tango. Sinfully wet noises emanate from your locked lips. Your other hand runs down his chest to unbutton his blazer.

Chan pushes off the wall and shucks the blazer off his shoulders, dropping it onto the ground. 

Never once do his lips leave yours. He’s intoxicating, you can’t get enough and neither can he.

He backs you up again until your ass hits a counter.

In one smooth movement, Chan reaches down and grabs your waist and lifts you onto the countertop. Your legs part and he stands in between them.

“This fucking dress,” he growls against your lips and nips your bottom one lightly. Desperately, he begins grabbing at the fabric, bunching it up around your hips. Underneath, you’re still clothed in stockings, corsets, spandex shorts, and many more.

He doesn’t seem to care. With both hands now grabbing your nylon-clad thighs, he brings both of your legs to wrap around his waist.

As soon as both of your hips meet, moans leave both of your mouths and you swallow each other’s. He’s hard as a fucking rock against you. So many layers of clothing separate the two of you from one another, it’s endlessly frustrating.

You pull his tie even tighter and one of his hands comes down to grip the edge of the counter for balance. 

Your hips roll against his once and he has to tighten his grip so much his knuckles turn white. 

“Do it again,” he whines against your mouth.

Who are you to say no? 

Again, you roll your hips up into his. This time, his hard cock rubs right against your clothed clit. It’s just enough to send a ripple down your legs and into your toes and they curl in your Prada heels.

You don’t stop in between hip rolls this time, you do it again and again and again. Each one feels better than the next.

It’s like your head goes underwater, deep within the riptide of the oceans of pleasure. 

And by the noises that are coming out of Chan’s mouth, you know he feels the same way. 

His hips begin to meet your thrusts with his own. Both of you are grinding into each other like teenagers in your parents’ basement. 

But you both are so needy at this moment that you’ll take anything you can get to scratch that insatiable itch. 

With each thrust, his exhales get heavier and heavier, whimpers and whines come out in between them. 

Your head kicks back against the mirror behind you after one particularly delicious roll. There’s no way you’re even on planet Earth right now with how much he’s making your body thrum.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he moans out and kisses your bare shoulder. 

You pull on his tie absentmindedly while you cry out when he thrusts even harder. 

“Wanna hear those moans with you on my cock,” he hisses when your legs tighten around his waist. “If I’m making you feel this good without touching you, think of how loud you’ll scream when I can finally fuck you into my mattress.”

“Chan-!” you whimper, your eyes squint closed, mouth falling open.

How is he so fucking good at this? Those dancer hips are merciless. It sends just the right amount of pleasure through your body.

“You know that Vogue photoshoot you did last month?” he moans into your ear, his lips right next to it. 

Your Vogue photoshoot was a borderline boudoir shoot. Only a black sheet covered you in most of your shots.

All you’re able to do is whine out an “uh-huh”.

“Babygirl, I can’t even think about that shoot without my cock getting hard. God, fu–huck! Shit.”

He’s going to make you cum just by grinding on you. You can feel it coming closer and closer. 

One of his hands travels up your body to grab at the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your jawline while he licks and nips at the other side. 

“Want you to pose like that for me. I want you all to myself.” He sounds like he would eat you whole if he could. And fuck, you would let him.

He could tell you to get on your knees and bark right now and you would.

“Close, Chan…” you whimper.

Just hearing that he’s going to make you cum makes his eyes roll in his skull. Every single wet dream of his is coming true under his own two hands. He has Y/N L/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, his cock pressed against her clothed cunt, her skin in his mouth.

Is this what winning felt like?

“You gonna cum for me babygirl?” he hisses and bites your neck.

“Yes! Shit! Don’t stop, please!”

When you try to meet his thrusts, your hips stutter, they’re unable to keep up with how fast he begins moving.

“Need you to cum, babygirl, need it so bad. Need it like I need oxygen.” Chan’s hand moves and he pulls your lips together.

He’s all consuming.

Three more thrusts and your body seizes, your orgasm gripping you so tightly that you think you might black out. 

You break free from his kiss to throw your head back. It thuds against the mirror. Your legs tighten around him so much he can barely move.

Chan rolls his hips a few more times, letting you ride out your mind-blowing orgasm. Each one is slower and more sensual than the last.

After a few seconds, your legs loosen up a bit around him. Chan trails softer kisses down your neck, over both of your collarbones, then back up to your cheeks.

They’re gentle and sweet. So different from the way he was absolutely devouring you mere moments ago.

“Chan,” you pant out. “Let me help you.”

“Soon, baby. Not here.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gold card– a hotel roomkey. 

Chan leans forward and presses a long kiss to your swollen lips. While he’s attached to you, he slips the roomkey into the top of your dress where your breasts sat.

“The Mark, room 103. Fuck The Plaza, you have your own afterparty to attend to.”

[realhotgirlshitah]

Getting high with Luigi… yeah I have thoughts and none of them are clean.

The party is a mess of flashing LED lights, sweaty bodies, and the kind of cheap beer that leaves a sticky residue on the floor. The bass is pounding so loud that you can feel it in your ribs, the whole house practically shaking with the weight of the music and the drunken chaos of a hundred different conversations clashing all at once.

But none of that matters.

Because you and Luigi have long since peeled away from the noise, slipping into the one place in the frat house where nobody ever thinks to look—the upstairs bathroom.

The only light in the room is the golden glow from the cheap vanity bulbs above the sink, casting everything in a warm, hazy filter. There’s a half-used bar of soap by the faucet, someone’s forgotten makeup bag sitting next to it, and a faint lingering smell of cologne and shampoo in the air.

But the real highlight of the room is the bathtub.

It’s an old clawfoot, deep and wide, big enough to comfortably fit two people. And that’s exactly what it’s doing.

Luigi is stretched out on one side, all long legs and lazy confidence, his broad shoulders propped against the porcelain, one arm draped casually over the edge. His other hand is occupied with the joint between his fingers, lazily bringing it to his lips before exhaling a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

You’re perched on the other end, back pressed against the opposite side of the tub, knees drawn up slightly, watching him.

Or, more accurately, trying not to watch him too obviously.

Because Luigi is always attractive—annoyingly, unfairly attractive—but high Luigi?

That’s something else entirely.

His sharp brown eyes are a little hooded, half-lidded and unfocused, giving him a sort of effortless, dreamlike quality. His usually furrowed brow is smooth, his sharp jawline relaxed, and the dim lighting makes the natural golden warmth of his skin look even more intense. His full lips, usually quirked into an arrogant smirk or a cocky grin, are slightly parted as he exhales another cloud of smoke.

And when he tilts his head back slightly, exposing the column of his throat, his messy curls falling away from his face, you’re pretty sure you could die happy in this exact moment.

Of course, you can’t tell him that.

So, instead, you take the joint from his fingers and raise an eyebrow. “Jesus, you look like you’re about to start reciting slam poetry.”

Luigi snorts, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were anti-intellectual.”

“Oh, I’m very anti-intellectual,” you tease, taking a slow drag, holding his gaze as you inhale. “I’d much rather listen to you talk about, I don’t know, the merits of beer pong strategy.”

Luigi exhales sharply, shaking his head. “See, this is why I have to educate you.”

“Educate me,” you repeat, voice dripping with mock offense. “I am way smarter than you.”

That earns you a lazy, knowing smirk. “Are you?”

“Mmm.” You nod, holding his gaze, blowing a slow stream of smoke toward him. “That’s why I don’t waste my time pondering whether or not we’re all just someone’s science experiment.”

Luigi’s smirk widens. “It’s not a waste of time. It’s probability. Statistically, it’s more likely that we are in a simulation than not.”

You tilt your head, rolling the joint between your fingers. “I don’t know, dude. I feel like if we were in a simulation, my life would be a lot more interesting.”

Luigi huffs out a laugh, tapping ash into an empty red solo cup on the sink. “Oh, yeah? What do you want? More aliens? More explosions?”

You shift slightly, adjusting your position in the tub, the porcelain cool against your skin. “More orgies, honestly.”

Luigi chokes on a laugh, his smirk faltering as he coughs out a bit of smoke. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “That’s what you’d change if you could reprogram reality?”

You grin, passing the joint back to him. “I’m just saying, if we’re really being watched by some higher intelligence, the least they could do is add some better entertainment.”

Luigi hums, taking another hit, eyes flickering over you as he exhales. “I think you’re just bad at finding your own entertainment.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, knowing, something just beneath the surface of his voice that makes your stomach tighten.

The thing is, Luigi has always been like this with you. Teasing, cocky, challenging you in ways that make your blood run hot. It’s been your dynamic for as long as you can remember—constant bickering, constant one-upping, constant tension that neither of you have ever really addressed.

And yet, it’s never felt dangerous before.

But right now, sitting across from him in this tiny little bubble of smoke and warmth, his voice low and his gaze heavy-lidded, you can feel something else threading through the usual banter.

Something thick and electric.

Something dangerous.

You shift again, not even thinking twice about it, and then suddenly, you’re moving over to his side of the tub, your knees pressing into the firm muscle of his thighs, your hands bracing against his broad shoulders as you settle yourself right onto his lap.

Luigi doesn’t say anything at first.

He just blinks at you, his long lashes fluttering slightly, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second before he exhales, slow and measured, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

Then, finally, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “What, not enough space on your side?”

You inhale deeply, the scent of weed, cologne, and something uniquely him filling your lungs. You exhale just as slowly, fingers curling slightly where they rest against his solid chest. “There’s never enough space when you take up, like, ninety percent of it.”

Luigi huffs a quiet laugh, his hands instinctively finding their way to your hips, fingers settling warm and heavy against the curve of your waist. It’s an innocent touch, something he’s done a thousand times before. But right now? Right now, it feels like a live wire pressed against your skin.

And then you feel it.

The slow, creeping realization of just how firm he is beneath you.

How solid his thighs are against the insides of yours, pressing up exactly where you’re sensitive, where you’re already way too warm.

And just like that, the air shifts.

Because you can feel it now—all of it.

The heat of him, the slow, easy rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips, the way the rough denim of his jeans is pressing exactly where it shouldn’t be, igniting something slow and insistent low in your stomach.

Your breath hitches, barely noticeable, but he notices.

Of course, he does.

Because Luigi feels it.

He feels the way you stiffen slightly, the way your thighs instinctively press tighter around him, the way you hesitate for just a second too long before shifting again, just a little, but enough that the movement sends the slightest friction sparking against your core.

Luigi notices.

And when he does, his smirk widens just a little.

His fingers flex against your hips, like he’s testing the weight of you, like he’s grounding himself.

“You okay?” His voice is lower now, rougher, thick with amusement.

You swallow, forcing yourself to breathe. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” His thumb strokes along the fabric of your dress, slow and teasing. “You just got really quiet all of a sudden.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your pulse stutters at the deliberate touch. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Luigi hums, considering this. Then, without warning, he shifts his leg slightly beneath you, just a minor adjustment, something so subtle it shouldn’t have an effect on you.

But it does.

The movement sends a slow, unexpected drag of friction right against your already sensitive core, making your breath hitch before you can stop it.

Luigi’s smirk deepens. “Huh.”

You clench your jaw, narrowing your eyes. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he muses, dragging the word out, his voice lazy, knowing. “Just funny.”

You raise a brow, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “What’s funny?”

Luigi tilts his head slightly, considering you. “You.”

You scoff, shifting slightly, which is a mistake, because the movement only presses you down harder against him, the fabric of your dress doing nothing to shield you from the sensation of rough denim pressing against where you’re starting to throb.

Luigi inhales slowly through his nose, and when you look at him, really look at him, you see the way his pupils are blown, the way his jaw is a little tighter now, the way his hands are gripping you a little firmer, like he’s holding back from something.

Oh.

Oh, he’s feeling it, too.

The realization sends a hot wave of satisfaction rolling through you, emboldening you.

So, instead of pulling away, instead of laughing it off, you decide to test him.

You shift again, slower this time, more deliberate.

Luigi’s fingers dig into your hips harder.

“Jesus,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-exhaling. “Didn’t even realize you were doing it at first.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

Luigi exhales sharply, his fingers sliding lower, down to the curve of your ass, gripping firmly.

“This,” he murmurs, and then he moves you.

It’s subtle at first, barely more than a slow drag of your hips against him, but the sensation is enough to send a shiver straight down your spine.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands tightening against his shoulders.

Luigi grins, slow and lazy, watching you. “Feels good, huh?”

You don’t answer at first, too focused on the delicious friction, the way the heat is building, slow and insistent, the way every little movement is sending sparks licking up your spine.

Luigi leans in, his voice nothing but a soft, teasing murmur against your ear.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, fingers pressing into your ass, rolling you against him again. “Didn’t even realize, did you?”

Your breath stutters, a soft sound escaping your throat.

Luigi chuckles, low and dark, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” he coos, gripping you a little tighter. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

You swallow, trying and failing to control the way your hips stutter against him, your body desperate for more.

Luigi feels it.

And that’s when he decides to help.

His grip tightens, his hands guiding you now, slow and teasing, dragging you against his thigh in a way that makes you whimper.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching you, watching the way your lips part, the way your lashes flutter. “Go ahead, baby. Take what you need.”

Luigi’s grip is strong, firm, guiding you with deliberate slowness, teasing you with lazy drags of your core against the rough denim of his thigh. Every movement sends sparks licking up your spine, the friction igniting something deep and insistent inside you. The joint in his fingers smolders lazily, sending another soft swirl of smoke curling into the air, but his attention is all on you—watching the way your breath stutters, the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part in quiet, shaky little gasps.

You’re barely even aware of how lost you are in it—how desperate you’re starting to sound, little whimpers slipping past your lips as your hips move in slow, rhythmic rolls, grinding against him in search of more. It’s not enough, not quite, but the teasing build is making your head swim, the steady pressure turning your brain to static.

And then he stops.

His hands fall away from you completely, leaving you suddenly weightless, untethered, forced to chase your own pleasure without his guidance.

The sudden lack of control—the absence of his firm grip—is a shock to your system.

Your movements falter, just for a second, your body aching for that solid pressure, for the way he was rolling you against him just right.

You blink, breathless, tilting your head to look at him. “Luigi—”

“Hm?”

His tone—that lazy, teasing mockery—sends a fresh wave of heat shooting through you.

You huff, shifting against him again, trying to find the same friction, the same pace, but without his hands holding you down, it’s not enough.

He notices. Of course, he does.

His smirk grows. “Somethin’ wrong, baby?”

You glare at him, shifting again, but it’s not the same, it’s not enough, and it makes you whine, frustration slipping into your voice.

“Luigi.”

He exhales another slow stream of smoke, watching you through hooded, knowing eyes. “Dunno why you’re looking at me like that,” he muses, tapping ash into the empty red cup beside the tub. “You were doing just fine on your own.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re such a—”

“What?” His fingers brush against your thigh, just barely, the ghost of a touch that makes your breath catch, but it’s not enough, not even close. His smirk is all sharp edges, cruel, his voice mocking. “Go on, baby. Say it.”

You glare at him, a fresh wave of heat rolling through you, both embarrassment and frustration curling tight in your gut. You want to slap that smirk right off his face. You want to grind down against him harder, make him feel how fucking wet you are for him.

So you do.

You roll your hips deliberately, dragging yourself along the solid heat of his thigh, your movements slow, calculated, and needy all at once.

Luigi exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t touch you.

His hands remain limp at his sides, one still holding the joint between two fingers, the other resting lazily against the rim of the tub. He lets you do it, lets you hump his thigh, lets you grind yourself against him, but he doesn’t help you.

And it’s driving you insane.

Your breathing gets heavier, your whimpers turning softer, breathier, your body desperate for that extra pressure.

Luigi hums, tilting his head slightly, eyes flickering down to where your dress has ridden up around your thighs, where your damp panties are soaking through the denim of his jeans.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, grinning, his voice thick with amusement. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, heat flooding beneath your skin, but you don’t stop—you can’t.

Because you’re so close, the pressure building, the friction making your thighs shake, but it’s not enough, you need more, you need him.

“Luigi—”

Your voice is a whimper now, pleading, breathless, and he fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens, but he still doesn’t touch you. “You’re whining, baby.”

“Shut up.”

His laugh is low and slow, vibrating through your skin, and when you move again—when you press down harder, desperately seeking that perfect angle—his hands twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to grab you again.

You see it.

You feel it.

And it makes you even needier.

You let your forehead drop against his shoulder, whimpering softly into the warm skin of his throat, pouting against him as you continue to grind yourself down.

He exhales another slow stream of smoke, the scent curling around the two of you, wrapping you both in a thick, heady fog.

But he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until you break.

Not until your voice turns soft and needy, your whimpers shaky and desperate, your hips stuttering as you chase it, as you beg for it without words.

And then—finally—he gives in.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough now, the teasing edge starting to fray as his hands snap back to your waist, gripping you hard, pulling you down against him, dragging you against his thigh deliberately, roughly, guiding you exactly the way you need.

You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds you against him, the pressure perfect, the friction intense, his voice turning low and thick, dripping with filthy, taunting satisfaction.

“There you go, baby,” he coos, dragging you against him harder, feeling the way you’re soaking him, feeling the way you tremble in his grasp. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

You whimper, barely able to breathe, your pleasure climbing higher and higher, a hot, pulsing coil threatening to snap.

“You gonna come just like this?” His voice is a smirk, mocking but low and wrecked all at once. “Grinding all desperate on my lap?”

You whine against his throat, your hips stuttering, your body losing control.

Luigi groans, feeling it, feeling how sloppy you’re getting, how soaked his jeans are beneath you. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, gripping you harder, dragging you against him roughly, deliberately, pushing you over the edge-

And then you snap.

Your body locks up, your thighs trembling, your breath breaking as liquid pleasure spills over, soaking completely through his jeans, your pleasure ripping through you so violently that you sob against him.

Luigi stills.

Then he laughs, low and breathless, running a slow hand over the soaked denim of his thigh.

“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, grinning, his voice wrecked and pleased and fucking feral. “Did you just squirt all over me?”

You groan, mortified, hiding your face against his neck.

His grin grows.

Then, with zero hesitation, he takes another slow drag from the joint, exhales against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

“Next time, I wanna feel that on my cock.”

A/N: yall im sorry i just saw the messages the messages between max and lu where he says he’s high and i had to take 20 minutes out to word vomit out my nastiest thoughts about stoner Lu. That’s it. I’m a whore and one that has a whole fic needing to be finished but I did this instead. Crazy.

[reiding-writing]

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

[loves0phelia]

Saturday Meetings

Summery: When Eddie learns Y/N has a similar music taste as him everything change.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Bullying, fighting, grammar mistakes.

Eddie Munson was always seen as a freak ever since he entered highschool. The basketball team, cheerleaders, party kids and even the smart kids thought he was a satanist for listening to metal music and wearing ripped jeans accompanied with chains. The permanent ink that decorated his skin did not help his case either. 

High school was a nuisance for Eddie. The only thing that motivated him was the Hell Fire club. A club where kids from juniors to seniors played dungeons and dragons.

For the members, this game meant the world, it was packed with excitement and fun. Yet, for others, it served as a tool for bullying.

During lunch you sat multiple tables away from him. You were dressed in the usual green, white and yellow cheerleading uniform the school provided, your hair pulled back into a neatly curled ponytail, you blended in with the rest of the team. But deep down, you were different. You had a passion for the same things as Eddie Munson. It was a part of you no one else could ever know.

Your Metalica, Black Sabbath and AC/DC cassette were tucked away underneath Madonna and tears for tears inside your backpack. You thought how Eddie was freely listening to the music you loved so dearly while you couldn't. 

Your head turned over your shoulder and you watched as he talked. His arms were flying around as he expressed himself. His big and extraverted gestures made you giggle. Nobody at your table was this extravagant. Seeing someone like him felt refreshing. You always wondered what it was like having spontaneous conversation was like. At your table it was like a routine. Sport, girls/boys, parties, repeat.

“What are you looking at?" Jason's voice broke your concentration, prompting you to snap your head back to face him. He was sitting directly across from you at the cafeteria table.

"Oh, it's nothing," you attempted to brush him off, but the concern in everyone’s faces at your table made it impossible to avoid.

“You sure? Looks like you were looking at Munson” The judgment in his voice was clear. It was like mentioning his name burned his tongue.

"I, um, I was just... he looks weird, doesn't he?" you stammered, trying to save the situation. His brow furrowed as he glanced between you and him. The concern dissolved from his face as he chuckled and nodded in agreement with your previous statement. With a sigh of relief, your tense shoulders relaxed, and your racing heart gradually slowed its pace.

Your anxious gaze met Chrissy's, Jason's girlfriend, and she responded with a gentle smile. In that moment, her glance was reassuring, silently letting you know that everything was okay. 

…

That night, you layed in bed, the sound of "Thunderstruck" blasting through your Walkman, was drowning out the world around you as you stared up at the ceiling, thoughts filled your mind, wondering how different life could be if you were surrounded by people who truly understood you, rather than pretending to fit in where you clearly didn't belong.

“Y/n!” Your heart dropped when you barely heard your name over the music. You threw The headphones off and you saw your mom in the doorway.

“What is it mom?” You asked and sat up.

"I've been calling that dinner's ready for the past 10 minutes. Are you still listening to that crazy music?" she sighed, rolling her eyes as the sound echoed from the headphones now abandoned beside you.

“Come downstairs, now” she scolded and you followed her down to the kitchen where once again you talked about school, boys and sports instead of something that really interested you.

…

The next morning, the thought of staying home was tempting. Everything seemed to conspire against you, discouraging any motivation to face another day of repeating the same exact routine as the day before.

But you knew your parents would not want you to stay home.

As the school bus pulled up in front of your house, you found yourself once again lost in your music, the volume cranked up high enough to fill your ears but low enough to keep the people around you from hearing it..

When it arrived at its destination people rushed to get out of the yellow vehicle. You, on the other hand, walked slowly deadring the moment you will have to enter class.

As you turned the corner in the main hallway, you collided with someone so hard that the Walkman's headphones slipped off your head and began to fall to the ground. The cord connecting the headphones to the cassette player on your waist tugged, causing it to tumble to the floor as well making the Metallica cassette spill out onto the ground.

“Oh I'm sorry sweetheart” your heart pounds against your chest when you finally recognized the boy you bumped into.

“Let me get that for you- Metalica?” He examined the cassette as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

“You really listen to that?” his smirk is inevitable.

“No. It's- uh, for my brother” You snatched the cassette from his hand.

“You don't even have a brother” He laughed when he caught your lie.

“How would you know that?” 

"We've been in the same classes for two years, Y/N." The sound of your name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine.

In this moment you noticed how Andy and two other boys from the basketball team looked at you and Eddie as they passed.

In a hurry you grabbed his hand and tugged him away into the nearest janitor closet.

"You know, you could've asked me out first before dragging me in here, but I guess I'll give you points for spontaneity," he says with a smirk, his confidence made you roll your eyes and slap his forearm.

“You cannot tell anyone that you saw this alright?” You shoved the cassette into his face. ”Jason would ruin my life and probably find a way to kick me out of the team because he thinks it's… it’s satanic” Eddie sighed harshly.

“Fine. But-”

“No buts!” 

“BUT you have to help me with O'donnell's test for next month” you considered it for a moment. If anyone saw you with him they would probably do worse then kick you off the team. But you didn't have a choice.

“Fine but you come to my place on Saturday nights, and you have to come through my window.”

“Exciting, romantic, I like it”

“This is not romantic!” and just at this very moment you noticed how tight the closet was. How close your bodies were. “I- Am going to get out and you have to wait 5 minutes before you do, understood?” 

“Understood, maam” he nodded and quickly you came out of the closet. Fresh air immediately brushed on you.

The rest of the week went smoothly, you sneaked glances at him every now and then but nothing was abnormal. During the integrality of Saturday you were impatient for the moment eddie would come knocking on your window. And when he did you were listening to one of your many vinyls, as you opened the window and welcomed him in.

“Holy shit” he whispered as he took in your room. In his head it would have been filled with pinks and purples, neat and well organized. But there were vinyls of his favorite bands on the wall next to posters and a concert ticket framed in a black picture frame. You had books scattered on your desk that he had also read, and 5 pairs of different colors converse on the floor.

“You are full of surprises”  He had said and you just ignored the compliment and went 

straight to studying.

On the following Saturday night, Eddie returned without fail, and you both studied again. As the hours passed, midnight approached and you were both tired and yawning.

“I should go,” He said as he started gathering his notebooks and his backpack.

"Same time next Saturday?" you inquired as Eddie made his way halfway out of your window.

He nodded, a sweet smile lighting up his face, making your stomach erupt with butterflies.  Every Saturday preceding the test, unfolded the same way. Sometimes you found yourselves watching movies, almost cuddling, his arm draped around your shoulder, and occasionally you allowed your head to rest on him.

Friday, the day before your last study session before the math test, was a game day. You knew Eddie and his club had a reunion the same day but you still invited him to come watch your cheerleading routine along with his friends.

Surprise flickered across your face as you spotted him in the stands just before the end of the game. His unexpected presence threatened to throw you off balance, but you swiftly regained your focus.

After the game, as the team was heading back to the locker room, Jason spotted Eddie lagging behind waiting for you.

"Waiting for the girls to come out, perv?” Jason sneered, his minions laughing along with him.

Eddie tried to brush off the insults, but Jason's words cut deep. Just as Jason was about to deliver another cutting remark, you came out of the changing room holding your sport bag.

you looked between them for a second in silence. Eddie looked at you and a lightbulb lightened up on Jason’s head.

“Oh I see what's going on here. Munson’s got a crush on y/n!” His loud tone made everyone grow quiet. Students nearby started surrounding them, their eyes darting between Jason and Eddie. Eddie's cheeks burned with humiliation as he struggled to find the courage to respond

“Sorry to break it to you but a cheerleader would never go for a freak like you” With a smirk on his face, Jason draped his arm around you in a cocky way. It was in no way near as comforting as Eddie's embrace.

“Fuck off, Carver” you pushed him off your body. His smirk faltered for a moment as he received the unexpected rejection, but he quickly regained his composure, scoffing at Y/N's boldness. 

"Really, y/n? You're into Munson now? I didn't think you would go that slow but you've always been a slut” he shrugged and some people around you snickered and some other gasped

Jason's menacing presence loomed over you. You stood frozen after the words came out of his mouth. Eddie stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he positioned himself between you and him.

Eddie hesitated before striking a punch right into his jaw. Jason’s head flew to the right and he stumbled backwards. Everyone gasped loudly.

With a fierce growl, Jason lunged forward, aiming a wild swing at Eddie's nose. But he was quicker. With fast reflexes, Eddie ducked under his punch and returned one to Jason’s gut, earning a grunt of pain.

The fight was on. Fists flew as Eddie and Jason traded blows. The students who were gathered around cheers added to the chaotic atmosphere.

“Stop!” You screamed but they were blinded by rage and humiliation.

Despite Jason’s size and strength, Eddie held his ground. With each blow, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The echoes of grunts, cheers and strikes alarmed various teachers and when they saw the scene, they were both separated. The boys were panting and Jason was quick to put the blame on Eddie.

He looked at you desperately before walking into the crowd of students to storm out of the school ignoring the calls of a teacher demanding him to stay and explain himself.

You dropped your sport bag with your uniform inside and ran after him. 

“Eddie, wait” Once outside you saw him about to enter his van. Your calls stopped him and he turned to face you. You didn't fail to notice the large bruise on his cheekbone already forming.

“Eds- im so sorry” he shook his head dismissing your apology.

"It wasn't your fault, Y/N," He reassured you softly, and in a swift movement, you wrapped your arms around his chest. At first, surprise made him motionless, but after a few moments, he returned the embrace, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug.

“Y/n” A much softer voice called out behind you. You and Eddie both looked toward it and Chrissy was standing there holding your bag.

“This is yours. Right?” She extended her arm.

“You can keep it Chrissy… my uniform is in it, now that Jason knows, nobody will want me on the team” 

“I want you on the team, and I'm the captain” she pushed the bag inside your arms. “If someone has a problem with your relationship with Eddie, they will be kicked off the team.”

“Were not in a-” Eddie started with a shy tone.

“Thanks Chrissy” you hugged her tightly before saying your goodbyes.

“Bye Eddie. See you monday y/n, love you”

“Are we in a relationship?” His question is genuine and full of curiosity.

“I- uhm, do you want to be?” 

“Hell yeah I want to. The whole studying shit was just an excuse to spend time with you!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face.

“What?!” 

“Do you actually think I, Eddie Munson, would study willingly?” He giggled. 

"I can't believe you," you said between giggles, resting your head on his chest as laughter bubbled up between you both.

With a hesitant yet determined step forward, Eddie closed the distance between you, his hand reached out to gently cup your cheek. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the warmth of Eddie's touch, a shiver of anticipation traveled your body. Eddie leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And then, with a tender brush of his lips against yours, Eddie closed the gap, sealing your lips with a soft kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up longing and desire that had been building between you.

And when you  finally pulled away, your lips tingled with the lingering sensation of his kiss, the fight long forgotten. You knew that this was just the beginning of yours and his journey together—a journey filled with passion, love, and endless possibilities.

[promise-of-soup]

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆Favourite's Privilege｡･:*:･ﾟ

𓆩♡𓆪 Part two of Picking Favourites 𓆩♡𓆪

✧.*Synopsis: Since finding out he's your favourite Ghoul, Jiro has been acting... the exact same. Things take a turn when it becomes time for him to sleep over in your dorm again, does he not get special favourite's privilege?

✧.*Tags? Jiro Kirisaki x Reader, Fem MC, no spesific physical descriptor for MC beyond being shorter than Jiro and being refered to as "small" for the same reason, extra pining, Jiro is annoying, some fluff, SMUT: Dom!Jiro, Sub!Reader, 0.2 seconds of masturbation, unprotected sex (stay safe kiddos), posessive!Jiro, Jiro loses his composure, fingering, kind of aggressive sex?, dirty talk -- degradation and praise, size kink (oops), stomach buldge, the writer is way too into Jiro Kirisaki :(

✧.*Notes? not sure if anyone saw my 'upcoming' post, but this was meant to be 1/2 seperate Jiro smuts. I am also writing a non-smut Jiro thing now lolol. still unsure if said thing is part 3 to this or not. but yeah, thank you to everyone who requested a part 2 to this, I will continue to write Jiro the most out of all the characters lolololol, also we all agree that Jiro has a really high libido, right?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

The questioning has not stopped.

Yet another exhausting week at Darkwick. It didn't even feel like a week, quick as if only two days had passed but dragged out for longer than a year. A mission you barely got out of alive, a pile of homework you barely got around to thinking of, and a constant buzz of questioning from your friends and allies alike... At this point you had contemplated adding everyone to a group chat, sending the message "Jiro is my favourite, stop asking." and exiting out of it in an instant so you wouldn't need to deal with it further. You love them all, of course you do, and you want them all to feel that love, but it has been getting tiresome repeating the same answers again ang again on top of dealing with everything else you've got going on.

Honestly, it's not been that bad, but you're so tired and overwhelmed that even a single mention of the topic is enough to annoy you... You need to catch your breath for a second.

It's getting late, your day only ended an hour ago or so, so stress clings to you still. You've freshly showered, freshly free from responsibility, and finally able to catch your breath, just as you had asked for.

Sighing, you fall to your bed, lights still on... You just want a second before you make plans for the rest of the evening; you could sleep, catch up on some reading, watch a movie, listen to some music... the possibilities are as endless as your room itself... so not that endless, but still vast. Right now, staring at the ceiling is the most appealing thing for you, allowing your thoughts to catch up with you after they were forced to chase you down all week.

It doesn't take long for these thoughts to drift...

Jiro has been acting so strange all week, or at least you'd call it strange, you're unsure what would be the best way to describe it.

After he acknowledged his status as your favourite once, he never brought it up again. He remained unchanged against it all, still constantly behind you, still constantly hard to read.

But then your thoughts drift further...

When he was in your bed that morning his hands felt so warm around you. You wiggle yourself under the covers, bunching up the blanket and bringing it up to your face. You had no time to change your bedsheets this week, which is not a good habit, but you can still faintly make out his scent.

You didn't see him much during the week, but at one point you were both waiting for class to start with your backs to the wall and he suddenly turned around to tower over you, protecting you from an accidental avalanche of books hurled from the hands of a passerby. He leaned his elbow against the wall and looked down at you from so far high, his expression blank. Your probably looked so pathetic looking up at him with a heated face, but he just readjusted his glasses and commented that "Your heart rate is abnormally high."

When you woke up beside him, he bent your torso so easily, as if you were a piece of paper. He's so strong, isn't he? He could have probably spread your legs apart with a single finger and--

Your face is so warm as you nuzzle against the covers, your body has moved to the same position he put you in then, and you have unknowingly slid your hand through your panties, slowly circling your clit through the thin fabric.

--Fuck you whichever way he wanted.

Pleasure shoots through your body as your imagination finally roams free, allowing you to imagine such perverted things about your friend is so gross of you, it wasn't his fault he got hard in his sleep - oh, how good he felt against you for that one moment.

A knock on the door causes your whole body to jump back into reality, your hand immediately being over your chest and your eyes opening wide.

"Fuck, what now?" you mutter under your breath as you open the door, sighing.

"Hey." It's Jiro.

You look away, avoiding his gaze, you were just about to touch yourself to the thought of him, and now he's here, how are you meant to look him in the eyes?

"Can I come in?" he asks.

Oh yeah, it's been a week. Tomorrow you have another anomolous combat class. You completely forgot to pay attention to what day it was. It's a good thing you insisted he knocked. A few months ago he would have walked right in with dead-silence and found you where you were.

You move to let him in, still in silence and still unable to look at him.

"You smell good." Is what you manage to say, good for you.

"Oh, I showered before I came here." at least he didn't find it a weird thing to say... You hope.

You try again, "How a-are you?"

"I feel good, Yuri just gave me medication," he walks through your dorm room, towering over everything, "And you?"

"That's good," your voice is a shriek, you have to control yourself better, so you take a deep breath, "I-I'm a bit tired."

Jiro sits on the edge of your bed, manspreading. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with the edge of his casual pajama shirt. You look him up and down and lick your lips involuntarily, he looks so-

He puts his glasses back on and turns to look at you, blinking, "You're staring at me again."

You jolt nervously, throwing your hands up and shaking them as if to reject what he is saying, "Again?" you ask.

"Yeah," he chuckles, "You've been doing it a lot lately."

Honesty is not the best course of action here, "You're handsome."

...fuck.

"Me?" he asks, snickering at you with his eyebrows quirking down slightly, as if he does not believe it. Maybe he doesn't.

You blink blankly, dumbass, why did you say it out loud.

"Come here." Jiro says with a friendy tone, but when you look at him to confirm where 'here' is, you see that he is pointing to his legs, gesturing for you to sit on him.

You walk stiff with your hands glued to the side of your body, and pause when you're standing right beside his thigh.

"You're being so weird," he chuckles, and his tone is still friendly as he asks you to "Sit." yet he grabs you by the arm and pulls you down as a suggestion of sorts, unforcefully. You take the lead and sit over his thighs with your legs to the side, looking straight ahead at the nice looking wall.

Jiro's face shuts in on itself as he lets out a deep chuckle, "Aren't I your favourite?" he asks, "Don't I get any special privileges?"

You can feel your walls tighten around nothing, your whole body stiff, but you do your best to turn to face him, just a bit, "L-like, hm," you cough, "Like what?"

He doesn't answer, and his expression doesn't shift. Instead, he grabs one of your legs and brings it across his thighs so that you are straddling him, forced to look him in the eyes, as he pulls you by the lower back so that your pelvises touch. Your eyes widen and dart down as you feel his hard length against your core, he makes sure you know he's hard, by grabbing your hand and putting it between your bodies as he asks, "Do you want me?" he is serious.

"I- I- hm, wh-" speaking proves difficult for you, as your walls tighten around nothing again.

"I gave you a lot of hints," he confesses, "You've been quite bad with picking up on them."

He is so, so hard. But his length feels massive against you, strained by layers of fabric, you're unsure if you could even take him, but your core beckons for him by growing wetter and wetter by the second, trying to pull him in without you having to do anything. You look down at the place where your bodies meet, and then at him, and then again, unable to form a coherent sentence that shows him just how much you want him.

When you don't answer, he makes sure you're alright, or more so, asserts that you are, "You don't seem uncomfortable, but if you are I apologize and we can pretend I-"

"I do." You manage, finally, "I do want you. Really really badly." the last part comes out more like a moan than a sentence, but it's enough to make him laugh at you again, and to kiss you.

The kiss is intense. You pull him closer by the neck and the hair, grinding down on him very slightly while his hands roughly explore your body. He breaks the kiss to instead kiss your jawline, making you moan and grind on him faster. He moves back to your lips, this time with more intent, pushing you down along the bed with ease.

Jiro looks down at you, leaning over his hands, he looks so different than he usually does; almost animalistic. His dark hair hangs over his eyes, making a faint light shining a white streak over his glasses, and darkening his gaze. You realize how big he is compared to you, caging you just by being above you, but you're never scared of him, even now, when he looks so dangerous; you look up at him with excitment, helping him slide your shirt over your head and throw it aside. You're not wearing a bra, you didn't remember he'd come over, and yet he smiles at that as if you had intent hidden behind the decision.

He lowers himself with a smooth motion to grind against your core, "Mine." he claims next to your ear, pushing his torso into yours again and kissing your neck so roughly.

"Y-Yours?" it sounds like a question, but you meant it as a statement.

Jiro's laughter shoots directly to your core as his eyes darken even more than they already did, "Of course you are," he continues kissing lines from your neck to your jaw, staying in some spots to ensure a mark is left, "Everyone knows, right?" he whispers, "Everyone knows I'm your favourite, that you're mine."

"I- yours." you nod, whimpering as he sucks a spot on your neck. You are reminded of your worries from before as he grinds into you again, Jiro can see it in your eyes, and rises to his knees to pull your pajama pants down.

"I'll prep you," he reassures, "Don't worry."

You nod again, cold from his sudden absence over the top half of your body.

Jiro scoffs at you, and you look down to see what he's reacting to. Your bare thighs are covered in slick wetness, having spread from your soaked through panties. This is the most wet you've ever been, and you're not sure if it's embarrassing or hot, but the way Jiro looks at it makes it feel hot.

He undoes his pants and boxers and discards them altogether, and oh, how your worries have been confirmed... He is huge. You don't think you can fit it in. Noticing your panic, Jiro leans down, rubbing his tip against your folds in a teasing manner, "You can take it right?"

The moan that leaves you is more akin to a scream, it feels so good and yet your walls clench and your panic grows, "You- You said you'd-"

He coos at you for a change, like you do to him when he's feeling weak, "I will, just wanted to see your reaction." which apparently makes him chuckle again.

Jiro uses his fingers to collect the wetness from your thighs, smoothing it across your clit, you shiver.

"You're so reactive," he comments, sliding his finger down from your clit and into your hole, "I wanna make you scream."

Your eyes widen at that, but you have no time to process as he sets an intense pace with his finger. He only put in a single finger, but you feel your walls clench around him, sucking him in, and he makes sure to tell you that "You're so tight," Jiro uses another finger to abuse your clit. He's so fast and rough, and you writh under his merciless pace, his finger feels so good as he fucks it in and out of you, circling your clit to make sure you are more susceptible and willing to his sudden insertion of another finger.

"N-ah! Jiro-" The sudden fullness causes you to arch your back. His finger alone was long and wide enough to fill you nearly all the way, and now with a second finger, you feel like you're burning.

"You can take it," he tells you, "It feels good, right?"

He scissors his fingers open, as far as they'd go within your tight walls, going back to fucking you on them but with this new motion added in. "Feels so good, so- ah! ah- Jiro, please please-"

He opens and closes his fingers, stretching you out so good as he continues circling your clit.

The coil in your stomach snaps at once, and you cum violently over his fingers, coating them with a thick layer of slick -- but he doesn't stop. He continues fucking his fingers into you with just as much vigour as before, if not faster, and continues circling your clit. He places his other arm along your torso, holding you down so that you stop wiggling around in your ecstasy.

"Ji-Jiro-" you moan out his name, begging, "S-stop, stop, stop."

But you can't tell if you want him to, and he doesn't. Overstimulation washes over you, your words are nonesense, your moans are desperate, and your body shakes under his hold, your first orgasm has yet to end and yet another falls over you.

Then he stops at once. Removing his fingers with a last flutter, and wipes them over your thigh.

"You're okay?" he checks, and when you nod, he flips the two of you around so that he is laying down and you are sitting on the edge of his thighs, right before his length, "If you do it like this it'll make it easier for it to fit." he says, tapping your shoulders for reassurance.

"I want to do it," You tell him, "I want you."

So you move your shaken knees to be on either side of him, and take his length in your hand, sliding it against your folds again to coat his tip with slick, he does not move, instead, he lets you take your time.

You raise your hips as high as they go, and position his tip against your enterance, sliding it in.

"You-You're so big, Jiro." you say.

"You're trying to suck me in," he says, "Your body wants this so bad."

Truly, your walls clench around his tip, trying to help you as you do your best to maneuver your hips around to take him all the way in. You moan when he bottoms out.

"S-so full," you mewl, rotating your hips. You feel so full, as if there's not enough space for him to even move, there's a slight buldge in your stomach, which you nearly faint at the sight of.

Jiro's reaction to everything is a simple, "Oh." , his eyes go wide with lust, but he gives you a second.

"Forgive me." he says when that second becomes too long.

And before you know it he has grabbed both sides of your torso and began drilling into you as if you were a fleshlight.

He moves you up and down his length, fast, faster, and even faster.

You moan out his name, scream it almost, his cock pulls all the way out and then slams into your soft-spot, again and again and again, but he doesn't seem to be thinking of your pleasure right now, no matter how great it is and how good it feels to have him fuck into you so damn fast, he is blind to everything beyond his cock and the way your walls clench around it. You're so warm, so tight, and he can't help but use you like this.

He's quiet, completely, groaning faintly, but not letting out a single sound. His eyes are trained on the part where your bodies meet, and his hands dig into your sides roughly. He looks so hot like this, unbothered, chasing his own pleasure and using you exactly as you wanted him to. Picking you up and putting you down, over and over again until you cum around him, and again not stopping even when you do.

You're so overstimulated, and yet it feels so good. All parts of your brain that know how to formulate thoughts into sentences have long left you, and all you can do is moan pathetically and beg him for something you can't even name. "Please, please, fuck- Jiro, please."

He begins swearing, quietly, under his breath, and your head falls to the side, deflated; you cry. It feels so good, too much. You're too full. He's too big. And then he bucks his hips into you, bottoming out again and releasing deep into you, he finally moans -- it's a quiet, deep rumble of a whimper, and you bend forward as you cum again, everything is leaking out of you as you cry out a "'s full, so full-"

Your thighs shake, your breath hitches, your face is wet with tears, and he detaches you from him and allows you to fall over his chest - held so gently all of a sudden that the whiplash makes you sigh peacefully.

You lay like that for a bit, still unable to speak fully, and he smooths his hands over your back. He quietly mutters that he wishes he had more stamina, but you don't think you could have taken any more. You play with his hair quietly as he holds you close against his bare chest. He's comfortable.

"Sex feels way better than I imagined." Jiro says suddenly, "I really liked it, I'd wanna do it with you again."

You blink when you realize what he is implying with his words, "imagined?" you ask anyways, raising your head slightly to judge his reaction.

Jiro pushes his glasses up his nose, "I've never done this before."

"Huh?" no way, you think, he has to be joking.

But when he doesn't shift at all, you realize he is being serious. So you press a soft, gentle kiss to the top of his head, falling back down into him. "I'd do it again, I liked it too," you say.

"Is it part of my special favourite privileges?" he jokes.

"If that's how you wanna think of it," you joke back, "then yeah."

"Good," he concludes, but then adds "can I make a medical suggestion?"

You quirk your eyebrow, rubbing circles on his chest, "Yeah?"

"You shouldn't attend tomorrow's class, I don't think you'll be able to walk all that well."

You smack his chest with an angry giggle, "Fuck you."

"Again?" he teases.

You both laugh, and then you answer his medical suggestion seriously, "If you stay in with me, I won't go."

"Hm" Jiro hums.

"Alright," you chuckle, stretching out your arm to the bedside table, "I'll turn off the alarm clock."

[brights-place]

⋆˚࿔ 【 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞‼ - Headmasters office】 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Read The full book on my wattpad

The Headmage’s office was nothing short of majestic, regal, mysterious, and steeped in arcane elegance.

Tall, arched windows lined the circular walls, their glass panes latticed with iron and casting intricate shadows across the polished stone floor. Rich purple drapes hung from the ceiling to the floor, adorned with golden stars and crescent moons that shimmered faintly under the flickering light of magical sconces. The fabric swayed gently with the whisper of unseen drafts, adding an eerie life to the otherwise still room.

At the heart of the chamber stood an ornate desk of dark, polished wood, its surface pristine and flanked on both sides by golden candleholders topped with flickering violet flames. Behind it loomed a tall, throne-like chair upholstered in royal purple, its back high and lined with intricate gold detailing that crowned the Headmage’s authoritative presence.

Suspended above, a grand chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, its delicate metalwork branching out like skeletal fingers. The dimly glowing candles at its tips cast a soft but foreboding glow that danced across the portraits lining the room.

And those portraits each one more ominous than the last were suspended in lavish gold frames that hovered ever so slightly off the stone wall. The faces captured within were familiar, infamous even: the great seven legends of old, gazing down with expressions twisted in malice or smugness. They watched in silence, as though judging every soul who dared step foot into the room.

The entire space exuded both power and secrecy, the perfect lair for a headmage known more for his theatrics than transparency. And yet, within the beauty of the draped curtains, gilded frames, and luxurious carpets, there was something uncanny—like the walls were listening, and the shadows held more than just absence of light.

A red-haired figure stood rigidly in front of the polished desk, his brows furrowed in a tight, disapproving frown. The words that had just left Crowley’s mouth lingered in the air like smoke annoying, persistent, and deeply frustrating. Yet, as always, Riddle Rosehearts wore a composed expression, his silver eyes sharp and steady as they locked onto the Headmage.

He finally spoke, his voice low, clipped with restrained irritation. “What was that, Headmage…?” There was a barely perceptible twitch in his tone, a telltale sign of the curiosity sparked by the names Crowley had mentioned.

“Ace and Deuce… scorched a Great Seven statue,” he repeated slowly, processing the absurdity. “And shattered the chandelier in the cafeteria?” His gloved hands, once neatly resting at his sides, curled slowly into tight fists.

Crowley merely hummed, propping his chin atop his steepled fingers, golden eyes gleaming with their usual unreadable amusement. “Indeed. Quite the dramatic display, wouldn’t you say? That’s why I’ve taken the liberty of informing their housewarden.”

Riddle exhaled quietly, bowing with practiced politeness despite the tension humming in his veins. “I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience my dorm members have caused.” Crowley smiled lazily, waving a hand in dismissal. “Oh, don’t worry. Ms. Queen was exceptionally helpful. She repaired the chandelier all by herself, you know! Quite the useful one, isn’t she?” he said with a slow, drawn-out grin, his gloved hands clapping lightly before falling still.

There was a beat of silence before Crowley’s voice dropped, tone almost too casual. “As for your two wayward students… they’re currently en route to Mt. Dwarf as punishment. A minor task. I’m sure they’ll return by morning.” The name left in Crowley’s wake lingered—Ms. Queen.

Riddle didn’t speak. He gave only a quiet, “Certainly,” before turning to leave. But something in his eyes darkened. The chill in the room didn’t fade, even after Crowley waved him off with a whimsical smile.

The sharp tap of polished shoes echoed through the long stone corridor. Riddle stormed down the hall, lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts racing and looping in frustration. “What were they thinking?” he hissed under his breath, each footfall growing heavier.

His crimson cape fluttered behind him as he passed ornate doors and painted windows. “So soon after enrolling…” he muttered, shaking his head. “Absolutely disgraceful.” “I will not tolerate rule-breaking. There must be punishment—consequences.” His voice rose slightly in the emptiness, echoing along the corridor walls.

A gilded portrait hung ahead, nestled between two arching pillars. It depicted a regal woman, her features graceful and sharp, a quiet fury simmering behind her painted eyes. As Riddle walked past, her gaze seemed to follow him—watchful, judging. Almost… pleased. For the briefest moment, the air shifted.

The hallway darkened just slightly, as though a shadow had passed overhead. Riddle’s face fell into gloom, his silver eyes flashing with a dangerous glint. “I’ll see to their beheadings myself,” he muttered coldly.

The portrait above seemed to mirror his expression, her painted lips curled ever so faintly, as if in approval.

Just beside it, a long mirror stood elegant, untouched, and positioned at an angle. Though no one was there to see it, its surface flickered faintly as Riddle disappeared around the corner, his footsteps fading into the stillness.

Behind him, the mirror remained quiet. Yet something unseen stirred just beneath its glassy surface.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝ Dictionary !!

Features!! Physical Appearances S/C: Skin Colour H/C: Hair Colour H/L: Hair Length E/C: Eye Colour

Other!! Other things that could be mentioned in chapter

Headmaster Crowley: The headmage of Night Raven College. Likes to constantly remind others how kind he is. He grants the MC student status and appoints them prefect of Ramshackle Dorm after they wind up stuck in Twisted Wonderland.

Riddle Rosehearts: Housewarden of Heartslabyul. A serious-minded student who firmly upholds the rules written by the Queen of Hearts. While a top student, he is easily angered and just as strict with others as he is with himself.

Phrases/Sayings/Refrences/Quotes Ever after High dictionary/Rooms/ etc. from the show/or game!! None

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】 Tag List @mochiclouds @1abi