#I think. perhaps it needs a bit more set up

[satorupasta]

JUJUTSU KAISEN IN . . .

jealousy

synopsis. you’re hanging out with your friend and he thinks you’re talking to him a bit too much. in his perspective, at least / jujutsu kaisen men being jealous.

content warnings. modern au ( except sukuna is in true form so i think it’s modern ), death threat ( sukuna ), fluff ( ? ), SLIGHT suggestiveness. pinch of salt

includes. ryomen sukuna . satoru gojo . kento nanami . choso kamo .

an. this was originally for an anonymous person’s request but i kinda messed up the thing so i’m making it separate……sorry if u see this buddy also gojo’s part was kinda rushed so erm.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

. Jealousy was a two-headed snake. Arrogant, and much too full of itself.

That’s what the King of Curses found himself thinking as he catches you, his partner, snickering as the guy walking alongside you makes yet another joke. And every time, you laugh. That statement from before seems to take an opposite turns while he watches your kind banter between the other.

He shouldn’t be, really. Some low-life feeling, and yet, here he is. Feeling nearly overcome by it.

Sukuna accompanied you for whatever reason. And at first, your mind wandered off to different reasons—perhaps he thinks you’d be unfaithful. (Who would dare to go against the King of Curses?)

It pisses him off, really. The mere thought of another man catching the even slightest upturn of your lips is (more than) enough for a beheading, in his eyes.

And it’s not that you’re unaware of what he’s pondering about. When you mentioned wanting to go out with a friend, who is another man, Sukuna had been stomping around with a seemingly irritated look ever since then. Well, he always looks like that. But there’s something adding to it this time.

"When are we leaving? I have better matters to attend." The curse questioned, one set of arms folded over his chiseled torso. Of course, what better would it be having an over six-foot-tall curse with intimidating tattoos pacing next to you?

You sigh and hold up a hand to your friend, signaling for him to wait a moment. "I told you that you didn’t have to come with me—"

"I wanted to! I’m just asking." He’s quick to reply for clarification, though you can tell he’s still mad because he scoffs when he finishes talking.

You start talking to your friend after a beat of silence, lowering your voice to apologize before picking up where you and him left off.

Sukuna, meanwhile, is still fuming about the fact that you’re still speaking to him. The tiny eye below his main one still narrows at you, and you miss this detail. So, he’s going to take matters into his own hands (without ending someone’s life, which was your request).

Without a word, he hoists you over his shoulder, turning around and walking off. You stare at him in protest, before craning your head to look behind you. Your friend looks even more perplexed than earlier, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

However, you don’t bother fighting back. You know it’d be worthless, because he’s not letting go any time soon. And so does Sukuna, because he’s shrugging.

He knows he’s won.

And, plus. He’ll make sure you’ll make up for that simple interaction when the two of you are back home.

SATORU GOJO

. Sky-colored eyes watch as your arm hooks around your companion’s shoulder, the both of your cackles filling the night air. Your friend is drunk, but luckily, you’re a little more sane than him to keep aware of your surroundings. And Satoru, who had come because you may need a ride home.

He’s considering giving you an early ride right now, despite the fact you said you won’t be leaving the party until three or so hours later—but you two aren’t even in the building anymore. Just wandering on the sidewalk mindlessly with a guy he doesn’t know.

Fine. Be that way. He scoffs.

It’s more playful, at first. But when you give him one reply that’s straightforward and equally annoyed? Oh, he’s pouting for the next ten minutes, but you don’t notice.

Too many inside jokes. Too many giggles, too much everything for his liking. And in that moment, unfortunately, Satoru realizes there’s no one to bother anymore. To talk to, so now he’s bored. Displeased, because you’re conversing with someone else that isn’t him.

Is it petty? Yes. Does he care? Absolutely not!

"I mean—who even is this guy?" He finds himself latching onto the thought, biting the inside of his cheek at the prospect. The more he thinks about it, the more he’s piqued.

A little while goes by of him hearing uneven footsteps and taps against the pavement, and he’s had enough.

"Hey, we should go get ice cream," Satoru suddenly suggested, not looking over in your direction.

"It’s the middle of the night—" "I’m sure there’s some place open! Come on. Plus, you don’t seem to care anyway!" he urges, nearly sounding like a little kid with the way he’s begging you to come with him.

"I’ll even buy your favorite flavor."

Your half-impaired self forgets about your friend for a moment at the mention of ice cream. Satoru makes eye contact with you, and before the silence can start, you’re quick to break it. "Okay!"

You practically skip off with Satoru, more than ready to stuff your mouth full with the sweet treat. It might be considered irresponsible, since you’d left your drunken friend alone on the sidewalk, but don’t worry. Satoru’s got that covered.

Hopefully.

KENTO NANAMI

. Nanami is at home cooking. It’s for no particular reason. He’s hungry.

You would be too. Well, if you were there.

You’d gone out for a few drinks with a friend. He doesn’t mind that, of course—he knows you’re faithful. You’re not someone who’d do that, he thinks.

Your presence, however, would be much more appreciated than the sudden silence that’s filling his usually calm house. It’s unusual. Because you aren’t there to fill it.

He doesn’t want to admit it.

He misses you.

A cold cup of coffee from earlier in the morning sits on the island counter. Untouched after two sips, because you’d distracted him.

You were there earlier simply because you wanted to bother him. You felt like he could use some company. And from the way he’s grabbing his phone every two minutes to see if you’ve messaged him—you haven’t since you left—it seems it was very much needed.

He eventually ends up texting you first. Something he rarely does, excluding if it’s an occasion, or requires his business.

Thirty minutes. Again, there’s still no response.

He’s slowly getting ticked off. Nanami knows this, but—not in the way one would think. Like…a clock. Time clicks every few seconds with the turn of the handles.

He runs a hand down his face. How bored does he have to be?

He finds himself feeling something that is unexpected for the sorcerer—impatience. It’s even strange to him, an odd feeling that he pushes down. He reads a book to pass the time.

Nanami hears the blaring of muffled music outside, and he’s aware you’re back. He has no idea why you’ve decided to return to his home instead of yours, but you aren’t exactly unwelcome.

He opens the door. And there you are, a little wasted, and…accompanied by someone else. Someone you know, apparently, since you give him a little thank you. Him.

Nanami’s brow quirked, staring at the other man. "Much appreciation for bringing her home." And he starts to close the door. The guy has the audacity to hold it open.

"You her boyfriend?"

"No."

He hums, staring Nanami up and down before waving him off. "I see."

The scent of smoke fills Nanami’s nose as the man moves, making his expression tighten for a moment. For a moment, he feels something akin to…protectiveness, seeing the man. How could anyone like that associate with you?

He watches as the other turns around, heading back into the car. Which is still, loudly, playing music that was heard down the street.

Nanami sighed, shutting the front door behind him. You try to greet him, speech somewhat slurred. But he hurried you along, unwilling to hear any of your sentences. "Get yourself fixed up."

His demeanor is still straightforward, the usual behavior. Though, he can’t deny the question from before is still lingering over in his head. It’s much to consider. Enough for him to believe that it’s a discussion for tomorrow.

He’s very tired after waiting for you.

CHOSO KAMO

. Initially, when you said you were going out, he was okay. He can wait. You’d promised movies with extra-buttery popcorn exactly when you’re back. His favorite part about any Friday, really—it’s become a tradition.

But with an interruption, it’s set on hold. And it’s a little upsetting. Of course, he doesn’t show this.

"I’ll be right back, Cho!" you shout, before stepping down and closing the front door behind you. When he hears the lock click, along with the loss of the car engine in the driveway, he now acknowledges that he is alone. Like, you are not next to him anymore, alone.

Oh, what will he do?

—

An hour goes by, and Choso recognizes yet another thing. Most of his activities when you’re over (which is almost everyday) include you.

Cleaning the rooms? You’re right there with the dustpan when he’s sweeping. Reheating leftovers? You’re there to clean up the mess. And, last but not least, he can’t watch any shows.

It’s not that he hasn’t tried to do each of those things, because he has. But he can’t sit still.

It’s just not the same.

And he has to force his eyes not to stare at the time because he knows it’s only been thirty minutes in (his time frame) since you’ve left.

At that moment, his phone dings with a new notification. He looks at the name—it’s you! His face practically lights up. You’re back, and now you both can finally watch that new movie rotting on your lists for a few months now!

He opened the message, but…it’s not what he’s hoping it’ll say.

You sent a photo. Still at the party, but you left an extra response at the bottom of the picture, saying you’ll be back in thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

That’s still something!

"Yes!" he whispered, his mind already wandering.

"Should I prepare the popcorn now, or twenty minutes later? It’ll be fresher then. Oh, and it’s pretty cold in here. I’ll warm the blankets." Maybe he should’ve texted you that, but he’s already off to getting the living room ready.

And you arrive. Five minutes a little late. But you’re back. And changed into some pajama pants so you can fully immerse into relaxation.

The movie starts. Only twenty minutes in, it’s quite interesting. The sound of quiet crunching and shuffling from the popcorn being moved around fills the room, aside from the dialogue between the actors.

"Y’know, I made a new friend today. He’s—"

"What?" Choso says, looking over to you when you mentioned his gender.

"…He was really sweet. I got his number, he should watch movies with us sometime."

"I’ll think about it. Let’s focus on the movie."

That’s all you get in response. Short and straight to the point, the movie starts back up again. A little difference in behavior, but you don’t mind it.

You bring him up again, and Choso’s a little more perked up this time. "Let’s keep watching the movie." he repeats again, as if on autopilot.

Okay, now you’re confused. Have you done something?

"…Sorry." You mumble, and the half-curse looked down at you.

"For what?"

"You know."

There’s a beat of silence between you two.

"Well, he’s just irrelevant. And I think the movie is much nicer than some stranger you met."

Choso awkwardly pats your back, clearing his throat. He’s gotten a little choked up now, for some reason. He’d rather not talk about a random guy when he’s the only man in the room right now.

"So, let’s enjoy the moment, yeah?"

You grin and nod, eyes immediately widening as the movie jumps right into action.

While your mind shifts on the topic, Choso’s staring at the screen and occasionally back at you.

He’s just happy to be there.

[technicallyastar]

Hi, hii! 😇

I saw how you wrote about Doombringer, and let me just say that…

I absolutely love how you wrote him.

If it is possible… Could we perhaps get more crumbs of Doombringer x reader fics? (Kind of starving for Doombringer content ya know…)

Ain’t no pressure if you don’t wanna write!

For what matters the most is your own health, mentality and overall being! 🫶

If you ain’t writing though, then at least have an amazing day/afternoon/night‼️🗣️ remember to drink and eat well too!! 🙂‍↕️

Thank you darling, likewise. and of course I will feed you!

Doombringer is such a cutie patootie.

-First of all, Doombringer is not really a romantic but an idealist. He doesn't care for the sweet words, the poetry, the deep meaningfulness of life with someone you love. But deep passionate moments in romantic settings will have too be initiated by you.

-Doom's an adaptable, reasonable guy with good communication skills with a great moral compass. He responds well to critique and handles serious discussions well, so most (if any) issues you have with him can be resolved quickly. The only love language he struggles with is words of affirmation, and only because he feels a little virginal when around his partner. If he has any particular flaw, it’s that he tends to over-extend himself socially and give his opinion on matters that don't concern him. This can cause stress on both the relationship and his own health if left to fester, but he’s receptive if you just have a conversation with him about it.

-He likes to have a bit of gentle teasing in his relationships. It’s always good-natured stuff, just some sweet, light banter. Casual conversations like that help him let loose from the long hours he’s dedicated to being the righteous admin he so claims to be. Additionally, he would like a partner who he can confide in. He needs to vent sometimes too, but since he’s trusted with so many people’s private matters, he needs to trust you too.

-He enjoys skinship. Any kind of physical contact with his partner is good contact. Holding hands, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, and boy howdy does he like it when you snuggle up to his chest! He gives amazingly comforting hugs, not too tight, not too gentle.

He’s fine with PDA as long as you both establish honest boundaries for it; he doesn’t normally like to do anything more than hugs and simple kisses in front of the others. He especially likes to kiss your cheek and ears, so he can leave sweet, whispered words behind. When he blushes, his ears turn bright red.

-He’s a hold-out for starting a relationship due to the nature of his work as well as his righteous mission …but once he accepts that he’s probably not getting out of this situation of being so weak for you, he gives into you pretty quickly. Doom falls slow but hard, so by the time you’re together, he’s much more desperate for closeness and comfort than he lets on. It doesn’t take long into your relationship that he’s asking to spend the night in your room, or you his. Just to share the space, to have someone to cling to, nothing dirty.

NSFW (MINORS DNI)

-Doom's serving preferences carry over into the bedroom! He’s more of a service top, preferring to focus on the pleasure of his partner over his own. He can endure a neglected erection for a surprising amount of time, and sometimes will even come without you touching him at all, if you’re both riled up enough. He just thinks his partner is the most perfect thing ever and it drives him to the brink.

He’s not especially kinky, but he’s willing to try any non-harmful things you’re interested in. He doesn’t like to bruise or cut you, and even pulling your hair is pushing it a bit. Delivering pain is apart of his job description, reserved for in his mind the scum of robloxia- you are anything but and it pains him to lay hands on you in that way. He personally really likes body worship, edging, cockwarming sessions with lots of slow kissing, and he loves to see his partner in something elegant and lacey. With time, he can come to like some soft restraints, like silk cloth.

He doesn’t mind a bit of playful taunting in the bedroom, but he wouldn’t like to have a bratty partner. What’s enjoyable about his partner pretending they don’t want him, like him? Other than that, he does his best to deliver on any requests you have for the bedroom. If you ask him to ravish you, he’s going to ravish you. If you need to feel a little powerful, he hands you his trust and control. Feel Honored.

-His libido is pretty average, but sometimes he’s just too tired for proper sex. Not so secretly, he feels delightfully spoiled when you treat him to your hands or your mouth on those nights when he’s exhausted but needy. These are the only times he might fail to get you off, and only because he’s out like a light before he gets a chance. He’ll make up for it first thing in the morning. Admins promise.

He loves to bathe with you. It may sometimes turn into something more, but he does like it as a form of intimacy and skinship so you shouldn’t try to initiate every time y’all strip down. Or even most of the time, honestly. Otherwise, he would eventually stop asking to bathe with you entirely, as it would feel like you’re sexualizing his vulnerability and trust.

[towasdandelion]

Vagastrom, Jabberwock and Obscuary ghouls when you tease them all day

Last part of this one! Again this series is nsfwish!!

Leo sees through you. And it's so annoying. Constant eye rolls because... You're hot. Like really hot. And he has to deal with it as if he's not trying to hide his growing boner when you brush against him. Or when you bend over again. Ugh, he hates you so much. Honestly he deserves it, so make sure to "torture" him a little, okay? He'll act all cocky and mad, just to turn into a whiny mess once it's just you two. Now you can torture him in private! Go ahead and push his buttons. His eyes say "just leave me alone already" but his body... It's a whole different story. As embarrassing as it is, he might end up begging to let him fuck you. It's up to you to decide though.

Alan notices something is different, of course he does. But it doesn't click right away. He doesn't actually think much of it initially. But later as the day goes by, it's slowly starting to drive him crazy. Your subtle touches here and there.. giving him a good view of your cleavage. He can't, he really can't stay indifferent. He's going to give you soft looks, as if asking you to stop... He really doesn't want to lose his mind like that. Finally, when you two are alone, he's going to let out a deep tired sigh. He'll make sure you really know what you're asking for before doing anything. He will get a bit.. rough if you do say yes. But he can't help it, now that he can let out all of this pent up desire.

Sho won't even try hiding how much he likes what he sees. He'll even show you with his gestures. You started it, so you can't really blame him when he reciprocates can you? He'll grab your ass, sneak his hands underneath your shirt when no one is looking. He's tempted to just slam you against the wall and kiss you until you're both gasping for air but he's gonna hold back for now, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to come... Cause that's when he finally gets you all to himself. He's urgent, impatient. He needs you here and now. So what if it's an empty classroom? Just means you'll have to keep quiet. Perhaps it's a small punishment for driving him crazy all day?

Ren is skeptical at first. Just what are you up to this time? He quickly realizes what is going on and already knows what he's in for, cursing himself under his breath. It's not like he's going to tell you to stop though.. because he can't keep his eyes off of you. Can you believe he even puts down his game the moment he sees you bend over? You have more power over him than he'd like to admit. He will grow a little frustrated though, not being able to touch you just yet. Later when you're at your place (We all know poor Ren doesn't have a lot of privacy in his dorm) he won't waste time. He won't even say much cause that's just so embarrassing obviously. But somehow, having you pinned underneath him while he gets his fill of you is not...

Haru's day just instantly gets better when he sees you show up in the skimpier version of your usual outfit. And it gets even better! You keep touching him and moving in a way that makes his head spin. He's basically in heaven and even his usual workload doesn't feel as bad. Well as the day progresses, he gets more and more turned on but he won't complain at all. After all he has you by his side, openly teasing him. He doesn't want this to end! The only better thing is when he can actually take a break and show you some proper admiration. He will savor the moment, letting you know just how beautiful you are as he sets a steady rhythm with his hips. He's hoping more distractions like that in the future.

Towa will simply be happy you're more clingy than usual! It will take a moment for him to register what's really going on though. From his face you won't be able to read much, he'll just keep his usual smile on even when he finally catches on. I feel like he'd be more in awe than turned on, seeing you tease him with a smile on your face. He absolutely loves your attention on him so he won't complain. Once you two are alone he won't be able to keep his hands off of you though. His hands will gently tease your sides as he whispers how much he loves you and how pretty you are!

Ed will literally wonder if he actually died when you show up to clean up his room in your little outfit. Now he's going to enjoy his day for sure and he won't even need his laptop for entertainment, because his eyes will be glued to you. If he's not feeling lazy he might even get up and admire you up close. I think you actually won't get anything done.. honestly you're a brave one teasing Ed like that! And good luck trying to get away, not happening. Once he makes sure it's just you two in the dorm, things will get interesting for sure. He will effortlessly lift you up (where did the weak vampire go?) and gently lay you down on his bed before having his way with you, until you're all covered in love bites.

Rui is so delighted! He loves being playful but loves it even more when you're the one teasing him. And it looks like you decided to take things further today. There is no way he will be able to keep his hands to himself. He just wants to let you know how much he likes it. Expect a lot of sudden kisses and not so innocent touches throughout the day. He knows he should focus on his daily tasks but how can he when you're around looking like that? His day at the bar will consist of a few shattered glasses and some spilled drinks.. He will just laugh it off of course, but that's when his patience snaps. He needs you, he wants you now. Let him show you just how much and you won't be disappointed.

Lyca is pretty much clueless for now when it comes to these things. He doesn't really know what's going on and how to even react. Of course he can feel himself drawn to you more than usual, but why? What's causing it? Well he certainly will notice that something about you seems different, but won't be ble to put a name on it. He will observe you with a fair dose of curiosity, not even noticing that his ears and tail came out.. And his tail will definitely be very expressive, swishing behind him with excitement and gently brushing against your legs whenever you're close to him. You might need to guide him a little, ask some questions to help him understand a little better. After that he will feel a bit better about having inappropriate thoughts about you.

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 5

a/n: this chapter is a long one, make sure you've got some time 😊

Word Count: 8293

Tracklist: Question, Get Cool, Mixtape: OH

[ master list ]

5 - The Line Between Tents

WEEK 4 (continued)

Your brain is nothing more than a network of anxiety when you arrive on set. You’re counting your steps to keep your mind from spiraling, wanting to pretend like it’s just another day. As if last night didn’t happen. As if you didn’t voluntarily kiss Hyunjin under the pretense of practicing and then grind yourself on his cock. As if your heart wasn’t torn when he insisted Changbin drive you, but you declined profusely because you couldn’t trust yourself to be that close and alone with him again, even though you were going to the same place. 

Doing that last night was supposed to help take the edge off filming today, however it’s done the exact opposite. The scene is only a page long, but you know filming it could take hours. Hours of staring into his eyes. Hours of pressing your lips together. But this time you’ll be in front of a dozen people. You feel queasy at the thought of it.

Because the real problem isn’t the script or the onlookers, not even your scene partner. It’s the fact that a part of you doesn’t mind. A part of you wants to feel that spark again. And that’s dangerous. 

Hyunjin is your co-star. You should not be feeling anything for him. Acting 101 explicitly warns against falling for your costar. And you’re failing miserably at it.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to let your guard down—to let yourself see his charm as genuine. 

In the hair and makeup trailer, you’re lounging on the couch just staring at the wall, when Felix and Yuna enter. You force a smile and sit in front of the vanity as they dutifully come to your side and start their work.

“Were you up late after the club?” Felix asks. 

He hooks a finger under your chin to tilt your head around, inspecting the bags under your eyes. You hardly slept a wink.

“Is it that obvious?”

He offers you a kind smile instead of answering, bless his heart. Yuna gets to work on your hair as he sets his makeup case on the counter and opens it, looking over the different products he’ll need to make you presentable.

“We’re styling you for the kiss scene, right?” Yuna asks and you nod. “You nervous?”

You wish you had the freedom to open up and spill the tea about what happened last night, to have someone to talk this through with, but you can’t. You have not only your reputation to think about, but Hyunjin’s as well. Word can’t get out about what’s going on between you two.

“Yeah. My anxiety is in overdrive,” you admit.

“Have you rehearsed?”

Her question causes an onslaught of images to course through your mind of last night. You straddling him. His lips on yours. His hand on your neck. The way his mouth tasted. 

You rehearsed alright. A little too well.

“N-no,” you shake your head.

Felix pauses the movement of his brush against your face and leans back, watching you carefully with narrowed eyes.

“I mean, not really. We’ve done some blocking and whatnot, but we haven’t rehearsed the actual kiss,” you attempt to recover from your shitty lie.

You don’t know if it’s believable, but thankfully Felix gets back to work without commenting on it.

“It’s part of the job, honey,” Yuna says.

“I know,” you sigh. “It’s just another first—they’re all being packed into one experience. It’s a lot.”

Felix offers a soft smile, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb before changing the subject. You close your eyes, partaking in the conversation for a bit until their synchronized work lulls you into a short, but much needed, nap.

Yuna gently shakes you awake when Jeongin comes to get you. He smiles shyly as he extends a hand to help you down the steps. 

“Forgive me if I was a little out of character last night,” he says, walking at your side. 

“We all have those nights,” you shrug it off, knowing exactly how he feels. “Did you come get me just to apologize?”

After all this time on set, you know your way around pretty well by now.

“Taking you to the interview with Elle Korea,” he reminds you.

“That’s today?” You mentally kick yourself for being so consumed by the aftereffects of that damn kiss and having to do it again today that you’d forgotten about it. 

“Yes. Shouldn’t take more than twenty or thirty minutes, though.”

As you approach the inn, you spot a large white canopy on the lawn with cameras set up all around it. Hyunjin is seated in a director’s chair beneath the canopy, with an empty seat next to him. Seeing him there—not just on time, but early—surprises you. 

A PA from the magazine crew comes to mic you up before you’re seated.

“Good morning,” Hyunjin greets you.

“Morning,” you say softly, sparing him a quick glance.

The interviewer arrives and gets mic’d up too.

“How did you sleep?” Hyunjin asks.

“Like a rock,” you lie. “You?”

He covers the mic on his collar with his hand, leaning towards you as he replies, “Same. Definitely didn’t dream of what color they were, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It certainly isn’t,” you reply sharply, nipping his flirtation in the bud.

You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t look at him. He has to know last night was a one-time thing. You have to set some boundaries.

The lights beaming down on you add an unnecessary layer of heat to your body and your hands suddenly feel clammy as the interviewer takes his seat.

You can’t help but feel nervous—it’s your first interview for anything. And even though it won’t be released until closer to the series air date, you want to get it right. There’s no room for mistakes in your position. It just doesn’t help that the man seated next to you has an energy radiating off him that’s calling your name and you’re doing your best to ignore it.

“Ready?” the interviewer asks.

You and Hyunjin nod in sync.

“We’ll talk a bit about the project, then a bit about yourselves. Nothing too wild,” he reassures you.

You take a deep breath and nod again, smiling as the cameras roll.

“How has the start of filming been?” the interviewer asks.

You share a quick glance with Hyunjin, and he gives a subtle nod for you to speak first.

“It’s been really good so far—even better since coming to Gyeongju,” you begin. “Being away from home and having to rely on each other has brought us closer. The whole cast and crew are great, and the people here have been really welcoming.”

“It’s the same with any project,” Hyunjin says next. “Working out the kinks, finding commonality to bridge the gap of being strangers and coming together to work as a team.”

He switches into work mode effortlessly. Articulating his answers with the professionalism you’ve seen him carry in countless interviews before. Regardless of the chaos you’re feeling internally, having him next to you for this manages to provide a sense of comfort…and that in itself is a wild realization.

“How have you two been getting along?”

He lets you answer first again.

“I’ve actually worked with Hyunjin once before,” you say with a smile, glancing over at him, acting like the chummiest of co-stars. “We kind of just picked up where we left off.”

It’s an honest answer. Omitting the larger truth, perhaps, but it’s grounded in the truth.

Hyunjin lets out a small, barely audible chuckle at your response. “We did. I’m sure we’ll only get closer as we continue but, yeah, it has been fun and entertaining so far.”

You fight to keep looking forward and control every muscle in your face.

Only get closer? In what way?

A very particular way of getting closer creeps into your mind and you have to beat it into submission to stay focused on the interview.

The interviewer asks more routine questions about the storyline and your characters. You become more at ease as the time passes…until he directs a question specifically at you.

“y/n, being a foreign actor, what does it mean to land a role like this for you?”

You knew questions like this were bound to come. It’s inevitable that you’d have to talk about it at some point, so you try not to take it as a dig.

“It’s a huge opportunity—I know that. I’m thankful for it, and for the trust Director Bang and the producers have put in me. I could never thank them enough.”

“Are you hoping that this role will pave a way for other foreigners to land major roles in Korean dramas?”

“First and foremost, I’m hoping to do this character and the story justice. I don’t have the bravado to claim I’m the actress that’s going to open a door for those coming after me, but if it happened, that would be an amazing bonus to working on this project.”

You smile after the long-winded answer, hoping everything came out in the right way.

“You know, you sound almost like a native,” the interviewer smirks and your stomach drops. “How do you think the public will react to seeing you in a lead role?”

You’ve heard this statement time and time again to the point that you’re used to it. The difference right now is that there are cameras pointed at your face and an interviewer who keeps throwing curveball questions your way. It’s as if he wants to get a reaction out of you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and you can feel Hyunjin’s eyes on you again, but you don’t dare look at him.

“With an open mind, I hope. I’m working hard.” You answer simply this time, short and straight to the point.

The interviewer turns his attention to your costar. Your pulse continues to increase at the next question.

“Hyunjin, how has it been having to work with a foreigner?”

Hyunjin’s gaze remains on you, watching carefully as your smile falters, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. You don’t want to see his expression—is it one of pity? Secondhand embarrassment? He’s taking a risk being in a project like this, what if he’s not satisfied with the way you’ve answered?

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin asks, tone flat, as he finally looks away to face the interviewer.

“How is her work ethic?”

“I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

The bitter edge in his voice catches you off guard and you slowly turn to look at him. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and an unmistakable look of annoyance has taken over his features. 

Is he…defending you? After the steps he’s taken recently to make sure you’re comfortable, it shouldn’t come as a shock. But it does.

“I’m asking, how does working with y/n compare to other native Korean female co-stars you’ve had?”

Hyunjin is silent for what seems like hours. You glance from him to the interviewer, to the cameras and crew. You can feel the tension surrounding you and it makes you want to vanish into thin air.

“She’s no different than anyone I’ve worked with before,” he finally answers, dully. “Male or female. Korean or not. I would never compare or rank my co-stars, anyways. Least of all based on their nationality.”

The interviewer sits back in his chair, as if the slight change in distance could save him from the cold glare Hyunjin is giving him.

“And y/n speaks our language more properly than me or you. She’s lived here for almost eight years, and she graduated from Korea National University of Arts. She’s worked hard for this. She deserves to be sitting next to me as much as anyone.”

Your eyes open wide at that—you’ve never talked to him about your personal or educational background. How does he know any of that?

“Yes, of course. I wasn’t—” the interviewer attempts to back track from Hyunjin’s intensity.

“You were.”

Hyunjin’s words ring with finality as he stands. He starts taking off his microphone, looking pointedly at you until you do the same.

“Got everything you need?” he asks the interviewer, dropping his mic on the empty chair. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he starts walking away.

You gently place your mic on the chair, turn to the interviewer and crew. You bow while muttering, “Thank you.”

Hyunjin has the freedom to behave in such a way, but you do not. You still must show grace and professionalism regardless of what’s being said to or about you.

Your heart is still racing as you follow after Hyunjin around the back of the inn, feeling like your first interview was a shitshow. 

Was that the right move? Should you have told him not to defend you? How are they going to edit that together? Will they show him storming off? You can just imagine the salacious headlines now.

Fuck.

But, regardless of the fallout, you’re so, so appreciative of the praise he doused over you.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, jogging to catch up to him.

He stops walking and turns to face you, eyes still hardened.

“T-thank you,” you manage to get out under the intensity of his stare. “For sticking up for me.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes softening as he focuses on you instead of the situation you just left behind.

“He was really starting to irritate me with those questions,” he tells you. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

You glance at the ground. “It’s to be expected—even with this role, I’m reminded that I don’t necessarily belong here.”

Hyunjin hooks a finger under your chin, lifting your head back up.

“Fuck that. And fuck him. I get you want to remain professional, but don’t ever let anyone fuck with you like that, you hear me?” He says sternly, dropping f-bombs like there’s no tomorrow.

You nod slowly, doing your best not to react to him touching you. You want to crumble into his arms, because right now, you know without a doubt that he’d catch you. Hold you. Console you.

“Do you think they’ll scrap the interview?” you ask softly. “I don’t want this to reflect badly on the series.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs, dropping his finger from your chin. “I’ll make a call.”

He offers a small smile before turning around and continuing to set with you following close behind again. 

Not long ago, Hyunjin subtly flexing his connections would have annoyed you. But in this moment, as you watch him walk in front of you with his confident swagger, it comes off as extremely endearing.

Last night at the club felt like one thing—something purely physical. The way he looked at you then, you could easily brush off as desire, perhaps. However, the way he just spoke up for you is something entirely different. 

It’s too much. Too much kindness. Too much intensity. It’s stirring the pot of something dangerous. And now you’re about to kiss him again. The lines are blurring fast, and you’re not sure how to protect yourself if they disappear completely. You know you need to reinforce the line somewhere, but how can you when he’s being this considerate of not only you, but your career too.

When you make it to set, Chan is already waiting, crouched beside the monitor as usual. He motions you and Hyunjin over and dives straight into the shot, explaining the angle and tone. He wants it to feel spontaneous, but emotionally grounded—like the moment snuck up on both of you. You nod along, trying to take deep breaths in an attempt to combat your elevated heart rate that’s been spiking for the past thirty minutes.

You remind yourself that this isn’t a repeat of last night. This is different. This isn’t you and Hyunjin. This is Jae-hoon and the innkeeper. There are cameras and crew all around. This is work. There’s no chance the kiss could unravel into something more with all those factors. 

But when you step into place and the cameras start rolling, that argument shatters instantly.

You fall into character, thinking of the moments these two have shared that brought them to this point. Jae-hoon, still adjusting to his new quiet and reserved lifestyle, has been stepping up around the inn. It’s led to late nights and laughter with the innkeeper and here they are now, folding the regular cotton linen in the small laundry room. 

Lines flow; expressions land. 

The tension builds just as it should. 

And then the moment arrives.

The kiss.

The kiss with Jae-hoon. Not Hyunjin. Jae-hoon.

But who are you kidding at this point?

He steps forward, and his eyes lock on yours—steady, searching, familiar. Like they did last night. He reaches up, brushes your hair behind your ear, thumb grazing your cheek. A gentle, practiced gesture. But your breath catches all the same.

You remind yourself of where you are. You know what you’re supposed to do. But as his face inches closer, a thousand thoughts swirl around your mind at once. You become overly aware of everything—the feel of his hand on your face, the minty smell of his breath, the dolly system pushing the camera forward toward you.

And you freeze. Just for a second. Just long enough for Chan to call, “Cut.”

“Sorry,” you say quickly, stepping back. “I just—can we go again?”

“Reset to one,” Seungmin says. 

You chew on the inside of your lip, watching as the cameraman pulls the camera back to its starting position. You don’t want to keep flubbing this, but the pressure is on.

You turn back to Hyunjin. He appears calm externally, but his eyes say otherwise. Like he felt your hesitation. Like he’s questioning himself.

“Sorry,” you say softly to him.

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Even if you wanted to tell him, you wouldn’t dare risk your conversation being picked up by the boom mics overhead. 

You reset and take a deep breath before attempt number two.

You get through the dialogue and this time at least make it to the actual kiss. His lips land on yours and you stiffen, and you fear Chan is going to call cut again, but he doesn’t. Maybe it’s not noticeable.

It looks fine, technically speaking, but it feels empty. There’s a split second where your mouths move, but there’s no heat, no spark, no you. You’re still too in your head. Thinking about what it all means. About how none of this overthinking should even be happening.

Another cut.

Chan makes the decision to just work on the closeup, saying that they’ve got the dialogue needed during the wide shot. The boom mics are removed, and the camera is stationary less than five feet away from you.

Hyunjin steps closer to you and rests his hand next to yours on the washing machine. His pinky ever so subtly moves on top of yours. You glance at your hands, then up to him and he nods reassuringly. 

He moves his hand as the third take starts and something shifts. His eyes lose the concerned look and it’s replaced by something else, something familiar and enticing. He brings his hand up to brush your hair back, but instead of grazing your cheek with his thumb, he cups the back of your neck like last night.

“Do it like you mean it this time,” he whispers through his teeth to keep his lips still.

He caresses the back of your neck and then his lips are on yours again. It’s soft at first. Gentle. Like a question. He gently squeezes the back of your neck, prompting you to answer it.

This time, your lips move in sync and heat blooms in your chest. Your lips part and his tongue enters your mouth. You moan—quiet, instinctual—and thank god there’s no audio being captured. Your fingers curl into his shirt without even thinking. 

You forget the cameras. The lights. Even the crew.

It’s just the two of you.

His hand slides down to your waist, the other moves from your neck to cup your face. You lean into him, chasing more.

Until—

“Cut!”

—and the sound of the set's commotion comes blaring into your ears. 

You step back, breath shallow. His too, judging by the rise and fall of his chest.

“I—I think we got it,” Chan says, surprised. “Let’s get some close ups for coverage, yeah?”

Fucking coverage.

You get through the next few takes much easier but keep your conversation with Hyunjin short between them. You don’t want to comment on that moment. You don’t want to comment on a lot right now. 

WEEK 5

The air on set feels lighter, though you can’t tell if it’s because you’ve made it past the kissing scene—or because Hyunjin has been filming off-site with Chan for the past few days. Either way, the inn location is quieter, with Seungmin handling direction as the assistant director. 

At lunch, you sit at an empty table near craft services, still wired from too much caffeine and trying not to smudge your lip tint on your coffee cup. You’re scrolling through your phone when the chairs in front of you scrape across the floor in unison. 

You look up. Minho, Seungmin and Han are welcoming themselves to your table. Technically, it’s not your table—but there are plenty of others.

“Got plans for the long weekend?” Minho asks. 

It’s your first extended break in weeks. Three full days off. You were hoping to spend at least two of them being a couch potato, ordering delivery and watching trash TV. 

“I do,” you say.

Planning to do nothing is still a plan. 

“We’re going camping for a night. You should come,” Han grins. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m not built for camping,” you reply, shaking your head. “But thanks.”

Felix and Jeongin wander over, grinning like giddy schoolboys.

“Alright, I’m bringing everything we need for s'mores,” Felix announces, plopping down beside you.

“I’ve got the hotplates and side dishes,” Jeongin adds, sitting on your other side. He nudges your shoulder playfully as a greeting. 

“Perfect,” Han says, ticking it off on his fingers. “Minho’s on grill duty and bringing the meat, I’ve got drinks and Seungmin’s bringing…wait, what are you bringing?”

“Antihistamines,” Seungmin deadpans.

There’s a pause. No one knows if he’s joking or not. 

He’s not.

“Right.” Han recovers quickly. “y/n, we still need someone to bring the bowls, plates and cutlery.”

You press your lips into a firm line and shake your head. 

“I really do appreciate the invite, but I’d rather not be eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

“We have repellent,” Minho shrugs. “And the campsite uses citronella candles and rosemary around the sleeping areas.”

“I have no idea what that means, Minho,” you stare at him blankly.

“It means you’ll be fine,” he says. “You should come. It’s just for one night.”

“No thanks. Final answer.”

And you really want it to be. 

It almost is, too. Until you’re on the way back to the hotel and your phone rings. Your brow furrows seeing Chan’s name on the display. You immediately answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n. How’d everything go today?”

“Good. Seungmin crushed it.”

“Love to hear it,” he says warmly. “So listen—I got a call today. Great news, actually. I want to tell you in person. You’re coming camping, right?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, you’re going?”

“Yeah, figured it’s a good team-building thing. I’ve been so slammed, haven’t had the time to hang out with you all. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You hesitate. “Uh…”

What kind of news is important enough to warrant a face-to-face?

You really wanted to spend your days off doing nothing. But if even Chan is going…won’t it look weird if you don’t? 

“Y-yeah, I’ll be there. See you tomorrow.”

You hang up, thumbs still hovering over your screen.

There’s one variable you haven’t accounted for.

Is Hyunjin going?

You haven’t seen him all day. Haven’t talked. Haven’t texted. 

And now you might be stuck with him in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and tents, and way too many chances to be alone together.

You exhale slowly.

If you just keep your distance, everything will be fine. 

You rush down to the lobby with your bags around 10:00am, decked out in dark grey cargo pants and a black shirt. You spot the Sprinter van out front and dart towards it. The door is wide open when you get to it, the chatter from inside spilling onto the sidewalk.

The Sprinter van is far more lavish than you would have imagined. It smells like new leather, polished wood and…beef jerky?

Immediately to the right are three seats facing the back of the van, already occupied. Minho’s got headphones on, Jeongin is passed out with a neck pillow, and Felix is turned around, chatting with Chan and Han through the partition. You step inside and greet them all. Through the partition you see Chan is in the driver’s seat and Han is riding shotgun, fiddling with the display to get some music going.

You turn to the left and see that you’re the last one in. Seungmin and Changbin are in the middle row, snacking on beef jerky. Your eyes fall on the only open spot left in the back row. Next to Hyunjin.

Of course.

You hesitate for a second too long before walking toward him. He grabs his bag from the seat and moves it to the floor without a word, clearing the space for you. You sit and drop your bags at your feet and in the aisle. You fasten your seatbelt and lean against the side of the van. The aisle is already separating the two of you, but even that doesn’t feel like enough. After a few days of not seeing him, you’re a puddle of confusion on how to act around him. You unlock your phone to scroll through aimlessly, just to have something to do.

Chan calls out to check that everyone has their seatbelts on as Han finally gets the music going. 

“So…you got ambushed into this too?” Hyunjin asks.

You glance at him. “Something like that.”

He quietly considers your response as the van lurches forward. 

“You always pack this much tension for camping trips?”

You bristle at that.

“I would have preferred a better seat, that’s all,” you reply, snarkily, sounding more like the version of yourself from week one.

“Oh, yeah? Maybe you should have been on time then.”

He says it so smugly. But instead of wanting to lunge for his throat like you used to, you want to mount him and show him what smug is.

“It was one minute past ten when I made it to the lobby,” you elaborate without prompt. “Besides, I wasn’t planning to come, so I had to run out and get a few things and make sure I packed the right kind of socks.”

“Riveting,” he says, eyes flicking to your phone. “Hope you posted it on Instagram.”

You huff a quiet laugh and look away.

During the drive, Felix suggests trivia. Jeongin counters with “Who’s Most Likely To.” Seungmin threatens to duct tape everyone’s mouths shut. No one listens. Changbin joins in right away and eventually, you and Seungmin do, too. Minho reluctantly pulls off one headphone to listen in as everyone votes him most likely to be a secret crime boss. The van fills with laughter and shouts over the music.

You glance at Hyunjin again. His eyes are closed; head tilted against the glass—but there’s a crease in his brows that hasn’t relaxed.

This is going to be a long night.

Although, maybe not an entirely silent one.

Two hours later, the Sprinter van crunches to a stop on a gravel road framed by tall pines. The forest is dense and quiet—postcard perfect. You step out into the crisp, fresh air and stretch, blinking against the afternoon sun. You walk around the van and before you is a neat semicircle of forest green dome tents, already pitched. In the center, a stone fire pit is ringed by folding camp chairs, and a couple of wooden picnic tables sit under string lights. 

You let out a soft breath—it’s more glamping style than survivalist, and that you can certainly deal with. 

“Okay, this is actually kind of nice,” you admit.

“No bugs, no horror movie vibes,” Felix says, slinging a bag over his shoulder.

Han throws his arms out dramatically. “Welcome to paradise, my children!”

He spins in a circle and laughter breaks out as everyone starts grabbing their bags, leaving the coolers for later. 

“All tents are labeled with a name—find yours and stash your gear. Then meet us at the tables and we’ll get started on lunch.” Minho says.

You walk along the tents, looking at the names as you pass—Felix, Chan, Seungmin, Han, Minho…

Hyunjin falls in step beside you. “Find yours yet?” he asks.

The next tent you pass is Jeongin’s, then the one after that is yours. You gulp—there are only two tents left, and you haven’t walked past his name yet.

“Right here,” you say.

He keeps walking to the next tent and flicks the name tag. “Guess we’re neighbors.”

Your pulse skips. Sleeping ten feet away from him is not how you planned to keep your distance.

“We’ve got a decent view,” he continues, turning around to look at the picnic tables.

The string lights aren’t on yet, but you can already imagine how it will look when they are—soft yellow bulbs casting a warm glow over the table with the fire flickering below them. It feels like the kind of place where secrets get shared.

You turn back to face Hyunjin, tilting your head to the side. 

You have so much to say and although you’d rather leave it unsaid, there are still several weeks left of filming. You don’t want what happened between you to get in the way.

“Can we talk later?” you blurt out.

He steps back toward his tent, stooping to grab the zipper and slide it up. “Talk?”

“Yeah, just talk.” You hold his gaze, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

“Okay. Come find me when you’re ready.”

You nod and unzip your own tent before taking off your shoes and ducking inside to drop off your bag. The canvas walls are cool and wide, and a two-person sleeping bag is nestled in the middle. The space smells of pine, too, and clean fabric. You take a deep breath and smile. It’s actually really nice.

You remind yourself once again that you should be enjoying these experiences and not getting caught up in the way you’re feeling. And besides, you’re planning to address that later.

When you re-emerge from your tent, everyone’s already unloading coolers, firewood, and food. Felix breaks out a portable speaker and turns on a summer playlist. Everyone has a task to do. You help Jeongin set up the table with side dishes, and the plates and bowls you brought. Chan and Minho cook the meat on the grill. Hyunjin and Changbin work on the rice. Seungmin and Felix are making soup. Han is fighting for his life to break the chunky bags of ice and dump it into the coolers around the drinks.

And it feels nice. It’s a comfortable atmosphere. The quiet surrounds you and your coupled conversations fill the area. Definitely not as relaxing as sitting on the couch would have been, but enjoyable all the same.

Once the food is done, everyone gathers around the tables, paper bowls and plates full, chopsticks clicking. You’re sitting between Jeongin and Felix, picking through your rice and grilled pork belly, stealing bites of kimchi from Jeongin’s plate when he’s not looking, after you’ve eaten all yours. Hyunjin’s across from you, and thankfully he’s more absorbed in his conversation with Changbin and Seungmin rather than trying to catch your eye. 

The overall vibe around the table is messy, loud, and chaotic—and for a moment, you forget you’re not just here for fun. Whatever Chan wanted to tell you in person is still gnawing at the back of your mind.

After lunch someone suggests checking out the lake, and you all set off down a narrow trail lined with trees. It’s not far—just a ten-minute walk—and when you arrive, the water gleams under the sun, inviting you all in.

Shoes are kicked off, pant legs rolled up. You sit on a big flat rock near the edge as the others mess around. Felix is the first one to splash in, and Han pushes him fully in right after. Hyunjin helps Changbin chase off a duck that got too bold near their snacks, and Chan wades in up to his ankles, arms crossed, looking suspiciously like someone plotting a nature documentary. 

At some point, Jeongin walks over and offers you a wet hand, grinning. “Don’t want to get your feet dirty?”

“I’m just observing the chaos.”

“It’s more fun to participate in the chaos,” he says, tugging you up gently. 

You let him, and then you’re ankle deep a second later too, water cold and clean around you. Someone decides to start a rock skipping competition, but no one gets more than a few skips in before their rock sinks. When your last stone skitters across six ripples, they all cheer and clap and Seungmin announces you as the winner. Really, though, you think he’s just tired of playing. 

When you return to camp, everyone splits off for a little while and you opt to take a nap in your tent for a few hours. The sun is low once you come back out and you immediately help get the fire pit going—arranging logs, kindling, and a drizzle of lighter fluid.

The fire’s crackling and Chan waves you over to where he’s standing when he catches your attention. “Hey, walk with me?” he says once you’re within earshot.

You follow him toward the edge of the campsite where the trees are a little denser, the air cooler.

“So,” he says, glancing at you with a faint smile. “About time I share the news, yeah?”

“I’ve been wondering what it could be all night,” you tell him. “So, yes, please.”

He laughs, then slows his pace. “I got a call from one of the PDs at KBS earlier this week. They’re looking for someone to fill in as a weekend variety show MC. Temporary gig. They wanted someone with good on-screen presence—ideally from our cast. It’ll be in the weeks leading up to the series premiere. Great PR.”

Your stomach flips.

Chan stops walking. “They asked for my input. I gave them your name.”

You stare at him.

“I think you’d be amazing,” he continues. “You’re funny, quick, professional. They already pulled a few behind-the-scenes clips and liked your energy. So, just a heads up—you’ll probably be hearing from your agency soon. But I wanted you to know first.”

You blink. “Wait… are you serious?”

He grins. “Completely. I told you this project would open up new opportunities for you. It’s already starting to.”

You glance out toward the fire where the others are laughing, pretending for a second that your brain isn’t spinning. You were hopeful that landing this role would lead to your next job. But you hadn’t even considered being an MC—you’ve never hosted anything. Is it the right career move? 

Chan nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got this, y/n. It’ll be good, I promise. Just say yes when they ask.”

You nod, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Chan.”

Back at the camp, dinner is underway with ramyeon bowls and the rest of the meat. The string lights have been turned on and the area looks just as magical as you envisioned. You’re quiet while you eat, contemplating the news Chan just delivered. You’re hesitant to talk it over with your agency, though, because if they were okay signing off on that new scene without your consent…do they even have your best interest at heart?

When it’s fully dark, everyone circles close to the fire, and the s’mores ingredients are brought out. You’re seated between Felix and Seungmin, holding your skewer with a marshmallow at the end over the fire. You toast it until it’s golden brown and then accidentally drop it into the fire, earning your second round of applause of the day, this time for dramatic effect.

“Wasted,” Han says solemnly.

“Redemption,” Felix says, passing you another.

You all munch on s’mores and talk about a lot of nothing until the soju is brought out and Felix suggests playing Never Have I Ever.

“We’re not in high school,” Seungmin mutters.

“That’s exactly why it’ll be fun,” Felix grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

You pass when they offer you a drink, waving the water bottle in your hand. They don’t pressure you to take it—probably for many reasons. But you’re a girl on a camping trip with eight men, they wouldn’t dare do anything to make you uncomfortable and it warms your heart knowing you’re safe with them.

Truthfully, you just don’t want alcohol getting in the way of your thoughts or words when you talk to Hyunjin later. You’re still planning to make that happen, but you haven’t found a moment to call him away from the others without it being noticeable. You’re not sure it will be as short a conversation as you had with Chan, so you’d rather do it when they’re not paying attention.

Your eyes find Hyunjin across the firepit, and he waves his water bottle, offering you a small nod of solidarity.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Felix says. “Never have I ever peed in the ocean.”

Jeongin groans and immediately takes a drink. “Have you seen public bathrooms on the beach?”

Han drinks too. So do you. 

“Some of you have to be lying—everyone’s done it.” You say.

“A pool isn’t the ocean,” Changbin pipes up.

“Neither is a lake,” seconds Minho. “Make your statements clear.”

Changbin follows up with: “Never have I ever forgotten my lines in the middle of filming.”

All of the actors drink.

As the game proceeds, you learn way too much about Han’s teenage years, Hyunjin’s history of taking props from sets and the fact that Changbin once got banned from a family amusement park.

“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.” Hyunjin says.

Han is the only one that drinks.

That shocks everyone and causes Minho and Seungmin to harass him for a moment, pulling at his clothing to find it but he swats them away in defense.

“Never have I ever…” Minho pauses, and over the fire you can see the mischievous look that passes over his eyes. “...sent a suggestive selfie.”

“Now we’re getting to the good stuff,” Felix says, taking a drink with everyone else except Minho, Han and Chan who are then labeled as ‘boring’ by the group. 

“It’s about reputation,” Minho shrugs it off.

“You just have to make sure your face isn’t in it,” Jeongin says.

Everyone turns to look at him and his face flushes.

“Your turn, y/n. Keep it spicy.” Felix encourages.

You’d much rather not.

You pause, thinking for a moment. “Okay, I got one. Never have I ever had a one-night stand.”

All of them drink. To which you shake your head and click your tongue in mock disappointment.

Jeongin goes next. “Never have I ever kissed someone I wasn’t supposed to.”

A beat passes. The fire crackles. Han drinks quickly and laughs it off, Minho does too. You hesitate, then take a sip—casually, like you hope no one’s watching. But Hyunjin is watching. You feel it.

He doesn’t drink, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s thinking hard about something.

The questions get a little more risqué as the boys’ filters are diluted by their drinks. You’re safe from most of them, but there are far too many disturbing images you get from the answers.

Seungmin goes next. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone I work with.”

You freeze for half a second before taking a slow sip. A few others drink too. Your eyes catch Hyunjin’s, his hand holding the drink doesn’t budge. He raises an eyebrow, almost like he’s teasing you for drinking. And you can’t explain the jabbing pain you feel behind your ribs.

Minho goes next. “Never have I ever wanted to quit everything and disappear.”

A hush falls over the circle. You glance up, watching as Hyunjin drinks. Chan and Han do as well. You know, possibly, the time in Hyunjin’s life he felt that way, but you wonder what’s made Chan and Han consider it, too.

The moment passes when Felix blurts out, “Okay, why did this just get so depressing?”

You all chuckle to shake off the seriousness and someone else suggests charades, turning the mood around completely. 

It’s nearly midnight when everyone decides to stop fighting their yawns and head off to their respective tents. You glance at Hyunjin as you unzip yours. It’s late. And it would be too obvious if both of you walked off together right now. You can talk tomorrow.

“Goodnight,” you say quietly.

“Night?” he replies, like it’s a question.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

You toe off your shoes at the entrance and enter the tent, zipping it back shut behind you. You grab your bag and change into your pajamas—shorts and an old concert tee—before settling in the sleeping bag. As you’re figuring out which way you want to lay, your phone starts vibrating.

Hyunjin’s calling.

“H-hello?” You answer awkwardly.

“Hey.” Hyunjin says. You can hear the faint rustle of his sleeping bag through the line.

You sit up, feeling on edge. “You’re calling me from, like…ten feet away?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “You wanted to talk, right?”

“I figured we’d do it tomorrow…”

“Tonight’s good.”

There’s a pause— you listen to the faint chirping of insects outside, the wind stirring the trees. You’d already put the topics you wanted to address in the back of your mind in order to get some sleep.

“What did you want to talk about?” he prompts. 

You exhale slowly, shifting the phone against your cheek. Maybe it’ll be easier this way.

“About what happened that night at the club—the kiss and everything since.”

You can hear him shifting, maybe sitting up too. “Okay.”

“It’s just…it’s been weird,” you say, then correct yourself, “I’ve been weird.”

He’s been acting like himself this entire time.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You wince. “I know. I wasn’t sure how to—” you cut yourself off, searching for the words. “I think I needed a boundary, but I didn’t know how to establish one without making it a bigger deal.”

“A boundary for what?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—what is it you think you need a boundary for? Was something about it wrong?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “Well, maybe…I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think it was wrong, per se...”

“Then what?”

Your heart is hammering a little now. “I think…I didn’t expect it to feel like it did. And once it did, I didn’t know what I was allowed to do with that.”

The silence stretches again. You can almost imagine him sitting there, phone pressed to his ear, processing. Maybe you are making a big deal of this. Maybe co-stars engage in this kind of behavior all the time. That doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s not something you want to continuously engage in throughout your career. 

And then there’s the rustling sound of movement through the phone.

Finally, he speaks softly, “Open your tent.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“I’ll talk if you let me. But not through this.”

For a second, you hesitate—your heart feels like it’s going to knock itself loose. But you’re already climbing out of your sleeping bag to unzip your tent.

Hyunjin is standing there in slippers, basketball shorts and a muscle shirt. The look on his face is unreadable, but it’s gentle. 

“Can I come in?” he whispers.

You nod and move aside, making room in the space beside you.

He crawls in and zips the flap shut behind him, then turns to you, sitting cross-legged, hands in his lap.

“I haven’t felt awkward,” he says, jumping right back into the conversation. “Not once. I’ve just been waiting for you to decide if that kiss meant anything.”

You look down at your hands, thumbs nervously brushing over one another. “It’s not that simple,” you say.

“Why not?”

You glance up. “It’s unprofessional, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin leans back slightly. “That’s what this is? You think it’s a rule we’re breaking?”

“It’s not not a rule,” you murmur.

He grins, and the dim light inside your tent catches on the curve of his cheekbone. “You ever think maybe that’s what makes it fun?”

You blink at him. “Fun?”

“I like talking to you, joking with you—even arguing with you. You’re fun.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, I’m just a good time to you?”

His face falls a little, the teasing slipping away. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

You search his face for a beat, then ask, “Then why didn’t you drink earlier?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Drink?”

“When Jeongin asked if anyone’s ever kissed someone they shouldn’t have. You didn’t drink.”

Hyunjin’s expression softens. “Because I don’t think I did.”

You hold his gaze, your heart somersaulting.

“I don’t regret kissing you,” he says quietly. “Not even a little.”

“What about…” you begin carefully, “the question about having a crush on someone you work with?”

His smile returns, gentler this time. “I didn’t drink because I don’t have a crush.”

You’re unsure whether to feel disappointed or relieved at that.

“What, are we twelve-year olds?” He uses your own line on you with a smirk. “I like you, y/n,” he finishes, and it knocks the wind out of you.

Not a crush. Not a fleeting thing. Something firmer. Riskier.

You shake your head and sigh. “It’s not just about liking each other. I don’t want to blur the line between acting and… whatever this is, but everything about you complicates any boundary I think of setting.”

“What is this?” he asks softly. “To you?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. But every time I draw a line, you make me want to cross it.”

His voice is low. “Then cross it. If it’s your line, you get to move it.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. It should be a simple answer—no. You should reinforce the boundary, double down. You wanted to talk to him for that specific result.

But then he says something like that, and he’s not teasing. He’s giving you space to choose.

The truth is, you like him. Not in passing, not just because he’s good-looking or charming. You like the way he watches you when you speak. The way he listens without interrupting. The way he treats your concerns like they matter.

You exhale slowly, the weight of it all settling in your chest.

Maybe the boundary doesn’t have to mean distance. Maybe it can mean intention.

So you shift forward on your knees, heart pounding, and pause just inches from him. You meet his eyes, searching—making sure he’s still with you.

He is.

“And if this changes everything?”

“It already has,” he says. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.”

You swallow, gaze dropping to his lips, then back to his eyes. You’re so close now. Just one breath away.

But then—

“Hyunjin-ah!” Changbin’s voice whisper-yells through the quiet, somewhere outside the tent. “You in there?”

You both go still, startled.

“I need to take a piss and it’s fucking dark out here. Come with me.”

Hyunjin mutters a quiet curse under his breath, glancing toward the tent flap. His eyes flick back to you, reluctant.

“That’s your security detail?” You tilt your head away from him, smirking.

“Assistant…chauffeur,” he smiles back before sighing. “I should go.”

You nod, heart still thudding. “Yeah.”

He moves slowly, like it physically pains him to leave. Before unzipping the flap, he looks back at you again and in one swift motion, grabs your arm and pulls you to him. His lips crash against yours, his arms encircle your waist. You grab onto his triceps as he licks at your bottom lip, waiting for you to open your mouth. You do, leaning into him, hands caressing his head as your tongues find each other again.

But just as quickly as he started it, he ends it.

“We’re not done,” he says quietly against your lips.

You slide back onto your sleeping bag, not looking away. “I know.”

Then he’s gone. And for the second time in minutes, you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved. The interruption has kept you from crossing a line, but what good is that if you were already willing to cross it again? Not only that but he’s practically taunting you into doing it.

You turn around, throwing your face onto the pillow and letting out a muffled scream, feet kicking the sleeping bag. You’re happy but also really fucking terrified at what the future may hold.

a/n: So much happening, ahhh! We're officially out of the Enemies territory, in that space before they become lovers. I won't make you wait too long for the lovin'! Just bear with me through one more chapter!

[ read chapter six here ] (coming 6/1)

[ master list ]

[darknessembrxced]

Was part of the worry and the need to check on her simply due to the fact the bar was crowded? Maybe. Was it a level of worrying that someone was going to come and harass her? Yeah, that did play a factor into it. Hunter wasn't one to examine his feelings too closely. So, he didn't want to bring to light the feeling that he didn't like being too far from her. This was a woman that he had met that evening. She couldn't be allowed to throw his entire world into a tailspin. Yet, there was something there that was so entirely different from everyone and anything else. A sense of connection that he had with only a small handful of other people. An important thing that couldn't be overlooked. Not when it felt bigger than simply this very moment.

Hunter shook his head at the tease, leaning back in his head and placing a hand over his heart, as if she had wounded him with the very notion of it all. To be this free and relaxed, to be able to goof around was not a privilege that everyone had. A fact that she could not have known about and he wasn't about to enlighten her to the fact.

"I bring you here to save you from jumping out a window and this is how you repay me? Insulting my good name and trying to say I'm robbing the cradle. I don't know what I'm going to do. Evening ruined. This is what I get for being nice." There was no way to stop the smile that remained, entirely cutting any risk of the words being taken seriously. A long pull of his beer was taken as a means to soothe the anguish. "Being called old. A man's ego will never recover. I'll just have to give up my job and go into hiding now. Never to be seen again." Barely was he able to restrain the laughter that threatened to ruin the end of the sentence. Though, he did outright laugh as she tried the offended route herself.

"Cocktails and wine are boring," he offered with a playful smile. "We'll get you living life yet. Don't worry. The cheap beer and greasy burgers will create a whole new palate for you." There was something so satisfying about the combination. Maybe because it was a bit of a cheat meal. Maybe because it was simplistic. Maybe because it was just down right good. Whatever it may be, Hunter was more pleased to be enjoying it now compared to ever before and that was down to the company he was keeping.

"Well, certainly a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy for sure." He paused and really thought about the best way that he could explain it. In a way that made sense. That was perhaps the biggest challenge. After a second, he seemed to settle on it. "Was always into sports growing up. Actually played some basketball and baseball, believe it or not. Got into bodybuilding as a teenager and things sort of spiraled from there after a few competitions. Met some wrestlers and decided it was what I wanted to do. Didn't want to do the whole college thing. Guess I got lucky that it worked out. Turns out, I'm pretty damn good at punching people in the face." At least it was an honest answer. He didn't feel the need to try and inflate it for her sake, to try and impress. It felt more organic and natural to give her the real reason. Inherently knowing she would appreciate that more.

Any sort of follow up was cut short by the drunk ass that bumped into the table. Almost instantly, Hunter was wound tighter than a spring, ready to intervene. It was with immense restraint that he initially held himself back, knowing that a fight wouldn't do any good, especially since the guy hadn't done anything just yet. But the creep wasn't taking any cue. Too drunk to realize. Or too much of an asshole to care. Either way, Hunter was not going to let him get away with that behavior. His beer set aside, the gentle touch to his forearm was more than enough needed.

"She isn't interested. Now, I think it would be best if you wandered back over to your friends, don't you?" The tone left little room for arguments, even a daft drunk would be able to pick up on that. He shifted his chair just a hint closer, sizing the guy up. No doubt there would be some false bravado there and he was ready to handle it. Already, he was inching slowly out of his seat, ready to stand. And after a few seconds, he did just that, not afraid to attempt to Intimidate the drunk to get him to scurry off and leave them to their evening.

@[xoxoitsgia]

That entire situation was peculiar, and everything tying her up to Hunter was even stranger. There was a feeling there, something she didn't recognise that knotted up in her abdomen, making her heart beat fast and her cheeks flush anytime her dreamy eyes fell on the man. And whatever that tie was, it felt like it was getting them closer and closer each second.

Gia had learned very quickly not to miss people, loneliness, absent family and being touch-emotionally starved since she was a child was much easier to deal with when she pretended she didn't need anyone. But, in the brief minute Hunter left the table to go order, she found herself realising she immediately missed his company. Absurd, in itself, and yet, so plain and simple, it was devastating. She wanted to be by his side, and anything else seemed so unimportant.

She was well aware reality would have knocked at their door sooner rather than later, but, for now, she was willing to ignore it. Was it worth remembering she had another identity and responsibilities to go back to when she had never felt alive before she walked into this stranger's car?

"Oh, I am sure you do," she giggled, tapping her index finger on her lower lip, pretending to examine him, studying his features. "I was wondering if you aren't too old for me," a cheeky smile popped on her lips as she openly teased him.

"Sir," Gia followed up, pretending to be utterly offended at his question. She knew he wasn't judging her, but it was just fun to be having fun with him. "I'll have you know I am the classic fine wine girl, or, if the occasion requires it, a cocktail. But, this place doesn't suggest any of that, right? And I must blend in. Plus, god, that sounds so boring said out loud." She giggled, shaking her head. Then, she leaned closer, unafraid and unbothered by the complicity growing between them. "So, tell me, how did you get into wrestling?" She had many more questions, devoured by her need to know everything about him. "Punching people in the face all day beats therapy, I guess." He surely had the look of someone who could, potentially, make you regret crossing him. But, with her, he looked nothing but gentle, and she felt safe around him, more than with any other good-for-nothing bloke she crossed before for sure. "Must be a hell of a life you live," she continued, "For all the good reasons." Freedom, for one.

Then, suddenly breaking their moment, a drunken guy walked into her and lost balance, stumbling on their table. "Oop, fuck, sorry," the hazed attention of the guy fell on Gia first and never moved, as a slimy smile grew on his lips. "Oh, wow, you are a pretty one, uh?" He mumbled, words slurred by too much alcohol, possibly. No attention was paid to Hunter whatsoever. He drew closer, causing her to instantly freeze. Gia tried to move away, but the space on her chair wasn't enough. "What's your name? Wanna come have fun with my friends?" His gaze fell oll over her, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. Gia reached over the table, grabbing at Hunter's forearm, both a plea and to feel the reassurance that he was close. "No, thank you," she expressed politely, knowing the guy's attention wasn't about to dissipate that easily.

[ace-malarky]

sitting at 11/100 of the scenes done :3

Very much just have one left of this month but uhhhh yeah no I added in the fun three of the next set bc I'm not staying focused on one thing we know this

n like normally I roll dice to decide which scenes are next but there's always a shapeshifter one so that was settled and I want to write more of the mercenary mages so that one was settled for mist worlds and uh

yeah I rolled dice for the dnd one and we got Chant! who was also in last month lmao but her and Mav have the most unwritten scenes so like this is good. I love my little liar girl <3

the other two of next set are birthday presents bc we gotta but like. well. one of them will be fun??

the other one will have too much information and I will feel constrained but at least I won't have to be clever

anyway they can slip in at the start of September. I'm not asking for those a month early

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[luv-again]

thinking,, abt my shadamy week stuff again (ofc as I'm supposed to be focused on school)

[bendover-productions]

Sorry if you've already been informed of this, but in case you haven't, I just want you to know that Sam still has the teal pom pom hat! He said on the podcast that he misplaced it almost immediately and thought he had lost it, but that he found it in his bag once he got back!

NO!!! no one told me!!! 😭😭 thank you so much, that teal hat is incredibly important to me and i am delighted he still has it

^^^sam in that hat. to me tbh <3

[quietlyblooms-gone]

i think today i'm gonna continue tinkering with my lil reaper fellas and the remaining members of their team ( undecided on solid concepts, but we need some chaotic energy in this group ) before i get into my plotting call or the writing i owe. it's been really nice to have something new to work on and imagine up completely separate from chiyo or other lore i've worked on. i'm by no means letting go of chiyo -- that woman has a grip on me like no other <3 i just think this is the break i really needed.

[incognit0slut]

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut. 

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

-

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

[eliasmelody]

Absolutely Shameless!

LADS react to reader who have no shame when talking.

WARNING: grammar & spelling

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🐇 XAVIER:

Xavier’s eyelids get heavier as you go on about the movie, the sound of your voice lulling him closer to sleep. You’re still going, detailing plot twists and characters’ arcs, but he’s barely keeping his eyes open now. His head tilts slightly, a small yawn escaping him.

You pause, suddenly realizing what just happened. A quiet chuckle escapes you as you glance at Xavier, who’s trying to shake off the sleepiness.

"Wanna lay on my lap, baby boy?" You raise an eyebrow as you look at him.

Xavier’s eyes flicker with surprise, but then his expression darkens, the moment shifting. "Do you say this to anyone?" He asks, his tone more guarded now.

You shrug nonchalantly. "Not really. You're lucky you're cute." You say casually, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world and boop his nose.

Xavier blinks a few times, genuinely taken aback by your casual comment. His cheeks redden slightly in response, and he averts his gaze for a moment before looking back at you, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

"Cute?" He repeats incredulously with a blush. He opens his mouth to retort, perhaps to argue about you calling him 'cute', but he seems strangely speechless. 

"Yeah, yeah, adorable. Now lay down.”

"You say something like that so casually…” He mutters a complaint, but there's no real bite to it as he lays down.

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🦭 ZAYNE:

"Late for your checkup again, I see." Zayne said in his usual blunt manner, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork.

You just sit there, staring at him in silence. He shifts slightly, but you remain unmoved, your gaze steady. Neither of you speaks, the quiet stretching on. 

Finally, his voice cut through the quiet. "Hmm? What is it?"

"It looks heavy. Need me to hold it for you?" You said, your voice completely monotone, though your eyes hinted at something more.

Zayne raised an eyebrow at the sudden question. He was used to you making random comments, but even he found himself taken off guard by this one. “What...?”

You gesture toward his chest and say, "Your boobs look heavy. I can hold it for you.”

He had expected you to say something strange but that was definitely not it. Zayne's expression immediately turns flat, his eyebrows furrowing. He let out a sigh and flicked your forehead.

“Ah!” You yelp and clutch your head. “Hey.”

"You and your tactless comments..." Zayne mutters, more to himself.

He tries to keep his expression stoic, but the pink tint on his cheeks betrays him. It annoys him how you can get under his skin so easily.

“... So can I?--Whoa! Hey, I'm kidding. Put the tablet down!”

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🐠 RAFAYEL:

You lay there, bored, sprawled out on the couch, watching him intently as he focused on his art.

"You know what, Raf?" You said, setting your phone down.

With his eyes narrowed at you and his head raised to give you an arrogant look, Rafayel waited for you to continue. It was like he was about to give you a sassy reply.

"Sometimes I wish I was a guy." You said, gazing at him from upside down on the couch.

This was definitely not what he'd been expecting you to say. Not expecting at all.

Confused, he stared at you, unsure of how to respond. "Why the hell would you want that?”

"So I could make you pregnant." You said with a straight face, your voice calm and unshaken. He, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

Rafayel choked on his own spit and coughed hard for a few moments, trying to stay calm. His cheeks, already flushed, turned bright red.

"Y-you're crazy!" He protested, moving back on the chair a little bit. "Like I'd let you do that!”

"Why not?" You grin. "I'll be gentle.”

Rafayel blushed even more. He had no idea how to respond to you when you said things like that, but he refused to give in.

"H-how could you even think of that?" He said, trying to sound defiant, but his voice was shaky. 

"You just look breedable.”

"B-breedable?!" That definitely wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. 

He covered his face in embarrassment, trying to hide his obvious arousal and reaction to your words. 

"You humans are all perverts.” He muttered, even though his cheeks were betraying him, as his skin was turning even more pink.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction.

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🐦‍⬛ SYLUS:

After casually stepping on one of the rooms to confirm they were really unconscious, he strides over to you, his gaze sharp and intense. He kneels down to your level, his presence imposing as he speaks.

"Hello, little kitten. Looks like you got yourself into some trouble.” He says in a low tone, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

You pout, crossing your arms as you stay seated on the ground, looking up at him. "I can handle that.”

The man chuckles before reaching out and ruffling your hair.

"Can you now? It seems like you were in quite the sticky situation a moment ago," He says with a smirk, "A pretty little thing like you could have gotten taken advantage of real easily.”

You roll your eyes, then raise both arms toward him. "Up." You command, your voice firm yet with a hint of impatience.

The man raises an eyebrow at your command, surprised by your boldness. He lets out a low chuckle before obliging, sweeping you off your feet in one swift motion, carrying you princess-style in his arms. "Happy now?”

You hum contentedly and wrap your arm around his shoulder, leaning in playfully. "Now, to your house. I’m crashing on your bed today.”

He rolls his eyes at your demand, but doesn't complain.

"Of course you do. I can tell that you're quite a spoiled little one." He says with a smirk, carrying you down the streets.

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🍎 CALEB:

"Come on, pipsqueak. I’m not your personal chef." Caleb said, pretending to sound tired and annoyed, though his actions told a different story as he continued moving around the kitchen without missing a beat.

"What do you want for dinner then?” He reached to grab some ingredients, already having an idea in mind.

"You." You said nonchalantly.

Caleb rolled his eyes dramatically before responding. “Me.” He repeated, mimicking your casual tone. 

He was used to your nonchalance, had an uncanny ability to make even the strangest requests seem normal. He stirred the pan with a practiced ease.

You move over without a word, leaning in close to watch him cook. Your shoulder brushes lightly against his, and he can't help but notice the thinness of your shirt.

“Personal space, pipsqueak– wait, you don't wear a bra?” His heart leaped, but he quickly tried to remain nonchalant. 

"So?" You replied, your face remaining impassive.

He blinked, his fingers twitching as if to adjust your shirt, but he stopped himself.

“You just…” He tried to keep his voice steady. “Never mind.”

“Hungryyyy”

Caleb rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. Your carefree and straightforward attitude was one of the things he both loved and hated. “I'm on it. Jeez!”

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

lotus

a/n: this has been sitting half-written on my pc for i don't even know how many months (tbh at least half a year. i was living somewhere else when i started it wow). finally took a deep breath and finished it (though with an ending that kinda flies by a bit because just wanted it to get done. i was scared that the story would never see the light of day, so zooming through the ending was a better option)

summary: a nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

warnings: massage therapist!bucky barnes x reader, smut, sex worker!bucky, bucky doesn't have the metal arm in this one, thinking that your friend just signed you up for a normal massage but then it turns out to be an erotic one, kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, anal, double penetration

word count: 4000

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

With a hand tangled up in one of the ties of the robe you wore, you answered your front door after finally hearing the bells chime.

“Hi,” a soft smile swiftly warmed up the features of the man standing on the other side of the threshold, “are you miss Y/l/n?”

“Yeah, I am,” a tingle of nerves flickered through your body as your gaze washed over him, “you must be the masseuse.”

Why did he have to be so attractive? If it was this difficult to remember to breathe when he was standing completely out of your reach, then how were you going to survive a guy such as him touching you?

Following your gaze down to the folded-up table he carried, he nodded, “guilty,” before setting down the duffle bag he clutched in his other hand and extended it for you to grasp, “my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you briefly shook it, “nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the touch faded, and he bent down to pick the supplies back up, “so, where should I set up?”

“Oh, in here, in the living room,” you gestured behind you and shifted to the side for him to enter. As he set up everything, you stayed at the perimeter and felt your heartbeat thump behind your ribcage, “is it weird that I’m a bit nervous?” you then quietly asked.

Briefly pausing his actions as he unfurled the massage table, he cast a glance your way.

“It’s not weird at all, it’s okay,” he stated in a calm tone, “but I assure you, this is a completely safe space, you’re in good hands.”

“I just–, this wasn’t exactly my idea, or even at all,” your hands fiddle further with the terrycloth tie around your waist as you began to ramble, “Nat, my friend, she told me that I needed to relax, so she booked this appointment for me as a treat. I don’t even know what it is she signed me up for, if it was just like a little five-minute long thing or what.”

“Oh no, she signed you up for the full package, 90 minutes.” 

“Really?” your eyebrows rose, “wow, that’s amazing.”

Once the table was set up and he rummaged through the bag for a towel as well as other supplies, his low timbre filled the room once more.

“So, before we start, I’d just like to ask if there’s anything off limits to you, anything you don’t like or that you’re not interested in? Or perhaps something in particular you’d like today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought, quickly scanning through your body to get a good sense, “you can just be as rough with me as you want.”

“Alright, you like it rough, good to know,” you felt yourself suck in a silent breath at the way the phrase fell from his lips, “you ready to begin?”

“Yep,” you swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he seemed to make you. 

He then lifted up the ivory sheets he’d sprawled out on the plush bench and held it up high, giving you a smidge of privacy as you dropped your robe to a nearby armchair, before laying down on the table and feeling the cotton drape over you. 

As you layed there on your stomach with your face comfortably nestled in the little nook, you sensed Bucky adjust the fabric, folding it down so that your entire back was exposed. 

A dull click found your ears as he pumped some oil into his palm. The very first touch conjured a brisk breath to fill your lungs as his hands slid along your spine, spreading the slickness around. 

Though when you finally managed to force yourself to relax into his touch, a soft moan slipped from your lips as his meticulous grip found a muscle particularly sore.

“Sorry,” you timidly apologized for the sound. 

But he simply zeroed in on the very spot that had made you groan and said, “don’t apologize, whatever bubbles up, please let it out.”

Your lips stayed half parted as his touch dug deeper, “it just feels really good right there...”

“Yeah, you seem to be holding a lot of tension in your back, especially right here between your shoulder blades.”

“Probably all the time on the couch,” you let out a pitiful chuckle, “I just kept on getting into uncomfortable positions and then stayed like that. Which, funnily enough, is pretty symbolic of how I ended up there in the first place, stuffing my face with Ben and Jerry’s and binging the most depressing of romcoms.”

“Bad breakup?” he guessed. 

“I don’t think you can call it a break-up if you never really were together in the first place,” you let out a sigh. Yet again had you fallen for a guy who’d turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, “men are just pigs,” you spat out, “no offence.”

“Oh, none taken,” he uttered, “you know, it’s actually very common for people to get this particular treatment after something like that.”

“Really? Your touch is on the same level as bawling your eyes out to Joni Mitchell?” you jested, “well, now I’m really happy that I let my friend talk me into this.”

Soon, when his touch had kneaded every inch of your back, it faded away and reappeared lower on your frame as you then felt him fold the sheet up to expose your legs, letting the thin fabric only drape across and cover the curve of your bottom. 

Once his touch had soothingly wandered up the length of your legs and as his broad palms dented your slightly parted thighs, you nearly didn’t notice through the trance-like state you’d drifted off to when his reach crept close enough to your core to feel the heat radiating off it. A gasp parted your lips as his fingers briefly ghosted against the very outside of your puff before retreating back down your thigh. 

“Is it alright if remove this for a bit?” he then asked as you felt his hand clutch the sliver of modesty that remained. 

“Oh, uhm,” you fought to comprehend his question through the haze you’d slipped into, both the haze of relaxation, though maybe more predominately the haze of sin, which was most likely what had swayed you to utter, “sure,” trying your best to stay calm as he removed the sheet completely. 

It became a difficult task to keep your quiet noises at bay and have them not seep through your heavy breath as he then began to massage the soft peak of your butt. 

You tried to remind yourself that it was the biggest muscle on the human body and thereby completely normal to be treated in this manner, but that truth would have been easier to swallow if it had been a less attractive specimen touching you in such a way. 

Eventually, Bucky’s lavish rubs came to spread you apart with each repetitive motion, surely granting himself a perfect view of just how mortifyingly wet you’d become. 

As he let his broad thumbs dig into your sitting points, you told yourself it was the slipperiness of the oil that caused his fingers to sweep closer to your core and not your own nectar that had leaked down towards his touch. 

It felt so good that your hips unconsciously tilted up and into his touch, as his thumbs slid close enough to caress your outer lips, nearly capturing them in a gentle pinch. 

You didn’t know how long it took, how long you essentially grinded into him as if you were in heat, but eventually, you snapped out of your fog and realized just where his fingers were. 

“U-uh… w-what are you doing?” your frame jumped slightly at the realization.

“Do you not like this?” his touch paused, though didn’t retreat. 

“Why–, uhm…” you nearly panted, “you’re just very close to somewhere else.”

And when he simply uttered, “yeah, I know,” in an almost amused and cocky tone. You swiftly propped yourself up onto your arms and glared back at him, successfully prompting him to rip his hands away.

Snatching the sheet back over your frame as you scrambled to a seat, you stared back at him in utter shock, “I’m sorry, but are you actually trying to sleep with me right now?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked back at you, seemingly confused at your outburst, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’ve had massages before, that was not–… that right there was something else. That was not you doing your job, that was your hands being persuaded by your dick.”

A nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry, I thought you knew…” his glance fell to the floor as he then began to enlighten, “well, the lotus wellness center, where I work, specializes in the blend of not just physical and mental health, but also sexual health and satisfaction. An erotic massage, like the one you were signed up for, is one of the many services we offer.”

Your eyes had grown as wide as saucers during his explanation, “o-oh…”

“I totally understand if you wanna stop, if you’re not interested.”

“I–…” you tried to make heads or tails of the situation you found yourself in, “so you were gonna–, what? Fuck me?”

“I was gonna try and make you feel good, help you relax and unwind. You were signed up for the aurelia treatment which would involve me using my hands to pleasure you, as well as whatever toys you might be interested in.”

“Toys?”

“Yes, I have a generous collection with me,” he briefly gestured back to the duffle bag resting on the couch. 

“Okay, uhm…” one of your palms came down to brush over your features as you fought to comprehend it all.

“Do you want me to pack up and go?” you heard him ask. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, before you even realized it was moving, you shook your head. Letting your gaze flutter back up to find his, you exhaled lowly, “fuck…”

“I can also just give you a completely traditional massage if that’s what you want.”

“…and if I wanna try the other thing?” you nearly whispered. 

“Do you?”  

“I–…” you tried to speak, though couldn’t find the words and ended up just hazily nodding back at him. 

“Alright,” he gently mirrored the nod that still faintly rocked your head, “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. You just say the word, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, shivering slightly at the tingle of goosebumps that spread across your flesh. 

The way he held your gaze a moment longer before shifting it to the massage table you still sat upon made you feel as if you might melt off it entirely.

“Lay back down,” he faintly nodded to the bench. 

Your eyes stayed glued on him long after you now layed sprawled out on your back. 

Letting his touch graze the sheet you still absentmindedly clutched to your chest, he asked, “do you wanna keep this on?”

“No,” you shook your head faintly, “you can remove it.”

“Okay,” he gently peeled the fabric off of you, “just say if you get cold, alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fantasy you found yourself in. 

He began by working at your arms, tenderly spreading some oil across them and massaging down the length of them, one at a time, till his skilful fingers descended to work at your palms. It nearly felt as if he was merely holding your hand before he tossed you into the deep end with how intimate the simple beginning sensed. 

You couldn’t command your gaze to leave his visage as you traced his every move as if he was made of stardust. 

When his warmth let go of your hand, he reached for the bottle of oil that didn’t have a pump and unscrewed the top. Your bottom lip got caught by your teeth as he then poured a bit out over your stomach, curving the s-waves of droplets all the way up and across your boobs, dripping over your pebbly nipples as they stared back at him. 

As Bucky began to rub it in, he first stared softly down at your belly before swooping up, only to skip over your tits entirely and instead yanking a disappointed whimper from your lungs as he then commenced massaging your shoulders. 

You felt a bit lightheaded as you blinked up at him, all tall and broad, looming above your head and digging his warm touch into the base of your neck. 

Though when his rough palms finally did swoop down to caress your soft peaks, he quietly checked in, “this okay?” to which you simply nodded your head, eyebrows knitting together at the intenseness of the built-up anticipation.

Your entire chest cage heaved beneath his touch as he finally massaged your boobs, even occasionally fleeting away to ghost across your nipples, only to capture them in a pinch the next moment. 

You felt as if you were floating down a calm stream, letting the river of sin take you somewhere new and wonderful. 

Eventually, his broad palms swept up and down your form, though each time his reach dared to near your core, he barely touched you at all, missing entirely the spots that throbbed for attention, which of course only caused the sensation to deepen and render you even more desperate from his teasing. 

When he then shifted to stand to the side of the patted table, his deep voice washed over you once more as his touch stayed warm against your skin.

“Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah…” you hummed as you lazily blinked up at him, and the soft smile that curved your lips caused a similar one to bloom upon his own. 

His slow stride then carried him further down till his fingers began to dent the softness of your thighs. 

After he’d made your eyes flutter at the way he worked at the muscles in your legs, focusing on one thigh at a time, slowing working his way up till his fingertips stretched to dizzily brush against your outermost petals, it was then, that his sweeps grew and blossomed till one fleeting tease to your centre morphed into more as he kept coming back, each fluttering time slowly transforming till the maddening pets had become everything you’d dreamed of.

Soft whimpers flowed out of your lungs as he gently folded each of your legs up by your sides and cracked you wide open for him.  

As he gazed down at you with such intensity you’d never experienced before, it only took one step for him to change his angle and stand tall next to your hips. 

Letting his palms run up your inner thighs, the edges of each of his broad thumbs then met and joined on either side of your pussy as he captured it in a light pinch, making you moan softly, “fuck….” as his touch rolled your clit through your glistening puff. 

You nearly didn’t catch it because of how hard your own pants were, but Bucky’s own breaths had picked up as well and with a few stray curses seeping through his teeth as he continued to pluck at the strings of your pleasure. 

But then, before you could truly lose yourself to the ecstasy you felt flicking in your periphery, his hands slipped away, a smirk fast on his lips as a whine escaped you and he returned his attention to the rest of your body. Though thankfully, his torture only carried on a short moment before he finally granted you the first of many treats.

“Oh, yeah,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed your clit and carried you over the peak. 

“Right there?” he leaned down closer to you as he kept up his pace, his free hand coming to rest right beside your head as he loomed over you. 

“Yeah,” you breathlessly panted as your body trembled beneath his touch. 

“Yeah?” he huskily echoed, nearly sharing your breath as he drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, and even as your body began to squirm at the sensitivity that swiftly set in, his touch never left you, only lightened to make it bearable and tickle you back from the high. 

He studied your features fiercely as his fingers then came down to tease your entrance. 

“How about this?” your leaky hole swallowed up the two digits he swiftly filled it with, “how’s that? Is that what you want?”

“Oh fuck!” your back briefly arched and lifted you off the table, closer to him for but a moment as sloppy sounds of your want echoed at the slow rhythm he played you at. 

“Or do you need a little more maybe?” he sneaked another finger inside, “huh?” his frame then bent down till you could feel his hot breath fan across your face, “what do you want? You want something more to make you feel good right here?” his fingers slid back out of your pussy and fluttered up till they found your puffy pearl, “or here?” he briefly soared back down to plug up your cunt once more, but only offered you one messily rock before his digits slipped back out and drifted down much further than you expected, “or maybe even here?” you let out a gasp as the slick pads of his fingers glided over your little rosebud. 

“I–, I–,” you struggled to answer him, feeling so foggy that you might just fall off the table, “fuck…” 

“I have any toy you could dream of with me,” he purred as your grip found his shirt for support, “so, what do you want?”

“I want–, I want–”

“What?” he pushed as he continued to stare down into your eyes. 

And as blinked back at him, only one wish came to mind, one that you timidly whispered, “y-you…”

But as fear began to prickle at your nerves, they all dissipated as the masseuse wasn’t offended at all, your words somehow conjuring a dazzled smile to appear upon his lip before he then chuckled warmly, “roll over for me.”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash from the hast you tried to fulfil his command.         

As he soon kneeled down to be on level with where your head was now twisted and resting on its side, his hand drifted up for you to spot the dildo clutched in his grasp. 

Handing it off to your flicking fingers, his touch briefly lingered on your cheek, stroking it softly as he said, “then pretend this is me, will you? Get it nice and sloppy for me.”

When you began to plant pecks across the silicon, your eyes shadowed him as far as they could as he straightened back up and walked back far enough to disappear from your sight, only for you to know where he’d gone to once you felt his mouth begin to devour you whole. 

It became difficult to concentrate on the task he’d given you, so much so that he had to remind you each time his lavish tongue buried between your legs caused your own to forget itself. 

Arching your ass further up towards his efforts, he tilted away from your drooling cunt and instead nipped up till he lapped against your other hole. 

“Oh, that feels really good,” you moaned around the dildo as you tried to catch a glimpse of him, though only saw the edge of one of his hands and they dented your bottom. 

“Yeah?” he let a dollop of spit drop to your rosebud before he nudged the pad of a thumb against it, “you like having this little hole played with?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, then watched as he momentarily dipped away to snatch up a butt plug from the zipped-open treasure trove his bag was. 

Once the toy was snugly buried within your little ass, he snatched the dildo out of your mouth and a string of your drool chased the silicone as he brought it back to tap against the sloppy petals of your pussy. 

It didn’t take very long after he’d begun to fuck you with the toy that you tumbled over the edge once more, making you that much more malleable when he yanked at your legs and manhandled you down to the bottom of the bench till your unsteady feet were once again on the floor and he had you bent over the table like a needy whore. 

That was also when your weak pleas began to bubble out, begging for him to fill you up with something other than a toy. 

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you swore you heard a tinge of astonishment in his tone when he asked you to clarify, making sure it really was him that had you begging and not just the way he made you feel. 

Though once you finally managed to convey the sincerity of your words and convince him of the way he and not just the acts he was performing, drove you wild, it was in the middle of chasing your next high that he broke his pattern and traded out the dildo with his own hard cock. 

A low moan seeped across your spine as he buried his length completely and let himself melt down against your back. Letting himself savour the sweetness of your warmth clenching around his fat girth, it took him a while before he finally began to move and soon found a steady pace that had your toes curling against the floorboards. 

His fingers gently dug into the soreness still remaining all down your back as his hips repeatedly collided with the plush of your ass in desperate thrusts. Though as his digits worked their way down the length of your spine, they eventually found the little plug that still remained in your ass. 

Teasingly twisting the toy, you thought that was everything he had planned, though all of those fantasies fluttered away when he suddenly yanked the small plug out and switched it with the bigger toy still firm in his grasp, your little hole only managing to wink up at him before he stuffed it full once more. 

You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum as the remainder of the intense dance became a bit of a blur. At one point he had you flipped around and lying on your back, gasping up at him as he folded you in half and nearly broke the massage table beneath you from how hard his deep strokes were. At the next, the dildo he drove you mad with was traded out with his own fat cock and he conjured a vibrating wand to hold against your puffy clit as he watched your pussy leak from the bliss. But at the end, once you were nothing more than a puddle on the table, his load painted against your tits as he let his frame drape down atop of yours, a hazy question left your lips.

“Is that usually how that goes?” you asked as you both panted, plastered against one another. 

Raising himself up only enough for his eye to catch your own, he uttered sincerely, “no…” and his gaze flickered down towards your lips, “no, it is not…” before he let himself give you the thing you hadn’t dared to request. The kiss was so sweet it nearly caused you to forget the sinful acts you’d just wrapped up.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[nicholasgoodgirl]

on set - nicholas chavez

summary: you came to bring nicholas food on set and he looks too good you gotta help him get off or maybe you're just doing it for yourself.

warning: oral (m receiving), almost caught ig.

a/n: i need this man bad 😩

--

i park my car and get the takeout my boyfriend asked me to get for him while he was on set.

i knocked on his trailer a few times then being met with him, Nicholas i can't lie he looked undeniably good.

a part of me feels bad because he's getting put into character for this role and i liked it. every bit of it.

the way his hair is styled, paired with the old money clothing. he was perfect. "you good?" not sure how long he was trying to get my attention but i just nod and walk into the trailer.

"you gonna be free tonight" i ask. Nicholas sits back down in the chair. "uh i don't think so" he checked the message he was given earlier this morning before coming to work

"yeah, no i won't be free why?" he asks giving me the perfect opportunity to perhaps get a quickie in before he has to actually get on screen again.

i walk up behind him, giving his shoulders a little massage then kissing his neck "I'd really liked if we could do something later" i try hinting to him that i wanted to fuck and im sure he caught on rather slowly than expected but he still did nonetheless.

"at work? what a needy girl" he coaxed. he took my hand in his and brung me infront of him.

nicholas manspreads his legs a bit so i can stand in between them "how bout you get that pretty little mouth to work then"

his cocky tone and the light pat on the side of my thigh; a signal for me to get on my knees sent my need for him through the roof.

i sunk to my knees not breaking eye contact. "this is what you wanted right?" he asked me with a smirk.

i give him a nod. but that wasn't enough for him he brings his thumb to my mouth dragging it across my lips "use your words baby" he cooed

"yeah- yes.. i want to do this." i fumble with his belt buckle, his eyes burning into my skull making me feel intimidated by his gaze.

i get the belt undone and pull his pants down, he lifts his hips a bit to help. "doin' so good already but-" he picks his phone up checking the time "-they're gonna need me in atleast 7 minutes" he places the phone back down.

his hard cock is freed from the confinement of his boxers. i put the head of his cock at my lips, kitty licking the tip before putting my mouth around him.

a low grunt is heard from him encouraging me to sink my mouth down further.

he grabs a handful of my hair and carelessly pushing my head down, i gag on his dick and im quick to remove my mouth off him "stoopp" i whine

"alright im sorry" he takes his hands away from my hair and puts them up surrendering.

a knock on the trailer door followed by a girl telling Nicholas he's needed on set. "5 more minutes!" he yells loud enough for the lady to hear from outside.

nicholas turns back to me and raises his eyebrows "see we don't have much time" he shrugs.

i wrap my mouth around him for the second time, already use to the length reaching the back of my throat.

he allows me to do whatever i please with my mouth; watching me take his length. i swallow around him and nearly choke when he accidentally jerks forward and thrusting down the back of my throat.

"shit.." nicholas drawls out throwing his head back at the feeling.

i change my pace, bobbing my head faster and using my hand to pump whatever i couldn't fit in my mouth. he whimpers softly, i looked up at him, his lips caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed and eyebrows knitted together while his eyes were screwed shut. perfect like i said before

"you're such a good girl f'me y'know that?" i hum in reaponse, the vibration around his cock made him moan loudly.

"sir are you ok?" the lady asked from outside; rattling the doorknob. "fine- just fine!" ,,give me one more minute please"

i swirl my tounge around his tip then using my hand to stroke him till he reaches his orgasm "m' close" he whimpers.

i put my mouth on the head of his cock and let him paint the back of my throat.

i wipe the sides of my mouth and rise from my knees while Nicholas pulls his underwear and pants back up. "lets finish up whenever i get home yeah?" he kisses my head and walks out the trailer.

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon has been in some truly miserable conditions. He's been under fire while the hot desert sun beat down on him, he's been pushed, bloody and broken, through boot camp. But, in this moment, he can't think of anything more soul-crushing than the mall on a Sunday afternoon.

But he needs new jeans. So here he is.

It's just a quick mission, he tells himself as he slips through the doors of a department store. In and out. He could always order them online, but then he'd have to put his name and address on some little internet form, and he doesn't trust it. This, torturous though it is, feels safer.

It's too bright, too crowded, too loud. But he knows where he's going, so he keeps his head down and pushes through.

"Excuse me, sir!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, there you are, stepping away from your spot near the cosmetics section and directly into his path.

He stares down at you, studying you quickly. He sees your eyes, wide and bright, and a nametag pinned to your blouse. You look a little sheepish at approaching him so directly, but you don't back down.

"I was wondering if I could interest you in purchasing a new fragrance?"

To Simon, it's a bizarre question -- he doesn't wear "a fragrance," he wears deodorant and aftershave at best. He's already not having a good time, so he scoffs a little and says, "Don't need one."

"Are you sure? I could show you some of the trendiest colognes for men, or if you have a wife or a girlfriend, perhaps a nice new perfume for her?"

He glances around the area, seeing a number of counters, some with makeup, others with skincare, then yours with all the fancy glass bottles of perfume. When he looks back at you, you're still gazing up at him, wearing a smile that doesn't fully reach your eyes.

"They forcing you to sell this shit?" he asks.

"What? No? This is my job," you tell him, a bit of your smile fading.

"Yeah, well, you look like you're doing it at gunpoint."

You hesitate, do a quick glance around, then lower your voice to say, "I've got to meet my quota is all."

He smirks, and asks, "That so?"

"Yeah. I haven't been meeting my sales goals, and I need the commission, you know? I'm not trying to be pushy, I just ... I've got the quota."

He's not sure exactly what possesses him to continue the conversation. All he wanted to do was buy a few pairs of jeans and go back home, but now here you are, looking all hopeful, and something in him tells him that he shouldn't just walk away.

"What do you wear then?" he asks.

He doesn't know where the question comes from, but you're already smiling again, more genuinely this time, and you move to the counter. You pull out a sample bottle, plain glass with a simple white label, and slide it over to him.

"For your wife?"

He doesn't answer, instead watching as you spray the perfume on a strip of paper and hand it out to him. When he takes it and lifts it to his nose, it's almost overwhelming -- he'd noticed the scent on you when you stepped in front of him, something warm and sweet, but smelling it like this ... it's like you, concentrated.

"I'll take it."

You let out a sigh of relief, getting a new box of the perfume out and packaging it up for him before ringing him up. When you give him back his change, he lets his fingers ghost over your palm as he picks it up -- not enough for you to notice, but enough that he certainly does.

Back home, he takes the perfume out of its box and sets it on his dresser. He doesn't know what to do with it, and he doesn't have anyone to give it to. And when he sprays just a little bit on his pillow, he tells himself that it's only because he doesn't want it to go to waste.