#I’m still happy to talk to you here every day because we do have a deep foundation of friendship at this point

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[hoshigray]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇[𝐞𝐫]!! | t. fushiguro + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time, look around the area before you say you find a serial killer attractive. Because you’re about to see what mess your words will have you end up in — and your clothes all torn up.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: serial killers! Toji + Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - age gap (the reader is in their early 20s) - porn with plot - oral (f! + m! receiving) - threesome - double penetration; anal (first time) & vaginal - restricted movement (hands tied up) - face-sitting - cowgirl dp positions - gun + knife play - choking - spanking - unprotected sex - overstimulation - degradation (brat, broad, slut, whore) - pet names (baby, dollface, good girl, pet, princess) - blackmail/threats - the reader is in an established relationship w/ Nanami - mentions of blood, tears, spit, and drool.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k (told you, porn with plot, lol)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: uhhhh happy Friday the 13th, everybody???? blame @ramonathinks for this idea (jk, don't, she's so amazing, ty for pushing me into this, mona bear ♡ and tysm for beta reading; your thoughts mean the world). Haven't done a fic in two months sooooo go easy on me!! Not proofread, so I'll fix stuff l8rrrr

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! Just answer the question!”

“You’re so fucking sick, you know that!?” You glare at your friend, who slumps on the booth chair with a heavy sigh. 

A slight breeze tickles your skin through your comfortable sweatshirts as the leaves on the trees slowly change to autumnal colors, and Halloween decor is already adorning every house and every yard. It was a warm and sunny afternoon on this pleasant Friday. Usually, you’d be cozied up in your apartment enjoying yourself, probably catching up on some horror flicks you missed last year. 

But alas, that was not the case. Because you’re a college student. As October has finally rolled around, only one thing prevents you from enjoying this beautiful season — midterms. The thought of it is enough to pull you into a pool of dread. Every day has been one whirlwind after another. Yet, on the bright side, all you have now is one last exam to worry about, and you’ll finally be able to rest this weekend. So here you are, at the diner with your best friend, Shoko Ieiri, completing your papers while eating off your plates to satiate the stress. For the most part, things were going smoothly.

Until the news anchor on the television at the bar relays an announcement… 

“…Once again, everyone, please be on the lookout for these two killers on the loose. Three weeks ago, the two recently escaped from their cells, killed three guards, and are still at large. There have been accounts around the state that reported recent sightings of either or both criminals, the recent one being in this county 27 hours ago. So, please, stay safe. The killers are identified to be…”

And Shoko, being the curious person she is, asks you a question that stops your fingers from typing on your laptop: “Do you find those killers hot?” 

That’s how you two end up where you are now, groaning at the brunette’s persistence in getting your approval to find two criminals — murderers, even! — attractive. 

“Hey, Y/n, I know you hear me.” Shoko snaps their fingers at you while you try to get the assignment done. “Just answer the question: don’t you think those guys are hot.”

“We didn’t come all this way for you to talk about your hybristophilia fantasies.” Facing the Word document, you remind your friend why you’re here in the first place. “Just get back to writing; I wanna finish this and get home.” There’s nothing said afterward for a few seconds, thinking she has finally given up.

However, “First of all,” your eyes close to conceal them rolling behind the lids. “I’m not into hybristophilia; I just know a hot guy when I see one. Second, look at their mugshots. Like, damn, you’ve ever seen anyone so intimidatingly good-looking before? Come on, have a look!”

“You’re such a weirdo,” the click-clacking of your fingertips tapping your keyboard fills the rest of your answer. 

Still, she persists. “Y/n, look at the phoooone~”

No words, only tapping keys.

“Y/n?”

The keys become louder. 

“Pretty, pretty, pleaseeeee~?” 

Louder.

“Y/n!!”

A fist bangs on the booth table as the other closes the laptop shut, sending another glare to the person across from you who holds the phone up. You’ve had it at this point, so you say with a steady breath, “If I look at the dumb mugshots and answer your dumb question, will your dumbass leave me alone and finish your work?” The brunette only puts the phone on the table and slides it your way, giving you big doe eyes and whimpers like a hurt puppy. You sigh with your nostrils as you snatch the phone up, your gaze stationed on the images presented.

The image displayed two mugshots: on the left was a man with raven hair and a scar on the left of his lip. Intense, forest-green orbs contrast the black strands that cover his forehead. The mugshot letter board below him is labeled as "Toji Fushiguro." The one on the right is another man with spiky salmon-colored hair pushed upfront with prominent black tattoos decorating his nose, cheeks, and forehead. The board named him as “Sukuna Ryōmen.”

You look at the pictures intently, examining the men’s features at your discretion. It didn’t occur to you how long you were gawking at the mugshots until you peered from the phone to see Shoko give you the biggest shit-eating grin. Shaking your head, you chew the inside of your cheek before responding.

“….Well,” you cough. “…they’re not terrible looking at all. They are…..hot.”

“Told you!” Shoko slams the table with high enthusiasm, earning another sigh from you as she snatches the phone back. “Would you fuck them?”

You almost popped a vein. What the fuck—“is wrong with you!?” 

“It’s just a question, geez.” She holds her hands up defensively. “Or is that too lewd and raunchy to ask the partner of the trusting, charismatic “Golden Boy” SGA president, Kento Nanami?”

You choke on your spit before you can say anything, and your cheeks dial in warmth. “S-Shut up! Don’t bring my love life into whatever deviant horny thoughts you’re thinking!”

“I’m sorry, I’m boreeeeeeed. I don’t wanna do this paper, ugh.” The brunette whines and bangs their forehead on the table surface; your eyes roll for the fifteenth time in the past three hours. “…Maybe I should get some dick after this.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m going to use the restroom.” 

You exit the dining booth when they give you a muffled response of anguish, straightening yourself and heading for the back of the diner. As you walked away, you noticed a pair of hooded figures sitting at the booth behind you. Realization kicks in, and you groan internally. Oh, God, they probably heard what we were talking about! But what caught your mind next was that one of them had a black mark on the bridge of their nose. Huh, what an odd tattoo…

After using the toilet, you wash your hands at the sink, but your mind is still fixated on that weird tattoo. Who would get such a thing on their face? Wouldn’t that hurt? I wonder if that’s the only tatt— And then It clicked, you quickly turn off the faucet and dry your hands, exit the rest restroom, and run to your booth. Shoko was begrudgingly typing away on their laptop until she saw you return in a hurry. 

“Hey, you okay?” She asks you, but you aren’t looking at them. Your face contoured to a confused expression as you stared at the booth behind the one you were sitting in, now empty. 

“Did…..The two people who sat behind us, did you see them?” 

“Hmm? No, I didn’t. Must’ve left while my head was on the table.”

“Uh huh…” you say nothing more as you slowly sit back in front of your laptop. Your mind is now clouded with confusing thoughts, questioning your experience up until now. It could be a coincidence, quite far out at that. Regardless, you could’ve sworn you saw that tattoo on the Sukuna guy that Shoko showed you. It was such an uncommon decor, especially since you just saw it on the face of a criminal. Not to mention, the news anchor earlier stated that those two killers were in this exact county…

Needless to say, you didn’t touch your keyboard for about twenty minutes. Your mind was too wrapped up elsewhere to think clearly about your school assignment, and your body harbored a disturbing chill worse than the soft autumn winds.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, why are you researching about the loose killers again?”

“Hm? Oh,” you stop typing on the laptop to attend to the phone call you’re on. Exiting your bedroom, you walk to the living room. “No reason, I was just curious. I saw something about them on the news at the diner with Shoko.”

The person on the other side of the line hums. “You should be careful about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I know, Kenty,” you open the sliding door to your balcony and close it behind you before taking a seat on the cream-colored swing chair.

“I’m very serious, Y/n.” It was none other than Kento Nanami who was speaking with you. The trustworthy “Golden Boy” of your class year, the circumspect president of the Student Government Association… your loving and attentive boyfriend.

"I know you are."

"And those guys aren't just any usual criminals. They're notorious killers who barge into people's homes at night to steal valuable things. Maybe even kill their victims in their sleep if they have the time. So, be very careful, okay? Can’t trust these streets at night, especially now with those guys on the run. So, don’t go anywhere alone, always have your pepper spray on you, and be sure everything is locked — doors, windows, everything.”

A deep sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I double-checked all the locks once I got inside.” 

No one says a word; the rustling of the trees and the beeping of cars from the traffic at the light substitute this awkward silence. Until Nanami says, “….You scared?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind flashing back to the bewildering encounter at the diner earlier today. Those two hooded men, one with a black tattoo on his face. It felt too surreal to feel like a coincidence, yet it wasn’t too far out of your mind to think as such. The timing was strange, with the news reporter and your conversation with Shoko. The thought of two murderers nonchalantly being in the same space as you rub you off in the worst way imaginable. “…Kinda, yeah. A bit spooked.”

“You want me to come up there and spend the night?”

“No, no! You don’t have to do that,” you hurriedly decline his proposal. “I know you’re busy with homework and student government stuff. I wouldn’t want you moving around so much; I’d feel bad.”

You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone, and your heart swoons at the sound. “Don’t feel bad; you could never be a burden to me, especially when your safety is my top priority.” Another skip of the beat; it’ll never fail to amaze you how sweet he is with his words.

“Thank you, Kenty. But still, I know you’ve got a lot on your hands. You don’t have to see me right this moment. Besides, isn’t Haibara supposedly dragging you to some party at Geto’s?” Nanami is silent for a few seconds before he groans; a smile creeps up on your face at his reaction.

“Unfortunately, yes. I have to leave to pick him up, and then we can go…But I can cancel and come o—“

“Absolutely not.” You’re quick to interject. “You’ve been so high and on edge with your exams. This is the first party after midterm week. And I can bet my left toe that Gojo — cause you know he’ll be there if Geto is — will be upset you couldn’t make it.”

“…….Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have five toes on your left foot, so which one—“

“Kento.” He chuckles once more for your ears to hear at the use of his real name. “Have fun, okay?”

Nanami hums. “I’ll try. I’ll come by your place Sunday. Sounds good?”

“Perfect. Take some pics for me. Love you!”

Your boyfriend bids you farewell before ending the call, already missing his voice. A yawn creeps out from you, a sign that you are indeed fatigued and need rest. Leaving the balcony, you close the door and do a final check at your door. Confirmed that it’s locked and secured, you turn off the living room lights and head back to your bedroom to get some shut-eye. 

You shut off and close your laptop on your desk before turning off the lights. Then, you lift the comforter and finally enter the chilly embrace of your bedsheets.  Usually, you’d scroll on your phone for a little bit until you get drowsy enough to fall asleep. Yet — it could be because of the exam you were doing at the diner — you felt way more exhausted than usual and wanted to sleep right away. And you did just that: closed your eyes, listened to the calming rhythm of your breaths, and soon drifted into an anticipated slumber.

….Three Hours Later….

The next time you open your eyes, you’re not in the room you left yourself in — let alone the bed. 

Instead, you find yourself somewhere cold and dark. Your bed is nowhere in sight, just a lone chair facing you. There are no windows, no desks, just you and this chair with a sole overhead light that almost blinds you when you slowly get up. 

The change of scenery throws you off as one thought after another picks up the pace of confusion. Where am I? What is this place? This has to be a sick dream of mine…Wait a minute. You look down to find your pajamas are shriveled and torn up, pieces of the material scattered all over where you’re lying on the cold floor. Also, what the fuck!? You can’t seem to move your hands and feet, noticing that there’s some rope restricting your limbs from moving freely from one another. No matter how hard you try, squirming does little to no help, yet it confirms that this is not a dream.

What the absolute fuck is going on right now!? It was an appropriate question for this perplexing situation, not knowing where to pick up from to start picking clues as to why you’re here. Better yet, who brought you here?

“Ah, look who’s awake.”

You turn to the sound of a door opening and closing; the direction it came from makes it hard to register the distance of whoever was speaking to you. However, that doesn’t matter because you can hear footsteps approaching you and a figure stepping into the light. And when the face finally comes to your field of vision, your blood shifts into an immediate icy cold.

Standing to you by the chair was a man in a tight black shirt that exhibited his muscular arms and physique way too perfectly, harboring dark and baggy pants. But those weren’t the features that had your breath hitch. No, no. The man before you had raven hair with the length stopped to his ears and strands that covered his brows. They did not even try concealing the striking green eyes that looked straight at you. And the familiar scar at the right of his lip put everything together for you — the mugshot that Shoko showed me, the inmate that escaped prison…!

Toji Fushiguro, in the flesh, takes a seat on the chair with his legs spread while putting on black gloves. He notices your look of realization and smirks; you don’t like how his scar is rooted up with the motion. “Y’re a pretty heavy sleeper, ya know that. But I guess that made bringing you here a lil’ simple.” 

A tiny bit of confidence prompts you to speak with the man. “Whe–Where am I?”

“C’mon now, little girl,” your stomach churns when he scoffs at you. He brings up a hand to help him as he cracks his neck. God, why is he so jacked!!? “Y’re supposed to be smart, right? You know that’s the wrong question to ask me.” 

Okay then, think, Y/n, think… ”…Why did you kidnap me? Is it for money? Because I don’t have much—“ The palm of Toji’s hand faces you to halt you from speaking more, making your nervousness dwell even further. 

“For one, you should really consider locking your balcony door when y’re done using it.” There are not enough words to describe the mental facepalm you gave yourself. “If we wanted to run y’r pockets, we woulda done so earlier.” He casually admits to you. “But that’s not why we brought ya here, so he’ll explain it to ya.”

He? Wait, wait, we??

The other mugshot hits you like a flash before you hear the door open and close again. Of course, Toji isn’t the only one on the run right now. There was another guy with salmon-colored hair and tattoos. The other figure, now wearing a black tank tee and ripped black jeans, came from behind Toji. Your stomach drops to the floor when your eyes land on the prominent black tattoo on his nose — now seeing that he has way more on his face, shoulders, arms, and wrists. The scene from the diner replays until your brain can’t keep up. It was him, no doubt about it.

“Well, well. Did the sleeping beauty finally get their rest?” Sukuna Ryōmen, looks just as [if not more] dangerous as Toji. He stuffs his hand into the back of his jeans pocket. “Listen here, I’ll be asking you some questions, and I expect nothing but honest answers. Got that?” 

You don’t know what possessed you to ask the question. You being scared shitless right now should’ve prevented you from doing so. And yet, you ask, “And if I don’t?”

It happened way too fast; your eyes couldn’t even process it happening. But one moment, the salmon-haired criminal was standing in front of you beside Toji. The next, you feel someone crouched behind you with the cold feeling of something barely piercing your skin. Your eyes widen, and you don’t dare move a single hair. Toji shakes his head at you, the smirk on his face still present. Now you can guess who had fun cutting up your PJs.

“I don’t think you wanna know the answer to that question.” He says it so close to your ear that you could’ve nearly fainted. Sukuna then moves the knife to scrape the side of your neck. “And don’t you ever think you’re in a position to ask me questions. Use that college brain of yours, brat.” 

You gulp — a risky move when you have a sharp object to your neck — and nod. Satisfied, the pink-haired man removes the knife from your proximity and stands right up. “At least you follow things quickly.” He says while walking back to where he stood prior. “Now, question one: do you know a kid named Kento Nanami?” 

The mention of your boyfriend’s name hits you like whiplash. Kento? What do they want with him!?

“…Yes, I do.”

“Good. Next question,” You chew the inside of your lip before he asks you the following. “Where does he live?”

Your body almost shuts down when he says the final word. No. No, no, no! Absolutely not! “I can’t tell you that.”

“Tch, just when you were doin’ so good.” Sukuna sucks his teeth. “And why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want you hurting him.”

He barks a laugh. “You don’t even know what we’ll do to him! Damn, talk about a loyal dog.” 

The insult sparked a flame in you. It was a small one, but a flame nonetheless. “Why the hell do you want to know anyway? It’s not like he knows you any—Hrckk!”

“What the hell did I say about you asking questions, huh.” A hurried hand meets your throat, black nails digging into your skin as his grip gets unbearably tight. You attempt to keep a stern face despite choking for some air, but you’d be lying that the pain wasn’t getting to your head.

“Alright, Kuna, let ‘em go.” You almost forgot about Toji sitting on the chair until he spoke up. With a displeased click of the tongue, Sukuna releases you and throws you to the cold, hard floor. “For your information, princess, that kid does know us.”

You’re coughing up a storm, but you still listen. Your eyes are watery, and your throat pulses. “Hic…Ack, what—What are you talking about?”

Toji continues. “That little friend of y’rs is the reason why we were behind bars for three years. Fuckin’ kid saw us break into a house in his neighborhood and called the cops on us. For the longest time, we’ve thought about getting out of those damn cells and coming back to rip that lil’ fucker limb from limb. Maybe ransack his whole home and then some.” 

“And now that we are out here,” Sukuna chimes in. “We plan on doing just that. We were sitting right behind you at the diner and heard the brown-haired chick say his name, meaning he had to be around this county. And when he heard that fucking square had a little girlfriend, who better to introduce ourselves and point us the way than you.” 

So much information hits you all at once that you’re not given enough time to process it properly. Nanami called the cops on these guys? Where was that piece of information on the phone call!!? Three years ago, it must’ve happened before the start of freshman year. And then there’s the matter of these murders trying to kill him — the love of your life! 

You immediately try to weigh your options: you could give them a fake address, but that would lead them back to you and have you killed instead. And Nanami doesn’t live at home right now; he’s on campus with you and everyone else. So, sharing these two his home address will just have his family killed in his place! Oh, you wouldn’t handle that guilt; you just couldn’t!!

“So, what’ll it be, little girl?” Toji’s voice snaps you from your rampant thoughts. “You can be a cute girlfriend and be loyal, and we’ll just kill you right here, right now. Or, you give us an address, we’ll put you back to sleep, and you’ll never see from us ever again.” 

Those two options were far from what you wanted to do. You would never want to jeopardize your poor boyfriend’s life and those around him for being a model citizen, especially for these assholes! There had to be a way, something you could do!

“Please, don’t hurt him!” The ropes on your hands and feet have you shuffle to look at the two men from the dirty ground. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Please just spare him!”

“No-can-do, brat.” Sukuna comes down to your level once more, yanking your shirt — or whatever’s left of it, your bra practically out for the whole world to see — to lift your upper body. “Nothing to ease a vengeful spirit than taking care of the problem, right? So do us a favor, will ya.” 

Tears are fighting your control to fall, your body trembling. You’re scared, so so frightened. But most of all, you’ll do what you can to make sure your “golden boy” stands tall for you. “Please, I’ll do anything! Anything you want, I’ll do it! So, please!!” 

Sukuna opens his mouth to bite back, but no words come out. Actually, his expression resorts back to a neutral tone. He then turns to Toji, who looks at him with a quirked brow. There’s nothing but silence between the two, a silent conversation between the two killers that you have no choice but to stay quiet for. And you jerk when the two focus back on you. Sukuna then finally says something.

“Anything, huh?” It’s the worst when he sneers at you. Such a devious man. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Tch. Fucking brat.” Sukuna sucks his teeth before he snatches your chin with a rough vigor, forcing your teary eyes to face him. And it doesn’t help that you now have a gun pointed at your temple. “This is your warning. You better do this right, or you’ll be the first to get a gift with your boyfriend’s head all minced up. Now, use that mouth. Properly.”

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you’d end up here. You stood on your knees and hands on the concrete floor, your mouth occupied with Sukuna’s cock, propelling your face to and fro to meet the base. Why the handgun to your head? According to the salmon-haired man, he said: “Try to fight, run, or bite our dicks off, then this whole mag is getting emptied.” So, you’re literally giving the fellatio of your life. And judging by the grunts coming from Sukuna, it seems you’re doing a decent job keeping him going. 

As for the other one, Toji, his hands grabbing onto your asscheeks from beneath should answer that. “C’mon, baby, sit on my face. I don’t bite…” you can tell he has the biggest grin on his face saying that, has you hesitant to follow orders. Regardless, you gently sway your ass down to sit on his face. But impatience gets the best of him before he pulls you down himself, his nose abruptly hitting your clitoris. You jolt despite his hands keeping you on him, forced to feel his tongue and mouth indulging on your wet folds.

So there you sit, bare and nude, for the men to use you as they see fit. Whatever piece of your clothes were torn off you to be fully exposed for them. This is what you choose to do for the sake of your boyfriend: giving yourself off for the night. 

Oh, if Shoko could see you now. Sucking off one of the exact murderers you two were talking about at the diner while the other eats you out? You know you’ll never hear the end of it from her if — by some miracle — she finds out! And you’ll hold onto that miracle for as long as you can. 

“…Fuuuck, hnngh! It’s been a minute since I had my dick on something tight,” Sukuna comments while putting his free hand on your head. His thrusts increase to have your tongue bathe the underside of his dick, and he sighs at you choking when the tip suddenly hits your uvula. “Heh, that’s right. Keep those tears coming, pet…You seem to be enjoying yourself there, Fushiguro. This broad taste that fucking good—Ohhh shit, fucking shit…”

You can feel Toji’s lips curve into a smile from down under, he gives your labia and clit a slow and antagonizing lick before responding to his partner in crime. “Mmmm, man. It’s been a while since I had to do this. Crazy how this princess got with a square like that kid. Wonder if he makes ‘em feel good like this.” And then he returns to your clit to give it a harsh suck. 

Your body continues to be used like a toy. Your jaw loosens to oblige Sukuna’s girth that’s currently hitting the back of your throat every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. His ruts dial-up, and you ball your fists with the constant oral abuse on your face. Drool runs down your chin with every shove of his length, practically choking you with his dick. And the commotion between your leaking vulva and Toji doesn’t go unnoticed either; motherfuker’s tongue is relentless, making sure every crevice and part of your pussy is familiar with him. And the sounds of him slurping your essence are so lewd, so erotic for your ears that you think they’re bound to explode on you. 

“—Ahhh, damn, I’m gonna cum,” Oh, God. Your eyes open to look at Sukuna’s expression, nothing but pure enjoyment looking at your pitiful look. “You’re cute looking all pathetic taking my cock like this, whore—Mmmph!! Shiiiit, keep your head like that.” He grabs your head as his thrusts speed up to an irregular pace, your throat and face becoming numb. Your whimpers are muffled, and tears streak down your cheeks. His groans of pleasure fill the room, and before you know it, his load is released down to the depths of your throat. You’re stuck taking it, mewling on the shaft still in your mouth until he’s finished. 

He removes you when he is, his cock slathered in your saliva and still rock hard. You gawk at it, amazed that you could fit it in your mouth. And you hate to admit this, but it has you wondering what Toji’s is like. 

Speaking of, with a foggy mind, you peer down to see Toji finally done eating your cunt out. “Ya taste good, you know that.” He licks his lips provocately with a smile. You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off. “You ready fr’ me now?” He cocks his chin up, and you turn to see what he’s talking about, only to be met with the pinkish-red tip of his sprung erect cock. If you didn’t think you’d be able to have Sukuna’s in your mouth, you’re going to need a diety’s grace to see what you can do with Toji’s. “Heh, think I’m too big fr’ you? How the hell is Kento handling a piece like you?”

“S–Shut up, stop bringing him up!” You shout at him, tired of being reminded of the love of your life whom you’re betraying right now. All for his sake, but still…

He chuckles at your reaction. “Little girl got spark, huh. Fine then, be a doll and put it in yourself.” 

Cold sweat slides from your brow. Me? I’ve gotta put that shit in on my own!? But you have to. You know you do. So, with anxiousness pooling in your stomach, you bring your ass up and use your hand to align his cock to your wet cunt. 

It takes a lot of mental motivation for you to continue, but slowly and surely, you push the folds of your cunt onto his glans. The pain you experience makes it excruciating to bear, but with steady breaths, you push the tip in with every exhale. And when it finally enters your vulva, a gasp erupts from your puffy lips and a hiss from the man with the scarred lip. “Mmmm, slow down, baby, slow it down…” That was probably the only words he’s ever said that you could trust, so you anchor your ass down, taking in every inch of his length with his hands guiding your ass down. When you reach the base, you give yourself a few seconds to adjust to his girth within your velvety walls. “Fuck, ya feel so nice and tight, princess.”

“Is that so?” Sukuna walks from behind. “Can’t wait for me to have a go.” You couldn’t even comprehend the meaning of that sentence because the salmon-haired one kicked your back. You are now mounted on Toji completely, the two of you facing each other while Sukuna crouches behind your ass. “Get ready, I’m putting it in.”

“Huh?” Wait, both at the same time!? “Ho–Hold on, I’ve never done it in my ass bef—“

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me; guess I’ll be the first then,” he shuts down your argument and then bends down to use his fingers and spit to ease your asshole. It feels so gross and repulsive that you could puke right now. Not that it would matter to Sukuna because he’s already set on doing it — his fore and middle finger pushing in and out of your anus. When he feels you’ve loosened up, he’ll remove his digits and substitute them with his cock. 

And he doesn’t warn you either, fucking bastard; he nudges his dick in his own countdown with no regard to how you’re feeling. Gripping onto the raven-haired man’s black shirt, Sukuna’s cock puts you through pain worth traumatizing, evoking screams that scratch your throat until he gets the whole thing in your ass. Nanami would never put you through this much pain. Never!

“Aww, y’re making the pretty girl cry,” Toji teases condescendingly, chuckling at the sight of you burying your head in his chest to shield the embarrassment. 

Sukuna hums while grinding his hips to your ass, a tiny bit of blood painting his shaft. “Hmph, good, makes my enjoyment worthwhile. Now,” you shriek with the sudden snap of his hips to your ass. “Let’s get this show started.”

When Sukuna moves, Toji follows right after, and you’re left to fend for yourself in this unsteady tempo from both your holes. You start seeing stars from the unusual stimulation, and your mind and vision become so blurry that it hurts to think. Hell, it hurts to try and concentrate on one dick at a time! One is currently scraping the wells of your walls in a way that your slit clenches around him, while the other churns your insides from the back that almost takes your breath away. More drool and tears seep into the black shirt you use to disguise yourself from them. This shit is already humiliating as is!

“C’mon now, baby. Show me that pretty face of y’rs.” Of course, Toji uses one hand to nudge your head to look at him. Your face is such a wet and hot mess, the sweat on your body making you sticky. The attempt to make sentences is beyond you, relying on moans and choked sobs to express your disorganized emotions. “There ya are. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Toji then takes your plump lips with his, his hand snaking to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. It was one thing letting them use your cunt and ass as they see fit; now, they dare to kiss you in a time like this. Oh, this is the absolute worst! How can you speak to Nanami ever again after this!? These lips are now sullied by the lips and cock of other men. You can’t ever go back and say that you were his, and it’s because of these assholes!!

…And what’s worse, you were starting to find enjoyment in what you were doing, sinking into Toji’s kiss and moaning into his scarred lips.

“Haahh…Mmmph…Damn, this slut is so fucking tight.” Sukuna watches your back glisten in the light while your ass quaked under his unstable momentum. He sneers before slapping your asscheek, resulting in a rushed moan and a twitch from your pussy. Toji breaks the kiss. “Hey, keep doing that. Think they like it.” 

With devilish glee, the tattooed other doesn’t hold back. He gives you another smack to the ass, and more loud purrs and shrieks fill the space between you three. Fast ruts to your soaping slit and ass coincide with the strikes to your butt, catching you off guard and leaving a stinging sensation every time. 

It’s apparent now that your hips start to move on their own, riding out your own high while preparing for your orgasm that’s climbing up. And the raven-haired man notices as he puts your hand on your aching buttcheeks. “Goin somewhere, dollface?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake, let me come already!! “—Ahhnn, ooohhhh!! I’m about to cummm—I’m gonna break—Eeyahhh!!!

“That so?” You want to wipe that smirk off his stupid, dumb, handsome face. “Then go ahead and get dirty, princess. Ring us up.”

Your arousal staggers up when both of their thrusts fall into a unity, the tender spots of your gummy walls from your ass and cunt being hit and abused prompt more ecstatic moans and your head pounding with every jab. Almost there, almost! Please, please, I want it!! And you are finally given what you want; your release crashes into you in a hard swoop, the shocks crawling up your body while your holes contract around both men’s cocks. Your brain falls into an erotic trance; you only care about the euphoric sensations tingling around your body. Dizziness overtakes you, and your head descends back on Toji’s chest.

“Hmph, you really a pathetic pet.” Sukuna grinds his pelvis into your sensitive ass. The aftershocks from your release still make your body react to their movements. “Chasing for your own orgasm, huh. We outta fuck that selfishness right out of you, damn brat…”

You don’t say anything — more like you don’t have the energy to. Your ass and chasm are too stuffed to keep your mind active, and your eyelids feel too heavy to keep up. It probably was from all that crying and screaming. All you want to do is go back to sleep in your bed at your cozy apartment. But that must be asking for too much. Just please end this nightmare…

Kenty…Please forgive me, I’m so sorry….

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You can’t remember how sleep found you that night. But your eyes open to the ray of sunshine that peaks through the binds of your bedroom. Wait, my bedroom!?

You shoot up from your bed, the soft comforter and sheets peeling off your skin, and the cool air from the air conditioning welcomes you back to your personal space. Everything untouched, everything where it’s supposed to be — where you’re supposed to be.

A deep breath is the first thing you do when you wake up, following a long exhale. Was I dreaming? You would’ve accepted that delusion had you not looked down to realize that your figure was covered with one of your oversized shirts, remembering that your old pajamas were cut and torn up. Flashes of last night return to haunt you, and shivers travel down your spine from realizing what transpired at those ungodly hours. You quickly check your sheets for any stains — Thank God, none. Funny how a pair of serial killing assholes have the decency to clean up your body. 

And then a sudden feeling of dread crawls up after hearing your phone vibrating on your nightstand. You hurry to check the screen to find out it was a text message from Nanami. It’s a Saturday, 9 a.m. He’d usually be sleeping in until noon. Curious, you unlock your phone to check what your boyfriend is texting you about.

Recent Message from: ♡ my bby nanamiii ♡

Hey, Y/n. Hope you slept well and everything’s okay. I’m coming from Geto’s place after picking up Haibara, who is going through the worst hangover right now. He said he wants to see you and that you make the best meals for his hangovers. I don’t want to intrude if you’re not up for guests, so please tell me so I can take him somewhere else. But otherwise, we’ll be there at around 30-45 mins. Let’s just relax this weekend, okay?

Reading the text as you fall in love with him all over again. After what you’ve gone through, knowing that he’s safe and sound from any trouble, all you want right now is to be around him and hold him close. To be with him and forget about everything that’s happened. 

You send a heartwarming reply saying you’ll be waiting for the two of them. Then, you remove yourself from the bed and stretch out your fatigued muscles. Ugh, I should probably shower before Nananmi gets here…

However, before you lift your shirt and head for the bathroom, you notice a glass of water and a bag full of pills. Huh…I definitely didn’t have that there when I went to sleep before I was taken. And next to the glass was a folded piece of paper. Curiosity got the best of you this morning as you picked up the material to read its contents. 

And this is where you knew your life was changing, for better or worse. Your legs give out, making you fall to your knees with a shaky breath, the hairs of your body standing, and your heart on the verge of leaping out of your mouth. What you read crushed your whole being, leaving you cold in this world — worse than the autumn breeze.

Yo, thanks for the great time last night. Keep that up, and your pretty boytoy will keep standing. Here’s water and birth control, and keep that bag safe. Wouldn’t wanna end up losing it for the next time we fuck you dumb. See ya later, pet.

SR + TF

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly <3 header art by rororgi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[norrisainz33]

Team USA || LS2

☆ summary: the 2024 Paris Olympics have started and Logan Sargeant’s partner is set to make her Olympic debut

☆ pairing: logan sargeant x olympian!reader

☆ fc: none until the very end

☆ warnings: none

୨୧┈୨୧

ynuser has made a post

liked by logansargeant, williamsracing, lilymhe, teamusa, and 210,002 others

ynuser: the day i’ve always dreamed of is here - i’m headed to the 2024 olympics to represent teamusa! thank you to my friends, my family, and my logan for supporting me through every up and down over the past few years. time to get the gold 🇺🇸🦅🏅

view all 234 comments

teamusa: can’t wait to see you in Tahiti! 🇺🇸

user1: RAHHHH AMERICA 🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

user4: ‘my logan’ i’m sleeping in the road

logansargeant: i could not be more proud of you y/n/n

ynuser: couldn’t have done it without you logie bear

user2: they’re my favorite couple on the grid

williamsracing: congratulations y/n! american or not we will be cheering you on 💙

yourbff: america’s it girl

user3: USA USA USA

Williamsracing has posted a video

liked by logansargeant, alex_albon, teamusa, ynuser, and 609,012 others

williamsracing: Ahead of the Olympics starting today, we put Albono and Sarge to the test 😂🎨

view all 245 comments

user13: whelp they tried their best

user16: LOGIE IS SO POOKIE CODED liked by ynuser

ynuser: close enough 🇺🇸

williamsracing: our olympic queen 😫🫶🏻

ynuser: my admin 😘

user5: admin has a crush on her too it seems

user12: RAHHHHHH LOGAN 🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

user17: resign logie bear or else!!!!!!!

logansargeant has posted a story

view story replies

user22: BIG DAY FOR AMERICA 🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

alex_albon: let’s go y/n/n!!! 🏄‍♀️🌊

lilymhe: OUR GIRLFRIEND IS GONNA EAT

logansargeant: our?!

lilymhe: how many times do we have to talk about this logan!!! that’s my girl too!!!

logansargeant: fine but you have to share alex with me then

lilymhe: done and done

ynuser: i’ll be cheering for you from tahiti!! score some points for me baby 💙🇺🇸

logansargeant: i’ll do my best sweet girl 💙 score a perfect 10 for me 😘

ynuser: call me when you can after the race, i miss you and your face so much

logansargeant: i will!!! i miss and love you so very much

user27: you’re scoring loints this weekend i just know it

f1tv has posted a video

view comments

user27: seeing him happy is such a good feeling

user88: no for real - he hasn’t been this happy in a post race interview in a while

user47: he needed this

user28: logan deserves the world

user29: he loves y/n so much it’s sickening

user31: boyfriend of the year award is his fr

user23: sargenation we are so up rn

user88: we used to pray for times like these

user55: both of our american beauties slayed today

user65: someone get this man a contract asap!!!

logansargeant made a post

liked by ynuser, williamsracing, teamusa, oscarpiastri, and 546,203

logansargeant: thankful for the break because it means I get to cheer on y/n in person as she represents teamusa. into the final push for gold we go🏅💙🇺🇸

view all 765 comments

user24: mr and mrs america

user25: USA USA USA RAHHHHH EAGLE GUN SHOT BOOM BOOM BOOM 🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

oscarpiastri: i may be rooting for australia but i am still so proud of you y/n

ynuser: osco 😭 thank you

ynuser: i’m so glad you’re here logie. your support is unmatched 💙

user27: THE power couple

lilymhe: america’s sweethearts 🫶🏻

ynuser: wifey 🤭

lilymhe: mommy 😍

logansargeant: stop flirting on my own post

lilyzneimer: the most iconic girl in the world, let’s go y/n!!!

ynuser: the sweetest girl in the world 🫶🏻

logansargeant has made a post

liked by teamusa, williamsracing, ynuser, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 589,575 others

logansargeant: SHE DID IT!!!! Y/N is an olympic gold medalist!!!! To say i’m proud would be an understatement. y/n/n, i am in awe of you.. you have worked harder than anyone i’ve ever seen and i am so lucky to have been able to grow and reach for the stars by your side. You’re a gold medalist baby - you’re the best in world. soak it in 💙🇺🇸🏄‍♀️

view all 984 comments

user2: not me crying watching y/n take the gold (im not even american)

oscarpiastri: congratulations y/n!! an impressive effort all around. looking forward to you teaching me your ways 😉

carlossainz55: vamos y/n!

lilymhe: QUEEN OF THE WORLD LETS GO

alex_albon: YESS Y/N!!!

williamsracing: our golden girl 💙

naxverstappen1: simply lovely stuff ynuser

alexandrasaintmleux: félicitations ma belle fille 🫶🏻🏅

georgerussell63: y/n yabba dabba did it!! 💪🏻🏄‍♀️

lilyzneimer: i’m so proud of y/n i can’t stop crying 😭

pierregasly: me, kika and simba are so beyond happy for you y/n

user24: stop all the drivers and wags and admin supporting her is so wholesome

user87: the outpouring of love is so beautiful wtf 😭

user25: the american dream (or whatever idk)

ynuser: logan hunter sargeant i love you more than i’ll ever have words for. your support, guidance and compassion over the years is one of the only reasons im here today. thank you for being there for me and flying half way across the world to watch my dreams come true 🤍🤍

logansargeant: there is no place else i would have rather been

user28: listen if my partner doesnt support me as much as logan supports y/n… i dont want it

user65: i just fell to my knees

user29: she is captain america 💙🦅💙🇺🇸

୨୧┈୨୧

☆ a/n: i love the olympics and logan just felt right for this one. thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated

୨୧┈୨୧

© norrisainz33: please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[inkdrinkerworld]

Maybe Spencer is having a bad BAD day, full on ptsd, and sunshine!reader is trying hard to cheer him up. It gets to a point where Spmcer just snaps and says something mean and starts a fight

Spencer can feel the bars around him. He feels trapped in his own mind because he can see that he isn’t in prison anymore, but his brain has been conjuring these vivid dreams of him being back and of Shaw sending men to beat him up.

Every night, the dreams end with Spencer never being found not guilty and him having to spend five years in prison and his eventual death from Shaw’s men.

He’s gasping and shaking and there’s a sweat spot on his sheets. He apologises every morning, you tell him it’s okay and that you’re here to talk. He never wants to talk about it and you never push.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night and it makes him irritable.

When he comes into work, you try not to internalise the way he brushes you out of his path as he beelines for the coffee pot.

“I already put your cup on your desk. With breakfast.” You try to temper your cheeriness when you notice the way his shoulders tense.

Spencer wants to be grateful, but all he can think is, ‘I can do it myself. I can take care of myself.’

He doesn’t say anything, not a quiet thanks, not even a half smile.

Your nerves are frayed immediately.

You don’t know what Spencer experienced in prison, he’s told you bits and pieces, the nicer parts of living in a 4 x 4.

Yet, you know the signs of PTSD and as the day drags on, you’re almost certain Spencer’s having a rough go of things.

He’s been snappy with Luke, nice with Penelope, and then flippant with you all over again. It’s hard not to feel like nothing you do is helping.

“We could go out to get lunch. From the place you like, the burger joint.” Spencer’s been slipping in and out of this conversation and the longer he hears your sweet voice, the more it sounds like chalk grating a blackboard.

At his silence, “Or we could order in? Whatever helps, Spence.”

Suddenly, his coffee cup is shattering in the wall behind your head and Spencer’s chest is racing. “Stop!” You feel hot tears prick behind your eyes at being yelled at; at work no less.

“It would help if you weren’t fucking hovering all the damn time. I can take care of myself, I don’t need your help. As a matter of fact, I don’t want your help. Go find someone else to be happy go lucky with, some of us can’t stand it.”

Your breath hitches, you’ve never heard Spencer speak with such venom. You reach a hand to your cheek pulling it away to find blood on your fingertips. Spencer must see it too because he’s on his feet, reaching for you as you step away from his outstretched hands.

You try to remind yourself that he’s just reeling, that he’s been having a rough couple of nights, that this will pass and that you don’t need to be mean to him too. “Fuck you Spencer.” The words are out of you before you can think about it much more. It’s honestly the nicest thing you could muster right now, embarrassment and defeat hot in your chest.

Emily and Matt rush in, finding Spencer tugging at his hair. Emily sighs as she sees the broken mug, Matt sighs as he notes your missing presence.

“Fucking stupid.” Spencer murmurs to himself, pushing back his chair, digging around in his desk for a first aid kit. “I’ll come back and clean it up,” no one is really listening. Emily will do this for him while he cleans up his other mess.

Spencer finds you in the bathroom with Penelope cleaning the little shards from your hair and cheek.

She glares at him and Spencer feels even worse; to top it off you don’t even look at him, just at his shoes.

“I’ll finish it, Garcia.” She stills, not knowing what to do. As she looks at you, you give her a little nod and she leaves, rubbing your back as she goes.

Spencer doesn’t approach you for some time, standing there like you’re the one who exploded and he’s waiting for another shout.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, taking up the tweezers Penelope left behind and reaching for your cheek. Spencer cradles your face gently as he picks the shards out. “I shouldn’t have thrown the mug, or said any of what I said.”

You don’t say anything, letting him continue. “You don’t hover, and I love that you’re always smiling and happy. It’s not an excuse but my dreams are really getting to me, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

You offer Spencer your other hand. You weigh your words, “No you shouldn’t have. I understand that some of what happened while you were in prison is too hard to talk about, but you need to talk to someone Spencer. You can’t just throw things and scream and then shut people out.”

He nods, “Luke recommended me to a psychiatrist for people suffering from PTSD, but I guess I felt like going would be me admitting that things there got to me.”

You sigh, “I’m not sure if I can do this if you’re going to shut me out and be violent like that.” At Spencer’s panicked eyes you continue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but this unchecked shit is going to. Whether you mean for it to or not.”

Spencer opens the first aid kit and swipes at your cheek gently, grateful that it hadn’t been a deep cut. Still he knows the silver scar it’s going to leave will eat at him forever.

“I made an appointment for tomorrow at nine.” He mumbles, worry and dread eating at his stomach. “I know it might take a bit for you to trust me again-“

You roll your eyes, “I do trust you. I trust that you’ll go to therapy, use all the tools given to you and cue me in when things are too hard. I trust that you won’t do this again Spencer. I’m not going to punish you for having an off day.”

Tears spring to his eyes unconsciously, “You don’t want to leave? Because I’d understand if you wanted to.”

You kiss his wrist, “No I don’t want to. I know you’re going to get better, but if there’s a next time, Spencer I’m not staying.”

“There won’t be a next time, I swear.” He kisses right under your injured cheek, tender and soft.

[harrysfolklore]

first win - op81

gif by @princemick <33

summary: the road to oscar’s first grand prix win. wc: 3.4K

folkie radio: OSC’S FIRST WIN 🥹🥹🥹 that race that so stressful but he did it and i’m so happy! fun fact: i wrote this fic last night bc i just FELT oscar was winning, i just added today’s race a few hours ago 😭 i hope you like it! leave feedback

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

February 5, 2023. Bahrain Grand Prix

Today was the big day. Oscar Piastri was set to make his Formula 1 debut as a McLaren driver.

You've talked about this countless of times, sharing dreams and fears, mapping out every step of his journey from karting to the pinnacle of motorsport.

Now, as you stood in the garage with the crowd's energy buzzing around you, it was hard to believe that moment had finally arrived.

Oscar was going through some pre-race talks with his team. You caught sight of him from a distance, his face a mask of focus and determination. When he spotted you, he broke into a smile, and for a brief moment, the tension seemed to melt away.

You make your way over to him as he finishes up with his team.

"Ready to set the track on fire, hotshot?" you tease, playfully tugging at the sleeve of his race suit.

Oscar grins, a mix of excitement and nerves dancing in his eyes. "Well, hopefully not literally. I don't think the team would appreciate a barbecued car on my first outing."

His chuckle is tinged with a hint of nervousness. You notice his hand fidgeting with the zipper of his race suit – a telltale sign of his pre-race jitters.

"Hey," you say softly, taking his hand. "Remember what we always say? You've earned this. You belong here."

"I know. It's just...," he took a deep breath, "It's really happening, isn't it? All those years of dreaming, and now..."

"And now you're about to drive the pants off everyone out there," you finish for him, your voice filled with confidence.

As the final call for drivers echoes through the garage, you both know it's time. Oscar's eyes lock with yours, a swirl of emotions passing between you. Without a word, he pulls you close, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It's brief but filled with emotion.

"For luck," you whisper as you part, your foreheads still touching.

"With you here, I've got all the luck I need," Oscar replies softly, his smile warm and genuine.

With a final squeeze of your hand, he heads to where he's needed. You watch him go, your heart racing with anticipation.

The race begins, and for the first 14 laps, everything seems to be going well. Oscar is holding his own, fighting in the midfield, showing flashes of the talent that got him here.

But on lap 15, your heart sinks as you see his car slow down, veering off the racing line. The team radio crackles with the devastating news: "Box, box. We have a steering issue. We need to retire the car."

You watch, helpless, as Oscar brings the car back to the pits. The disappointment is palpable as he climbs out, his debut cut short.

As soon as he's free from the debrief, you find him in his driver's room. His face is a mask of frustration and disappointment.

"Hey," you say softly, taking his hand. "You okay?"

Oscar sighs, squeezing your hand. "Not really. I just... I wanted to finish the race, you know? Show everyone what I could do."

You pull him into a hug. "And you will. This is just the first race, Oscar. There are plenty more to come."

July 9, 2023. British Grand Prix

Silverstone is one of the most special races in the calendar, and for Oscar it's even more special because England is his second home.

He really wanted to deliver a great result. So far, he hadn't been able to place above P8 and he desperately wanted to improve that.

"I know you're nervous about tomorrow," you said as you laid your head on his chest, feeling him tense, "But you're going to do great, baby."

Oscar wraps his arm around you, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder. "You really think so?" he asks, his voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "I know so. You've been getting stronger with every race. The car's improving, and you're more comfortable with it. Plus, this is Silverstone - you know this track like the back of your hand."

He smiles, some of the tension leaving his face. "I do love this circuit."

"That's the spirit," you say, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Now get some sleep. You've got some racing to do in the morning."

The next day you watch from the garage, your heart swells with pride as Oscar delivers a perfect drive. As he crosses the finish line in P4, the garage erupts in cheers. It's his best result in Formula 1 to date, a performance that will silence any remaining doubters.

When he finally makes it back to the garage, helmet off and face beaming, you're there waiting. He sweeps you up in a hug, both of you laughing with joy.

"You did it!" you exclaim as he sets you down. "I told you you could do it!"

Oscar's eyes are shining with elation and pride. "We did it," he corrects you. "I couldn't have done this without your support."

September 24th, 2023. Japanese Grand Prix

You're perched on the edge of your couch, eyes glued to the TV screen, your heart racing as the lights go out at Suzuka. It's killing you not to be there in person, but work commitments had made the trip to Japan impossible.

Your mind flashes back to your conversation with Oscar yesterday after qualifying. His voice had been filled with excitement and a hint of disbelief as he told you about securing second place on the grid, right behind Max Verstappen.

"Can you believe it?" he had said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "P2! Right behind Max! I mean, I knew the car felt good, but this... this is incredible!"

You had matched his enthusiasm, your pride evident in your voice. "I told you you could do it! Just imagine what you could do in the race from there."

Now, as the race unfolds, you find yourself alternating between cheering out loud and holding your breath. When he crosses the finish line in third place, you leap off the couch, screaming in joy. His first podium and in just his 14th race.

You watch the podium ceremony with tears in your eyes, your heart swelling with pride as Oscar stands there, beaming, champagne in hand next to Max and Lando. It's a moment you've both dreamed about for so long.

It was killing you not to be there.

Hours pass, and you know Oscar must be caught up in team celebrations and media obligations. You're itching to talk to him, but you don't want to interrupt. Finally, just as you're considering going to bed, your phone rings.

"Hey, podium finisher," you answer, unable to keep the smile out of your voice.

"Hey yourself," Oscar replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Sorry it took so long to call. It's been absolutely crazy here."

"Don't apologize! I'm just so incredibly proud of you, Oscar. You were amazing out there. Your first podium, it's a dream come true."

There's a moment of silence, and when Oscar speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. "I just wish you could have been here. It doesn't feel quite complete without you."

"I know," you say softly. "I wish I could have been there too. But hey, this is just the first of many podiums, right? I'll be there for the next one."

"You bet it is," Oscar chuckles, "And you better be, I need someone to help me wash all this champagne out of my hair."

You laugh, feeling a mix of joy and longing. "I love you, Oscar. Enjoy your celebrations. You've earned it."

"I love you too," he replies warmly, "And I miss you, we have some celebration on our own to do."

October 8th, 2023. Qatar Grand Prix.

The heat in Qatar is suffocating, but the excitement in the air is even more intense. You're back in the paddock, determined not to miss another milestone in Oscar's career. Yesterday's sprint shootout had been a nail-biter, with Oscar securing pole position for the sprint race by mere hundredths of a second.

As the short-format race begins, you hold your breath. Oscar gets a perfect start, maintaining his lead into the first corner. As the final lap approaches, the McLaren garage is in shambles.

When Oscar crosses the finish line in first place, the explosion of joy is deafening. You're jumping up and down, tears streaming down your face as you watch him punch the air in triumph. He's done it - his first ever Formula 1 race win.

As Oscar pulls into parc fermé, you can see the emotion on his face even through his helmet. When he finally removes it, his smile is brighter than the Qatari sun. The team swarms him, and you hang back, letting him soak in this moment with the people who've worked so hard to make this possible.

When he finally breaks free and spots you, his face lights up even more. He rushes over, sweeping you into a tight embrace.

"You did it!" you exclaim, your voice muffled against his race suit. "Your first win, Oscar! I'm so proud of you!"

Oscar pulls back, his eyes shining with. "We did it," he corrects you, just as he did after Silverstone.

You laugh, wiping away happy tears. "Well this is just the beginning. Next stop, Grand Prix victory."

May 5, 2024. Miami Grand Prix.

The air in Oscar's driver's room is heavy with disappointment. You watch as he paces back and forth, still in his race suit, his face a mixture of frustration and barely contained anger.

The race had started so promisingly - Oscar had taken the lead early on and was driving beautifully. But then, a collision forced him into an unscheduled pit stop for a new front wing, dropping him down the order and out of contention for a podium finish.

"I had it," Oscar mutters, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I was leading the race, I had the pace. If it wasn't for that idiot..."

You step closer, your heart aching for him. "I know, baby. You were driving amazingly out there."

Oscar stops pacing and looks at you, his eyes filled with disappointment. "It's not fair. We've worked so hard, the car was perfect, and then..."

He trails off, shaking his head. You close the distance between you, gently taking his hands in yours. "Hey, look at me," you say softly.

Oscar meets your gaze, and you can see the vulnerability behind his frustration.

"You're right, it's not fair," you continue. "But that's racing sometimes. What matters is how you come back from this. And you will come back from this, stronger than ever."

"I just... I wanted this so badly."

You pull him into a hug, feeling him slowly relax against you. "I know. And your time will come, Oscar. This doesn't change how talented you are or how hard you've worked. It's just a bump in the road."

May 26th, 2024. Monaco Grand Prix.

The streets of Monaco buzz with anticipation for one the most important races in the Formula 1 calendar. For Oscar, this was his second time racing in Monaco, and the excitement was palpable.

From your spot in the McLaren hospitality suite, you had the perfect view of the circuit. Oscar thought you were back home, watching from the living room, but you couldn't miss this race. You wanted to see him shine on this iconic track.

You had coordinated with the team to keep your presence a surprise. As Oscar has his last quiet moments in his driver room before the preparations started, you sent him a quick text: "Good luck, love. Drive fast, be safe. I'll be cheering you on from home!"

Oscar's response was immediate. "Thanks, babe. I miss you. Wish you were here, but I'll bring home a trophy for you."

You smiled, knowing that he was in for a big surprise.

The race began, and Oscar quickly settled into a rhythm. He defended his P2 position until the checkered flag waved.

The team erupted in cheers, and you felt tears of joy streaming down your face. It was his third podium finish, and it was in Monaco of all places.

Oscar climbed out of his car, waving to the cheering crowd, his face glowing with joy and relief. As he stood on the podium, spraying champagne and celebrating with Charles and Carlos, you made your way down to the team area.

When the podium celebrations were over, and Oscar was heading back to the garage, you waited for the perfect moment. As he turned the corner, you stepped out, catching his eye.

"Oscar!" you called out, your voice carrying over the noise of the paddock.

He froze, his eyes widening in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, a huge grin spreading across his face as he rushed over to you.

"I couldn't miss this. I had to see you race in Monaco," you threw your arms around him, laughing.

Oscar hugged you tightly, lifting you off your feet. "You sneaky little... I can't believe you're here!"

"Congratulations, baby. You were incredible out there," you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"This... this is amazing. Thank you for being here. It means everything to me."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," you replied, kissing him softly.

July 7th, 2024. British Grand Prix

Oscar had been more motivated than ever. After finishing second the previous week in Austria, he was eager to claim his first Grand Prix victory, and what better place than Silverstone.

He started strong, fighting his way to the front and eventually taking the lead. The team was buzzing with excitement; victory seemed within reach.

But then, disaster struck. A poorly timed pit stop strategy caused Oscar to lose crucial positions. Despite his best efforts, he crossed the finish line in P4. It was his best finish at Silverstone but not the victory he had hoped for.

Later that day back at Oscar's apartment you watched him pace back and forth. He finally stopped and leaned against the window, staring out into the night. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was set in frustration. The silence was deafening.

"What's on your mind?" you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Oscar didn't turn around. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

You stood up and walked over to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're upset. But sometimes talking helps."

He sighed deeply and turned to face you, his eyes filled with frustration and disappointment. "I was leading the race. I could have won. My first victory, right here at Silverstone. And it slipped away because of a stupid strategy call."

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "It wasn't your fault, Oscar. You drove an amazing race. Everyone saw how talented you are."

"But it doesn't change the fact that I could have won," he said, his voice cracking with frustration. "I've been waiting for this moment my whole life, and it was right there. And now... I don't know when I'll get another chance like this."

You pulled him into a tight hug, feeling his body tense before he finally relaxed against you. "Your time will come. I know it will. You've shown everyone what you're capable of, and there will be other races, other chances. This is just one race in a long career."

Oscar pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I just wanted it so badly. To win here, in front of the home crowd... it would have meant everything."

"I know," you said softly. "And you'll get there. Maybe not today, but soon. And when you do, it'll be even sweeter because of everything you've gone through to get there."

July 21, 2024. Hungary Grand Prix

The Hungaroring buzzed with excitement as the cars lined up on the grid. Oscar, starting from the front row, felt a mixture of determination and nervous energy. As the lights went out, he got a perfect start, pulling away cleanly from the pack.

Lap after lap, Oscar maintained his lead. The team's excitement grew with each passing circuit. This could be it - his first Grand Prix victory.

However, as the race progressed, pit stop strategies began to shake up the order. After a particularly well-timed stop, Lando emerged just ahead of him. The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable.

Soon, team radio crackled to life. Reminding both drivers about strategies, and particularly asking Lando to give the position to Oscar, creating tension both on and off track.

In the final laps, Lando finally relented. He moved slightly wide in a corner, allowing Oscar to slip past. Oscar crossed the finish line first, claiming his maiden Grand Prix victory.

The team erupted in cheers, but the celebration felt somewhat muted. As Oscar climbed out of his car in parc fermé, his face was hard to read.

As you watched Oscar ascend the podium, your heart swelled with pride. Despite the complicated circumstances of his win, seeing him stand on the top step, the Australian national anthem playing in his honor, was a dream come true.

The champagne spray began, and you couldn't help but smile as Oscar, Lando, and Lewis doused each other in celebration. For a moment, the tension seemed to melt away as the three drivers laughed and enjoyed the moment.

As Oscar descended from the podium, his eyes immediately sought you out in the crowd. You managed to catch him just before he was whisked away for interviews.

"Congratulations, champ," you said, pulling him into a quick embrace.

Oscar hugged you tightly, his race suit still damp with champagne. "Thank you for being here," he murmured against your ear.

You pulled back, searching his face. "How are you feeling?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his features. "I'm not sure yet. I need to process everything."

"I understand," you nodded. "Go do your interviews. We'll talk properly later."

Oscar's eyes softened. He glanced around quickly, then leaned in and gave you a quick kiss. "Love you, see you after."

Hours later, after all the media obligations and team debriefs were over, Oscar finally made his way back to the McLaren hospitality area.

As he entered the room, his eyes immediately sought you out. You were there, beaming with pride, and the sight of you seemed to melt away some of his conflicted feelings.

"There's my champion," you said softly as he approached.

Oscar's face broke into a genuine smile, the first one since he'd crossed the finish line. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your neck.

"I did it," he murmured against your skin. "I actually did it."

You pulled back slightly to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. "You did. And I am so incredibly proud of you, Oscar."

His eyes searched yours, vulnerability evident in his gaze. "It wasn't exactly how I imagined my first win would be," he admitted.

"I know," you nodded, understanding in your voice. "But that doesn't make it any less of an achievement. You drove brilliantly today, from start to finish."

"I just wish... I wish it had been a clean fight to the end, you know?" Oscar sighed, leaning his forehead against yours, "Without the team orders and all that."

"Hey," you said, making him meet your eyes again. "This is Formula 1. It's rarely ever straightforward. What matters is that you proved yourself out there today. You're a Grand Prix winner now, and no one can take that away from you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "When did you get so wise?"

"Oh, I've always been wise. You're just finally starting to notice," you teased, earning a chuckle from him.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For always being here, for believing in me even when things get complicated."

"Always," you promised, leaning in to kiss him softly.

The kiss deepened, both of you pouring your emotions into it - your pride and joy, his relief and love. When you finally parted, Oscar was smiling more brightly.

"So, Grand Prix winner," you grinned, "ready to go celebrate properly?"

[leclercmode]

big win ☁️ charles leclerc

summary: charles is the first home winner of the monaco grand prix and you couldn’t be prouder.

couple: married! charles x you

Y/N in the Ferrari’s Paddock

NOW: “A Moment I Will Never Forget” | Emotional Charles Leclerc On His Home Win | 2024 Monaco Grand Prix

comments ⬇️

user1 i love the way charles talks about y/n, i want a relationship like theirs 🥹😢💔‼️✨

user2 the respect they have for each other 😭😭😭

user3 while charles was there, shining with his love for y/n through the interview, all i could think of was "imagine being their future children and seeing such powerful and unbending love between your parents" 🥺

user4 @user3 u’re absolutely right omg 😭🥹🥺😢

user5 when a husband speaks about his wife with so much love - all women thank you!!!!!!!!!!!! because like… this is so SPECIAL to us.

user6 @user5 frrr!! like ??? i’m not even married, but i’m feeling so happy abt them!!!!

user7 ok but can we appreciate how he still has her present even in his work life? unlike other famous people that wants to keep their loved ones on much secrecy as possible. he’s so real and genuine for doing that!!!!

user8 wow imagine having a partner who loves you like he loves her.

ynusername has added to their story

charles_leclerc

Liked by ynleclerc, lewishamilton, and 3.139.681 others

charles_leclerc BEST DAY EVER ❤️❤️❤️

thank you for everything, i love you all ❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️

View all 29.390 comments

user9 congratulations, char 🤍

scuderiaferrari bravo charles!!! so proud ❤️

user10 best weekend everrrrr

user11 you’re the best, we’re so proud of youuu!!

user12 amazing race, charles!! i’m so happy for you and to ferrari.

ynleclerc YAAAAAY!! you did it, good job 😘‼️✨

charles_leclerc @ynleclerc you’re the main reason for every good thing that happens in my life 🤍

user13 @ynleclerc YOURE THE BEST YN

user14 @ynleclerc @charles_leclerc I LOVE YOU BOTH SM

user15 che giornata, charles!! sei nella storia di monaco!! 🇲🇨🇲🇨 (what a day, charles!! you are in monaco history)

charles_leclerc

Liked by ynleclerc, lewishamilton, and 2.349.928 others

charles_leclerc now a big THANK YOU for wifey, i don't know what i’d be without your immeasurable love and support. you're everything i’ve ever dreamed of and everything i could ever dream of having. you're the woman of my life, i love you.

View all 18.982 comments

arthur_leclerc i just love you guys so much

user16 i’m in love with her fr

user17 was here from 2017 and the GROWTH ✨ im just so happy for them

lewishamilton ❤️❤️

user18 charles is deeply in love with yn and she is deeply in love with him

user19 @user18 frrrr!! it’s wonderful to heart them gushing about each other

user20 @user18 and im deeply in love with them

user21 this kind of love makes the world go round

user22 i like that he adores her openly, so egoless. aaaaaa yn, keep him!!!!!!!!!

user23 3 years dating and 5 years married ✨ this is true love.

[pupyuj]

→ “your colorful secrets.” || jang wonyoung x reader fic.

— weeks after the event which you call "the weirdest thing that's ever happened all year", wonyoung approaches you about your 'strange' behavior towards her in the most 'wonyoung' way possible...

word count: 10.6k

dynamic: dom!mean girl!jang wonyoung x sub!nerd!reader.

content warnings: smut, fingering, clit play, nipple play, masturbation (for like, a minute lmao), overstimulation, mommy kink, degradation.

requested? : kind of!

a/n: well, we finally made it ya'll! 😭😭💞 i feel like i'm gonna say this about every fic i write here from now on but PHEWWW THIS QUITE LITERALLY TOOK FOREVER?? but i was more than happy to flesh this little universe out more and revisit our favorite mean girl and her awkward nerd <33 just like you guys, "magic words" is one of my favorite things that i have written so even though this kinda took me wayyy too long to finish, I WAS SO HAPPY THAT I STILL DID IT UEUEUE MEAN GIRL WONY MY BELOVED 🥺💓 anyhow, i really, really hope you guys enjoy this and here's to more mean girl wonys in the future hehehe

p.s. i hope ya'll don't get bored too easily bcs wow there's a shit ton of talking in the first half of this fic—

previous: magic words.

jang wonyoung was late. 

to class.

which wasn’t exactly all that surprising considering she thinks she can do whatever she wants. but she was never late to class. you would know—you were always waiting until she entered the room. it was like you were never calm until she appeared, but that was because you have had the biggest, lamest crush on her all year. even the professor took a pause when he called wonyoung’s name for attendance and nobody was there to respond with “i’m here, professor~” and a cheeky smile. you stared at the empty seat in the middle of the classroom, wonyoung’s seat, and wondered what could’ve been in her way for her to— 

“just hold on for mommy, ‘kay?”

you dropped your pen, covering your red face with your hands. your seatmate gave you a brief look before going back to reading her notes. did you really have to think about that first thing in the morning? well, it wasn’t as if it was all you have been thinking about for the past two weeks: wonyoung’s lips on yours, her hands all over you, her sweet voice soothing you, and her eyes looking at you like you were her last meal… you still couldn’t believe that entire thing even happened!

ever since then, things have been really weird. a lot of people looked at you more when before wonyoung fucked you, you were usually ignored which you liked. and you knew everybody whispered about you and wonyoung too. neither of you were being discreet in that room in the library that day so you heard all sorts of things from your fellow students the day after. usually about how they didn’t think you were that kind of girl, or how they never thought wonyoung would ever consider fucking ‘someone like you’. see, other people would be mad if they heard some strangers say all those things about them but actually, you agreed with them.

everything about that day went against a lot of things that you thought about yourself. well, you weren’t planning on staying a virgin forever but you really didn’t expect for it to be taken by jang wonyoung of all people!

“come on, baby. give me a show.”

you squeezed your thighs together, your heart hammering inside your chest. god, it almost felt like wonyoung was right up against your ear—talking to you and berating you for thinking about her 24/7 after she fucked you. you felt your core clench upon remembering how warm wonyoung’s hands were, how her fingers felt ramming inside you… god, you wanted it all again. but there was no way she would agree to that, right? knowing wonyoung and the kind of girl that she was, that would be the only time she would fuck you, right?

a pink jacket catches your attention, making you look up from your thighs. jang wonyoung has finally arrived. she was talking to the professor as she sat in her seat, all smiles and giggles as usual. she throws a brief glance over her shoulder, sharp eyes meeting yours. you didn’t miss the way the corner of her mouth lifted up, smirking at you as she eyed you down. you didn’t even know how the fuck she was able to do that within a millisecond of looking at you, but she did it anyway and it only made you squirm in your seat.

oh, how pathetic you were. you’ve been feeling all sorts of things after wonyoung fucked you, but you never knew what to do about them. for now, you just wanted to get through another day of being in wonyoung’s presence despite everything that’s happened. she hasn’t spoken much to you since that day and you doubted that anything was going to change—she’s jang wonyoung after all. you were probably just another hook-up to her, something she’s bound to forget about in a week or so.

(see, that was just all kinds of wrong because right at this moment, all the nosy people who were staring at wonyoung can clearly see how she spared your pitiful figure by the window little glances every other minute with a sly smile on her face. she didn’t make an effort to be discreet. she never does. when jang wonyoung likes something, she is going to let people know—she has to! or else they’ll all just think you’re up for grabs.

no. wonyoung was going to show them only she can really pull all the nice girls in this school. especially you—(y/n) (l/n), the campus’ adorably awkward bookworm who’s very endearingly clumsy despite her well-put appearance. god, how wonyoung had become obsessed with you and you had absolutely no idea.

but it was more than just your character too. for a while now, actually ever since she fucked you, something about you has been bothering her mind. it’s made her unable to stop thinking about you and truthfully, it fucking pissed her off so much that she had to brainstorm a plan, a solution, for it. which became the reason why she was late today. will wonyoung actually execute it? who knows! for now, she can stare at you scribbling on your notes and laugh to herself because she knew, oh she so knew, that every time you paused, shut your eyes, and shook your head—you were thinking about her.)

thankfully, the class ended after another hour and a half. halfway through it all, you got bored and opted to stare out the window. so much so that you didn’t realize class was over until the familiar scent of money and local fame wafted into your nose—wonyoung had walked past you, and she winked at you. you found yourself freezing up in your seat, so fucking pathetic. nobody seemed to notice what wonyoung had just done which was fortunate for you! with bright red cheeks and ears, you packed up our belongings in record time and swiftly power-walked your way out of the classroom.

the attention that was put on you as you walked along the hallways of the building was annoying, for the lack of a better word. it seems like everybody was looking at you as if this was the very first instance of a loser somehow ‘getting’ the popular girl to sleep with her. sometimes, you wish it never happened. as good as it felt, the aftermath was almost not worth it. you’ve heard cruel things being said about you after that day and to save your enrollment, you kept yourself quiet and pretended like you were unaware. except that you weren’t, so every time you make eye contact with someone and they start whispering to their friend or something, it only adds up to that pool of anger that was slowly building up from the pit of your stomach.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame wonyoung for it all. you were part of the act as much as she was but you also can’t say that you brought all this attention and rumors to yourself. you blamed the other girl’s stupid reputation, actually. but it’s not like you can rewind time and make yourself leave that goddamn room when you thought wonyoung was never going to come. there was no point in dwelling on it now. it happened and you have to live with the consequences. being talked about isn’t half as bad as the threat of your scholarship getting revoked anyway.

you were right on the other side of the building when you realized you had no idea where you wanted to go. you just wanted to get out of that classroom, away from wonyoung’s sights so she can’t have you acting up in front of everybody. not that you would actually be able to make stable eye contact with her anyway. naturally, you found yourself marching towards the washroom. you were nearing to the door when you heard a few girls chattering lively.

you entered the washroom and there stood in front of the mirror were kim jiwon and shim jayoon—your acquaintances and wonyoung’s super smart best friends from one of the science programs. they were the last people you wanted to see face-to-face and for good reason! as soon as they saw you, they squealed and grabbed your arm, yanking you to stand in front of the mirror with them. “there’s the woman of the hour!” jiwon teased, lightly pinching your cheek.

“more like woman of the week—literally nobody is shutting up about you! this must feel like heaven.” jayoon nudges your arm, firmly believing that you liked all of the attention you were getting when you really didn’t. you would do anything to be invisible again.

“is this really what it feels like to be popular? i hate it,” you grumbled, earning a sigh from jayoon. “i don’t know how you guys ever manage.”

“you have an outdated opinion about all of this, baby girl! don’t you like having everyone’s eyes on you? now they’ll see how much of a pretty little thing you are—it’s great!” jiwon said. no, she was not very successful in convincing you that this wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened in your academic life so far. but you decided that you wouldn’t fight her on it and instead, stand idly between the two girls while they gossiped and twirled and played with your hair.

you were completely signed off from the conversation; the only thing in your mind was the feeling of wonyoung’s hands in your hair while she kissed you. unconsciously, you touched your lips with your fingers. fuck.

“oh, you’ve got it bad, huh?” jiwon teases.

“hey, don’t blame (y/n)! wonyoung’s a good kisser—i’d miss her lips too,” jayoon sighs dreamily. then she gasps and grips your forearm tightly. “do you want to fuck her again?” she asked with shiny eyes.

“w-what?!”

“where’d you get your information from, jayoon? wonyoung fucked her.”

“oh, right!”

you covered your face with your hands, “please stop talking.”

jayoon forcefully pries your hand off your face, “listen, gaeul-sunbae is having a party next week and we’ll be there with wonyoung! you should come! we’ll make sure to get you guys a room.” jayoon says with a wink. god, they’d let the two of you fuck in a house full of your schoolmates?! that would just add onto your world of troubles.

“i’m not going to any party and i’m never sleeping with wonyoung again, okay? i just—i want this all to end. i hate it when i’m looked at.” you gently wiggled yourself out of the two girls’ hold and once again marched towards the door.

“you shouldn’t have fucked her then.” jayoon says with a shrug as you reach for the handle, making you pause.

“she fucked me.” you corrected your friend before swinging the door open and exiting the washroom.

“yeah jayoon get your facts straight!” you heard jiwon laugh as you bolted out of the washroom. you rolled your eyes, shaking your head, and glaring at the first person you saw in the hallway. the person in question raised an eyebrow before turning to talk with his friend, eyes lingering on your leaving figure.

gosh, this school was a nightmare.

nevertheless, you survive the long walk back to your classroom without sparing another person a glance. did you bump into people because you absolutely refused to look up? yes! did you care? not at all. it was much, much better than dealing with the scrutiny in everyone’s eyes. apparently, sex was only a problem when the girl who wanted nothing to do with it actually did it. every time you remembered how everyone in the library looked at you after you and wonyoung left that private room, you wanted to scream. literally. all of the negative things that came after the event made you forget about the sweet stuff. like the way wonyoung insisted on driving you home, how she walked you to a bus stop when you refused to ride with her, how she patiently and wordlessly waited for your bus with you, and how she gave you a kiss on the cheek when your bus did arrive.

but what good was having wonyoung’s attention if everybody was also going to look at you, but in a worse light?

you knew it probably wasn’t fair, but you grew a tiny bit of resentment towards the popular girl.

you entered your classroom after a deep breath—eyes glued to the ground and hands hidden under the straps of your backpack. it felt like you were back in high school all over again. this sucked so bad. but unfortunately, getting to your seat was only a bumpy road! all you had to do was not look up and start reading material once you’ve sat down. it should be so easy. of course, fate had other ideas.

wonyoung had bumped into you while walking towards her own seat, forcing you to tear your gaze from the ground to look at her. oh, she was so pretty—no, (y/n)! “sorry.” wonyoung says with a cheeky smile. (she was excited that she finally got you to look at her. and as expected…) you blushed, merely looking away from the other girl before rushing to your seat. you heard a few giggles behind you which only confirmed your suspicions—it was definitely planned. it didn’t help that your cheeks and ears were flushed red… gosh, even your neck felt warm. you know what also didn’t help? how wonyoung’s intense gaze didn’t leave your figure for a while. you could feel her staring at you like you were some piece of meat for her to devour and you weren’t even exaggerating by saying all that!

it was the same kind of look she was giving you right before she kissed you that day. despite your resistance, you met wonyoung’s stare. you noticed that she was surprised to see you raise your head, but it looked like it pleased her more than anything. wonyoung tilts her head and smiles slyly at you while her eyes travel from your hands, your exposed thighs, to your legs… now who knew jang wonyoung could be such a pervert? you squeezed your thighs together, glaring slightly at wonyoung who merely giggled before finally turning around and facing the front.

things like that—wonyoung’s attention, her interest, her affection—were the only good to come out from that hook-up. the rest? the side-eyes, the rumors, the whispers, the unwanted popularity spike? you wanted nothing to do with it. but, again, it wasn’t like you could reverse time.

so, you were going to do what you’ve always been good at: hide yourself to the point of invisibility. it’s never failed you before, and it shouldn’t now.

the only challenge was jang wonyoung herself—will she let you out of her sight?

you didn’t want to think about the most obvious answer. instead, you tried your damned hardest to not think about her at all for the rest of the day. you poured all of your attention to the lectures, the coursework, and the notes. basically anything just to avoid hearing her voice in your head again. at least it wasn’t as bad as the first few days after she fucked you. during those times, you quite literally replayed the entire thing in your head every minute. it wasn’t surprising that you ended up failing a few small quizzes around that time.

when you’ve put every belonging you had in your backpack, you practically rushed to get up from your seat and headed to the door. avoiding every eye that latched onto your figure. you successfully passed wonyoung’s seat without trouble until…

“ah, (y/n)! finally, i can talk to you.”

ms. lim, the professor for your last class of the day, calls you. you turned around with a tight-lipped smile on your face, reluctantly walking closer to the teacher’s desk while most of your classmates walked out of the door. wonyoung was still in the room. she was staring. fuck, why is she always staring?!

“i wanted to thank you for all the help you gave last week for jiyoung’s little… ‘art for amateurs’ club.” ms. lim sighed at the name (she has always hated it but ms. kim jiyoung, her fiancé, loved it too much to change it) and smiled up at you.

“no need for thanks, ma’am. i was passing by the art room that day and i just thought i’d help.” you hear a few people shuffle behind you. more students walking out. a flash of pink walks by behind you. wonyoung. you blinked and smiled at the professor, acting as normal as you could.

“if you don’t mind, i need you to do another favor for me,” ms. lim opens up one of her drawers and carefully takes out a lunch bag from it. the professor smiles sheepishly at you. “i hate to ask my students to do little chores like this. but i’m going to be preoccupied with grading and lesson plans for the rest of the day and that idiot jiyoung forgot to grab her food from me.”

you chuckled lightly, “hard to imagine ms. kim of all people would forget about her food. i’ll take it to her, no worries.” you carefully held the lunch bag in your hands and smiled at your professor.

“thank you, (y/n). she’s been all over the place lately! worrying about this one special pupil of hers that she’s practically begging to put up a piece of her work in the walls of the art building. it’s a whole thing, i won’t bore you about it. run along.” ms. lim waves you off with a laugh. you bowed to the professor before happily exiting the classroom with ms. kim’s lunch bag in hand. when you left the room, you saw that the hallways were still quite full with students lounging about—looks like it wasn’t going to be an easy walk to the fine arts building but oh well.

the first hurdle was squeezing through a crowd of jocks from different teams creating a ruckus in the middle of the hallway. the second struggle was nearly getting picked on by said jocks when they just so happened to notice you sneaking by. thankfully, a nice cheerleader with red hair diverted their attention so you could slip away. it was a quiet and pleasant walk along the school courtyard towards the fine arts building from there, with only the wind and soft rustling of leaves accompanying you.

the building was quiet, save for your own footsteps. usually, the hallways would be filled with sounds of casual chatter and the muffled voices of instructors and students alike. you had to say though, you much rather preferred the silence. it was comforting. you were usually surrounded with a lot of yelling, hollering, and laughing which sometimes wasn’t all that bad but considering everything that’s been happening the fast few days… yeah, this was preferable.

it didn’t take long for you to reach ms. kim’s classroom, and there you were met with a vast empty room littered with half-finished paintings and beautiful illustrations created by the students and ms. kim herself. there was a backpack and a big canvas set near the back of the classroom but you pay it no mind. it was common for students to stay after school hours just to kill time or work on their projects. you put down the lunch bag on ms. kim’s desk, all the more ready to turn around and leave when a particular painting caught your eye.

it wasn’t anything special by any means. in fact, it was buried behind more colorful paintings and you could only see half of it. you approached the painting, looking around the other canvases just to see it in full. it didn’t look finished, but then again maybe that was part of the appeal. the painting was that of an arrangement of beautiful flowers in a jar, they were wilting. or maybe they were just coming to life, looking at the soft streams of sunlight that shone down on them.

regardless, you didn’t have the luxury to analyze the painting any further when you heard shuffling behind you. alarmed, you turned your head quickly and… well, fuck.

“wonyoung…”

the tall girl clad in pinks and blues smiles at you. it wasn’t a very comforting smile.

“the one and only,” well, that sounded familiar. you watched as wonyoung threads the ends of her hair using her dainty little fingers. a smirk dances on her lips while she stares you down, very much liking how she has rendered you speechless with her mere presence. a bit of a dramatic statement but it was true! “how’d you like my work?” wonyoung asked, eyes quickly flickering over to the flower painting behind you.

you followed her stare, but quickly looked back at her in shock. “you painted that?” you gasped.

“you make me sound like i’m just a stupid bimbo,” wonyoung sighs dramatically. “of course, i painted it. would anyone else’s work look as gorgeous?” ‘charming’ as ever, wonyoung flips her hair over her shoulder with a smug look on her pretty face. you turned away, very quickly rolling your eyes before settling them back on the painting. you were impressed. you wouldn’t have guessed that wonyoung of all people would have that kind of talent, but then again, she is one of the class-toppers and nobody knows who she is exactly.

“it’s beautiful.” you admitted. you heard wonyoung chuckle, but she doesn’t say much else. you don’t look back at her, choosing to stare at her painting instead. again, something stopped you from looking further into it. wonyoung stood beside you, briefly looking at her painting with a somber look on her face before quickly covering it up with her usual cheeky, queen bitch smile. it was dead silent. did you even want to speak to her? for two weeks, you’ve resented all the attention that was given to you because of her. you’ve glared at the back of her head, cursed her in your mind whenever some students whispered about you… but somehow, you’re the one who’s tongue-tied now that you were actually alone with her.

it was confusing—feelings, that is. hell, the last real face-to-face interaction you’ve had with her was on that day. when she kissed your cheek before you got on your bus.

“wasn’t expecting you to be here, (y/n),” wonyoung unzips her pink jacket, slowly taking it off before putting it on an empty seat. you watched her from the corner of your eye, she was taking deep breaths and you could hear her. then she fixes her hair and turns around wearing a glowing smile. “but this is just perfect.” she steps towards you and instinctively, you jolted backwards.

“i-i just dropped something off for ms. kim… from ms. lim, i mean. i should get going.” well, it wasn’t going to be easy! what with wonyoung being inside your personal bubble and your heart beating so fast that you can’t quite hear your own thoughts. it didn’t help that she towered over you, and again, her perfume was a fucking weapon—rendering you immobile.

“don’t be like that, (y/n). i’m upset with you.” wonyoung says with a pout. cute, but you really shouldn’t let your stupid crush on her stop you from just getting the hell away! wonyoung was fascinated with the way your eyes wandered. she knew that no matter how angry you were with her, she was always going to have the same effect on you. and it was delicious. being able to have that much of an impact on someone. 

“you never called or texted me. i was waiting, especially after i sent you home,” wonyoung stands even closer and for a second, you actually saw some kind of emotion in her eyes. dissatisfaction, perhaps. “didn’t know you were like that, (y/n).”

“i d-didn’t even think you’d want me to contact you after… after all of that.”

“i wouldn’t have given you my number if i didn’t want you begging for more of me over the phone, dumbass.” wonyoung bumps your shoulder with her own as she walks past you. the way you looked (confused and… so fucking stupid) must’ve made her pissed, judging by the way she started dragging her equipment around with her eyebrows furrowed and eyes glaring at you every now and then. you stood there awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of your uniform. you should really leave. you had things to do at home! this wasn’t a time to waste with someone who was mad at you and someone you were mad with.

all it takes was a period of silence to remind of how much wonyoung affected your life. and suddenly all the anger was back. the longer you stood there and looked at her, the more it boiled up and threatened to tip over. but you were going to be mature. you were going to leave the classroom and go on with your life, leaving it all (wonyoung) behind.

“i have a few ideas on how you can make it up to me though.” wonyoung averts her gaze from the empty canvas in front of her to you.

given the way she was looking at you—or rather, has been looking at you, wonyoung was up to no good. and if you wanted any chance to redeem the little reputation you had in this academy, you had to be strong and not get swayed by her and her pretty little face and those soft lips and that mesmerizing pair of eyes. you shook your head, “i am not fucking with you again, wonyoung.”

the taller girl laughed, “what? did it look like i was going to make you do that? gee, (y/n), it takes one hook-up to corrupt you, huh?” wonyoung laughs, a smirk making its way to her face when she sees you glaring daggers at her. “you’re going to be my muse.” she says, crossing her arms and scanning you up and down. gosh, she didn’t even bother to hide the lust behind her stare… but you could tell that her statement wasn’t a joke.

“you’re… going to paint me?” you asked. wonyoung hums, staring right at you as she pulled her hair up to a ponytail, quietly anticipating your answer while you stood idly by the windows.

“only reason i’m here is because ms. kim has been begging for me to put something of my own up in the hallways. usually i would just refuse but the lady’s been nice to me since i stepped a foot in this school so why not? plus, what’s a better subject than my latest and possibly most popular fling?” wonyoung gives you a very sarcastic smile that makes you roll your eyes. you seriously needed to get out of here.

you were more than ready to leave until you remembered the way wonyoung’s eyes looked when she confronted you about the silence you gave her. then a pang of guilt hits you the more you think about her actions after the two of you hooked up. the walking together, the waiting together, and the kiss on the cheek. maybe attempting to cut her off was a dick move on your part…

“okay.”

wonyoung’s face visibly lights up. adorable.

“where do you want me?” you asked, blushing at the sight of the cute look on her face. all of your activities can wait. you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself knowing that you were potentially hurting someone. albeit unintentionally and the person in question being your best slash worst nightmare.

“just sit in front of me and we’ll figure it out from there.” and so, you and wonyoung get to work. well, of course it was mostly her doing the work while you just sat on a stool and listened carefully to whatever she told you. 

oddly enough, the weight of her stare wasn’t as intimidating or nerve-wracking like it usually was. wonyoung had a certain softness in her eyes as she studied your features closely, and every time you figured that she saw something she liked, something would sparkle behind those beautiful brown eyes. watching wonyoung in what seems to be her natural environment… well, ‘unexpected’ would be the understatement of the year. you figured it would be parties and social clubs and outlet malls but then again, nobody really knew wonyoung.

getting so much as a glimpse of the untouchable popular girl was truly something. and despite everything that’s happened you find yourself feeling the way you did the first time you laid eyes on her on campus during freshman year. awestruck, with your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you desperately tried to look at something that isn’t her but ultimately failing. wonyoung gives you a smile, and it wasn’t her usual cheeky-teasing one. she looked… bashful? and is that a hint of pink on her cheeks?

it was strange to see, but you ended up smiling a little at the sight of a rare cute wonyoung. the tall girl’s cheeks show a deeper shade of pink as soon as your lips curled up in a smile, making you giggle a little. not a lot of words were shared between the two of you after that as wonyoung completely immerses herself in her work. and during that entire time you just stared at her, admiring her focused state. you wondered if she was concerned at all about making a mistake—her hand moved skillfully across the canvas with the attitude of someone that was sure about their abilities. you would hear an occasional tut partnered with a quick hum and followed by a quiet, satisfied laugh, giving you the impression that wonyoung was confident about the picture she was painting of you.

you’ve never been more curious in your life. you wanted to know how wonyoung sees you. it would be from an artist’s perspective but maybe you’ll see even a spot of how wonyoung truly sees you deep inside. especially after everything that has gone down between the two of you, and especially after her reaction to you forcing yourself to forget her existence for two weeks. it’s not like you were looking for any chance of the popular girl returning your feelings, you just wanted to know if you were anything to her at all. maybe you’ll get to know it here.

“(y/n),” wonyoung snaps you back into reality. she beckons you over with a proud look on her face. “come over here. see if you like it.”

soon enough, you were standing beside wonyoung, staring at the most impressive painting in the room. it was you; sitting on that stool wearing a gentle smile, but almost half of your entire form was covered by a slightly see-through curtain and the tiniest streams of sunlight. at first glance, the painting looks incomplete or rather, abruptly finished but it looks perfect in your eyes. and on wonyoung’s eyes too, judging by the way she looked at her own work with approval.

“it’s beautiful, wonyoung.” you said with a grateful smile.

“mhm. it’s y—” wonyoung pauses, and clears her throat. “obviously.” she said, chuckling awkwardly and flipping her hair over her shoulder with less flair than usual. you did not know what the hell that was all about. (“it’s you.” wonyoung wanted to say. but she bit her tongue real quick. why? well, jang wonyoung was not one to try to woo a nerd of all things like that! but really though—it’s you. of course it’s beautiful.)

you were admiring the painting some more and the longer you did, the more you noticed just how many details wonyoung put into it. from the slight crinkle of your eyes while you’re smiling down to that tiny little scar you had on your right cheek. amazing.

“w-wait, you’re going to put this up in this building?” you asked, now blushing wildly. it’s not even that you were embarrassed of having your face put up in the fine hallways of this campus (there have been many instances of your face being plastered everywhere because of your very impressive achievements as an honor student). it’s the fact that wonyoung was involved in all of this that makes it all complicated.

“no.”

surprised, you looked at wonyoung with slightly widened eyes. she worked hard for this painting for the sole reason of putting it up, and now she won’t? maybe she sensed your discomfort at the thought of putting up a painting of you made by wonyoung, which you know would just repeat the never-ending nightmare of being surrounded by rumors all over again. you would ask the tall girl to give you a reason why, but you noticed that she was standing closer to you now, eyes darkened and very much drawing you in.

just like last time.

“for my eyes only.” wonyoung says quietly. she was referring to the painting, sure, but she was looking at you the entire time. the implication makes your face heat up, and suddenly you’re finding it hard to do anything else except to just stand there. obnoxiously close to wonyoung with your eyes constantly flickering up and down from her eyes to her lips. you remember what those lips taste like, how they feel moving against yours. what you would give to feel and taste them all over again.

“i need a break,” wonyoung’s gaze pierces through your own, inviting you in. “don’t you?”

and all it took was the slightest nod of your head for wonyoung to lock your lips in a searing kiss with her own.

god, it felt like your chest collapsed within itself. your hands immediately cup wonyoung’s cheeks, and having learned a few things from the last time you kissed her, you were much, much better at keeping up with her despite your heartbeat running a mile a minute. wonyoung’s own hands were on your hips, pulling you closer until she started undoing the ribbon on your uniform. then, she unbuttoned your shirt, forcing herself out of the kiss and putting her lips on your neck as she did so. it was hard trying to keep yourself quiet with the way wonyoung nibbled and softly sucked on your skin… which was why you just stopped trying.

“ahh… mhm, wonyoung…” your moans were met with a hum from the taller girl, whose kisses now reached your chest.

“you missed me, didn’t you?” wonyoung whispers against your skin, leaving a mark just below your collarbone where she likes it best. she tilts her head up, lips hovering over your own, only touching slightly. “you missed mommy?”

fuck, that was gonna do you in.

too embarrassed to truly admit it all, you nodded, which earned you a pout mixed with a glare from wonyoung. “i’m gonna let that go once. you’re lucky i missed you more.” eventually, you found your waist pressed against a lone desk while wonyoung continues to kiss you. you were topless now, what with wonyoung discarding your white shirt somewhere on the floor.

“w-what if ms. kim comes in…?” you asked when you felt wonyoung’s hand sliding up your thigh. surely she won’t be as careless as last time, right? the two of you were barely hiding! the curtains didn’t leave much to the imagination and the door was only halfway closed… if you weren’t careful with your mouth, some unlucky soul passing by will catch the two of you and you really don’t know if you can handle more of that. maybe you were naive to expect wonyoung to change within two weeks, because right after you asked your stupid little question, wonyoung had pulled down your panties and unclasped your bra from behind. goodness, she works fast.

the tall girl decided not to waste time and completely disregarded your question. “up.” she taps your hip, urging you to sit on top of the desk behind you. as you were getting yourself settled, wonyoung takes the opportunity to stare at you. you were as cute as ever—flushed cheeks, messy hair, lips quivering, and pretty eyes glossy with anticipation, even though you tried to disguise it with uncertainty. wonyoung couldn’t believe how easy it has been to knock down your defenses. she was so sure that even she, the jang wonyoung, was going to get rejected and embarrassed for the very first time in that library, given your reputation as a hardass.

but alas, she always gets what she wants in the end. as she should!

you pull wonyoung closer, eager to feel her lips on yours again. then she allows you to kiss her, doing the same exact thing as last time—staying still and letting you do what you want. wonyoung noticed that your kiss was softer, more careful. you were holding her face so gently, caressing her cheek with your thumb before letting your hands fall to her shoulders, giving the control back to her. it warmed her heart in a way that took her by surprise, but that was nothing compared to the pure amusement she felt when she caught you untying her ribbon.

“you’re brave today, hm?” wonyoung whispered with a smirk. she doesn’t stop you, though! she holds your stare as you let her ribbon drop to the ground, and then you start unbuttoning her shirt so excruciatingly slow. you stopped halfway through, only getting to see a little bit of wonyoung’s crimson red bra before putting your lips on her neck. and finally, for the first time, you heard her whimper.

you couldn’t see it as you were busy kissing her neck, but wonyoung was a blushing mess. she never whimpers! but with your sudden courage and the way you left the softest and sweetest kisses on her neck, wonyoung couldn’t hide it. “are you… marking me up?” wonyoung asked with a giggle.

immediately, you stopped, staring at her with half-widened eyes. “is that okay…?”

wonyoung would’ve called you stupid if the sound of her own loud heartbeat didn’t render her speechless. “don’t tell me you’re going to ask for permission if you so much as want to put your hand on my waist or something.” wonyoung said. she can imagine it clearly in her head, actually! you were too polite for your own good.

“well, consent is important—”

“yeah, yeah. how about you use that pretty mouth of yours for something worth my time, dummy?” wonyoung urges you to kiss her again, craning her neck to give you access. and you did it happily! you were so obviously excited that even wonyoung thought it was endearing, laughing lightly as you gently sucked on her soft skin. you did that for a while. how could you stop, anyway? the mix of wonyoung’s sighs, feeling her thin, dainty fingers smoothly threading your hair, and her other hand laying still on your thigh, squeezing ever so often when you do something she likes… well, suffice to say that it was almost impossible to stop.

leaning back, you stare at your work. the sight of your marks on wonyoung’s neck only made your core buzz, making you not-so-subtly close your legs. wonyoung regains her composure, eyes darkened once again before she forces her legs open, one hand slowly sliding deeper up your inner thighs while the other keeps your legs apart. “since you’ve had your fun… naturally, it’s my turn now, correct?” and of course you were nodding your head eagerly like an obedient pet, just how she likes it.

your breath gets caught in your throat when wonyoung cups one of your breasts in her hand, her face dangerously close to the other one, more than ready to pleasure you. “i was thinking of being nice since i missed you… but you made me upset with your stupid tantrum over the last time we fucked,” wonyoung feigns a smile and a shiver runs down your spine. “so, to truly make it up to me… you’re going to take  everything i’m giving to you today.”

scary. terrifying even, but how could you say no? the (y/n) of two hours ago would be really disappointed of you but fuck it. wonyoung’s got you wrapped around her finger once again and you’re going to let it happen again.

only moans escape your lips as wonyoung’s warm mouth closes around your nipple. a new sensation, and it was wonderful. you found yourself hugging wonyoung’s neck, pushing her face impossibly closer while she licked and sucked as she pleases. your cunt clenches around nothing, and you buck your hips slightly just to urge wonyoung to touch you down there even a little bit but you should’ve expected that she wouldn’t care about that. her hands were rather busy! one played with your other nipple while the other held your thigh in a grip so tight that it almost hurt.

wonyoung releases your nipple from her mouth, her lips now attacking your chest area with little bites. you weren’t opposed to it. in fact, the frustrated look on wonyoung’s face was a delight to see! “should’ve known you were going to be a pussy about it all… wouldn’t have waited up all night for your text if i did.” wonyoung tightens her grip on your thigh, making you wince. but the pain was quickly overshadowed by pleasure as the tall girl pulled on your nipple.

“how was i supposed to accept that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore…? you were screaming my name so sweetly in the library… and i was in your head after all of that, right?” wonyoung briefly lets go of your thigh to pull your hair down, forcing you to meet her eyes. “i know you did… in the end, the campus’ smart goody-two-shoes is just a fucking slut in the making, isn’t she?”

wonyoung’s eyes shine with excitement upon seeing you look at her so desperately. she knew that you’d never take any insult if you were in your right mind… and it only turned her on when you said nothing to her, your head so clouded that you’d allow wonyoung to say anything she wants to you. the tall girl spreads your legs apart, staring at your glistening pussy before her hungry eyes pierce back into your own. “and to think that you wanted to leave when you’re all drenched like this! what would you have done if i let you go? surely not touch yourself,” wonyoung laughs, but it was a cold and mocking one. your cheeks flush with embarrassment since she was right—you can’t bear to touch yourself, which is why you’re so desperate to have her fuck you already. “you need me, and i want a pretty doll i can play with however i like. let’s help each other out, (y/n)-ah.”

wonyoung doesn’t wait for you to say anything (of course she doesn’t) and starts massaging your clit with her thumb. you gasped at the sensation, holding onto her arms and almost closing your legs up. you try to control your sounds this time around, all that left your mouth were the usual pathetic whimpering and panting but at least you weren’t loud! wonyoung didn’t like that, though. she presses her thumb harder against your clit, making you whine loudly. “that’s more like it.” the tall girl muttered under her breath. the longer she pleasured your clit, the sooner you were losing control of yourself. and eventually you were just giving into what your body wants—grinding against wonyoung’s hand, pulling her closer so you can kiss her…

you gasped sharply as wonyoung plunged her two fingers inside your cunt, and she was giggling at how you were wrinkling her shirt up due to how tight you were holding onto her. fuck did it feel good to be filled up. when wonyoung curls her long fingers inside you, you clamped your hand over your mouth, afraid of alerting anyone who may be lurking around. annoyed, wonyoung swats your hand away, “come on, i don’t want to punish you so early.” none of what she was saying went through to your head. and it wasn’t even because you were trying to be a disobedient brat but because of her pace.

she snaps her wrist with each thrust, enough to make sure that you feel every inch of her fingers inside you before pulling out. it was hard to focus on anything, even more so when wonyoung’s pretty brown eyes were raking all over your body, getting familiar with your features once again. it wasn’t everyday something catches her eye so easily, but when she entered that secluded room in the library and had the luxury of staring at you while you were asleep, she was charmed. not even she thought that she would have you on top of this table merely two weeks later—writhing under her touch and moaning her name, but wonyoung quite liked this outcome.

why, after you were so good for her the first time she fucked you, you’ve been on her mind!

“a-ah..! wonyoung…” your sweet voice snaps the tall girl back to reality. you’ve completely wrapped your arms around her neck now, how precious. wonyoung puts her lips to work, wanting to taste your skin once again. and that she does! giving you kisses from your cheek, to your jawline, to the crook of your neck and all that the way down to your chest. conveniently, the desk was long enough for wonyoung to be able to pull you down so you’d be lying back comfortably. she towers above you, a grin on her lips as she watches you try to hold on to your climax.

it was so glaringly obvious that you were close. with the way your walls clenched around wonyoung’s fingers, a few more thrusts should do it. and that made wonyoung way more upset than you can imagine. there was no way you were going to make this so short, right? but she feels it. not only have you dug your nails on her free wrist trying to hold onto her, you’ve also started whining very loudly. wonyoung, annoyed, wriggles out of your painful hold and shoves her thumb inside your mouth, effectively shutting you up. drool starts dripping down along your jawline—wonyoung wasn’t going to let you off easy judging by how she pressed her thumb flat and hard down on your tongue.

“we’re gonna make this last, baby,” wonyoung says. she sees the tears pooling in your eyes and it only makes her feel warm inside. she was getting so excited to have her way with you, and a few tears wouldn’t stop her. “and everyone’s going to know again. i know you don’t like that but this time… they’ll know you’re mine.”

wonyoung didn’t plan on saying that last part out loud but thankfully enough, you were way too busy moaning her name to even hear it. a knot tightens in your stomach and you gasp, the sensation becoming all too familiar with you now. wonyoung pulls her thumb out of your mouth and slowly slides a third finger inside your cunt—and then there it was.

“aww…” wonyoung cooed as you came all over her hand. but she doesn’t stop any of her movements. instead, she leans down, catching one of your nipples with her mouth and continuing on fingering you through your orgasm.

“f-fuck..! wonyoung, w-wait…!!” you clawed helplessly at her back. amidst your hopeless whining and moaning, wonyoung just giggles. her eyes flicker up to get a brief glance of your face, her own core clenching at how tight you’ve closed your eyes, how you’ve bitten your lower lip to the point of it hurting. she absolutely loved getting to see you undone piece by piece… even more so when you allow it to happen. which is what you finally do as you bury your hands in wonyoung’s hair, pushing her further down your chest and whimpering sweetly at every flick of her tongue on your nipples.

wonyoung wasn’t letting her hand rest, however. she keeps fingering you in a semi-fast pace, hoping to edge you closer to another orgasm. clearly, she was taking advantage of your dazed state and in all honesty, of her own adrenaline-driven state. in her right mind, she would have let you cum the first time and stop there since she knew you can’t handle too much of what she can really give you but god… wonyoung just has to see you fall apart completely under her.

“someone learned a few things from last time, hm?” wonyoung teased as she gently massaged your clit in circles with her thumb. “you’re taking it so well. good.”

you gasped loudly as she plunges her fingers knuckle-deep inside your walls again, now thrusting faster than ever. wonyoung completely gets lost at the feeling of your warmth around her fingers. with her towering above you, she was distracting enough for your mind to wander elsewhere. every so often you’d notice the way she slightly bit her lower lip, whimper quietly, and huff as she fucked you… and as your eyes trail down lower (as low as you could, anyway), you saw that the tall girl had been clenching her thighs together. gods, wonyoung looked so hot being desperate like this.

it made you blush, how much she wanted to feel as good as she was making you feel good. next time, you are going to make sure to return the favor. it was what she deserves, as much of a pain in the ass she was.

“are you okay, (y/n)…?” wonyoung, concerned that you have spaced out, asked. her thrusts have slowed and her eyes are now softer.

you nodded meekly, “yes, mommy.” the nickname slipped out so naturally that it caught wonyoung off guard. and was she… blushing? flustered, even?

(wonyoung wouldn’t even know where to start if someone were to ask about the hold you have on her. it almost sucks that you don’t know about it, but wonyoung’s pride wouldn’t let her admit it outright. not yet, anyway.)

“we’re almost done.” wonyoung regains her composure. she completely pins one of your wrists down with her free hand, the other ramming inside your walls out of control, and her forehead nearly touching yours while you moaned helplessly. with your one hand, you clutched the edge of the desk, refusing to hurt wonyoung any further because you knew you would make her blood had you decided to hold onto her with the way she was abusing your pussy. wonyoung chuckles slightly at how smoothly her fingers went in and out of you—her hand was completely drenched in your cum and wetness. she was practically drooling at the thought of getting to taste you.

wonyoung would rather do it from the source, but she knew you wouldn’t be able to handle her mouth. not at this state. and not with all the things she wants to do to you with her tongue alone.

she feels you clenching around her again, and she watches as tears squeeze out of your eyes. she kisses them away, whispering some comforting words in your ear before she thrusts her fingers knuckle-deep inside you. wonyoung intertwines your fingers since she knew you’d need it as you came all over her hand once again. unlike last time, wonyoung makes sure her hand is still, only pulling out as you’ve started to calm down a little. your eyes wandered all over the ceiling, still trying to get a sense of things. you could feel wonyoung’s eyes on you though, but you couldn’t tell what she was doing.

so ‘surprised’ would be an understatement when you feel her clothed, wet cunt pressed against your knee. wonyoung smiles bashfully as she slightly grinds her clit on your knee. hell, she nearly fucked you into unconsciousness—she shouldn’t have anything to be afraid of doing now. even if she has to become this spectacle for you.

“j-just need to… do something about this.” wonyoung says. her voice was a bit higher from her whines, obviously feeling so good that she can’t help but show this new side of herself. underneath her, you were a bit rattled but completely flustered and quite confused as to what you should do. not that you could do anything, anyway. you couldn’t really feel your legs and your head was still getting itself situated. you were basically watching wonyoung grind herself into you… and it was heaven.

wonyoung meets your stare and grins, “liking the show, babe?” she teased. she giggled when you covered your face with your other hand, you were so red. but you were brazen enough to raise your knee slightly and pressed it against her clit, making her moan out loud for the first time. a smile of satisfaction spreads on your face—you finally heard wonyoung make that kind of sound!

“cheeky little doll.” wonyoung says before leaning down and kissing you. she stops her grinding, having had enough for now and slowly pulls you to sit up, carefully.

much like the last time this happened, nothing much was said afterwards. you were merely hugging wonyoung while you recovered, and you’d smile every time you felt her leave feathery-light kisses across your shoulder and draw random circles on your lower back. wonyoung allowed you to hold her for as long as you needed, never worrying about how the sky has turned orange or the supposed project she was assigned to start today for ms. kim. a gust of wind seeps through the slightly open windows and you shiver. 

finally, wonyoung pulled away. “let’s get you dressed up. ms. kim should be on her way anyway.” she helps you stand on both feet and picks up the random pieces of clothing scattered around the area, almost scolding herself for throwing them around haphazardly. wonyoung was the one who buttons up your shirt, makes sure your skirt is all nice and tidy, ties up your ribbon perfectly, and styles your hair as if it was never a mess. and then she decides that you would look cute with a bit of lip tint—but also because you needed a good excuse to give people if they so happen to ask you why your lips were so red and fucked up.

you stayed still as wonyoung dolled you up. it was strange though, because at this point, she has fucked you three times and you’ve bravely looked at her in the eye then but now you can’t. every time her eyes flicker over to yours, you blink and set them elsewhere. you can’t tell her about how your pussy clenches under her gaze. you can’t tell her that if she does something so simple as this, helping a fellow girl to look presentable, it turns you on. and it probably wasn’t even because nice-and-friendly wonyoung was a rarity! it was because of that damn crush. and how you can still feel her hands all over you but ugh, you’re so tired of coming to that conclusion. 

you get it: you are morbidly obsessed with how wonyoung makes you feel! god, can i be any more pathetic?

“you’ll text me this time, right?” wonyoung asks after she is done. she has also gotten herself look as perfect as she always does. 

“i can’t exactly escape you now, can i?”

“mhm! glad you’re aware of that.” wonyoung puts on an exaggerated smile, but really, she was excited. 

you then pulled out your phone and sent wonyoung a simple ‘hi’ text message. “there. happy?” you mimicked her fake smile.

“ecstatic, actually.” wonyoung replied with a straight face as she stared blankly at your useless message. she saves your number and suddenly snaps a quick photo of you without warning, setting it as her contact photo for you. when you tried to sneak a peek, wonyoung moved away from you with a laugh, and saved your name as ‘dum’ on her phone, even waving it all over your face and laughing even more at your disgruntled reaction. how mature… and endearing.

when silence started to fill the air, you almost wanted to ask wonyoung a few things about this whole… thing. whatever it was. as much as you liked the whole doll talk earlier, you didn’t exactly understand it. were the two of you going to be friends-with-benefits now? well, more like barely-acquaintances-with-benefits. was wonyoung going to make a habit of cornering you at some isolated place and fuck you? because really, you‘d prefer a small warning before she starts using you. confused as you were, you didn’t let a word slip. you just stood there, watching wonyoung as she put up an empty canvas on the easel.

“is it okay if i rest for a bit before leaving?” you asked in a quiet voice. wonyoung nods as she pulls her hair up for a half-ponytail, only briefly looking at your figure as you walk past her to sit on the instructor’s chair at the front of the classroom.

“i’d insist on taking you home but you seem to adore public transportation.” wonyoung quipped from behind her canvas.

“you’d only find some excuse to touch me again in your car so yes, maybe i prefer taking the bus rather than that.” you replied. attempting to avoid thinking about wonyoung’s hands all over you while you sat on the passenger seat of her car was futile, thank goodness she was focused on whatever project she was working on.

“thanks for the idea.” oh you just knew wonyoung had a stupid smile on her face thinking about it all. that pervert!

although you would be lying if you said you weren’t into the idea, but that was something the two of you should save for much, much later.

for the rest of your time there, you merely sat on ms. kim’s chair. sometimes you watched wonyoung even though you couldn’t see much of her face. occasionally, however, she would peek from above the canvas to check on you and you wouldn’t look away like you usually would. you would hold her gaze, smiling softly before gazing at the setting sun outside. the only thing that was on your mind was how everything has changed now. whether it was for the better or for worse, you couldn’t tell yet.

there was no use dwelling on it. you simply have to see where things go. one thing was for sure though: jang wonyoung wasn’t going to be out of your life so easily.

you pondered on that chair for a while before you finally decided to leave. you promised wonyoung that you would text her as soon as you got home, and you knew that even though she barely gave you a glance since she was so focused, she was happy that you promised that. while you headed for the door, you felt wonyoung’s eyes follow you until you were completely gone. but even as you walked through the empty hallways once again the hair on the back of your neck stood on end and you found yourself stopping in your tracks completely on top of a flight of stairs.

“that… really all just happened. again.” you mumbled. ugh, your ears felt hot. your cheeks too. matter of fact, your entire body was just warm.

“what happened?” a chipper voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. ms. kim has suddenly appeared beside you. you hadn’t noticed that she was already there when you turned to the corner.

“o-oh! ms. kim, hello,” you greeted, hand clutching your chest. “ah, right. i dropped off your lunch bag. ms. lim said you forgot it earlier.”

“really? thank you, (y/n). she must be very busy if she couldn’t visit me herself. i’ll make sure to tell her that you did well delivering my food.” the art teacher pats your shoulder. her smile was striking and infectious—no wonder ms. lim always looked so lovesick around her!

“no need. it’s no problem at all,” you glanced at the giant clock on the other side of the wall and felt panic rise from the bottom of your stomach. “my bus should be making its way to the stop now. have a good day, ms. kim!” and so you were off to running as fast as you could to catch your ride, leaving the art teacher baffled but quite amused at the stairs.

“never seen (y/n) a bit loose in the head like that before.”

inside the art room, wonyoung has gotten busy. the tiniest specks of paint decorated her face, her hands had become quite the mess but what mattered was the picture she was creating. she was quite surprised with herself. only earlier did she feel that familiar rush of creating something with efficiency—when she was painting you. she was feeling it again, and it was great. it has been quite some time before she felt that rush. as rich her mind was with concepts, wonyoung found it hard to materialize them in a painting for some reason. maybe she was just lazy. maybe the pictures in her head just weren’t clear enough.

but somehow you of all people—of all things, really—made it all so very clear.

“ah, the things a good pussy does to the human mind.” wonyoung laughs at her own words. she couldn’t wait to bother you all night long later.

“i knew it!”

once again, ms. kim has surprised a student. fortunately enough, wonyoung didn’t make a mistake and only flinched slightly. “hello, ms. kim.” the tall girl greeted. she doesn’t take her eyes off her canvas since she knew that the teacher was already sauntering towards her with that contagious energy she always has.

“wow. i half expected you to be struggling for inspiration as usual but you actually got somewhere!” ms. kim pats wonyoung’s head, very much satisfied at wonyoung’s progress with her work. oddly enough, wonyoung found herself blushing deeply letting ms. kim look at a personal piece from her so freely. not that she gave a fuck about keeping up her reputation even with the teachers, but jang wonyoung was nothing if not so stubbornly prideful.

because no! she cannot bear being teased about painting (y/n) (l/n) for the second time in the same day!

“is that…”

wonyoung’s blush get deeper. here it comes.

“she did say she came by this room… i see!” ms. kim laughs and nudges wonyoung’s arm, teasing the girl as if she was some kid who was having a crush for the first time in her life. incorrect, by the way! because jang wonyoung doesn’t do crushes. 

the art teacher leans back and allows herself to fully take in her student’s work. it was a beautiful painting of you, surrounded by orange and yellow colors, looking lost in thought as you gazed out the window. your face was slightly obscured by the curtain, similar to the previous painting of you that she has done. perhaps a clue as to how wonyoung truly sees you.

“never thought you’d want a muse, wonyoung! but she’s not just that, is she?”

wonyoung settles her palette and paintbrush on an empty stool, exhaling and stretching her sore shoulders. now, she wasn’t the one getting fucked but damn, did you exhaust her too! it was in the good way at least, so wonyoung can’t really be mad at you. with you in her sick little head, wonyoung offers a mischievous smile to her teacher, “my cute little secret is what she is.”

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Simple Gestures

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> You and Logan, despite getting off on the wrong foot, find yourselves falling in love through simple gestures.

Disclaimer: Mostly cute fluff, an almost kiss in the snow, stargazing, stealing clothes, a little violence in the beginning, a meet ugly, simple gestures of love. Light swearing, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

Yourself and Logan had fallen in love through simple gestures. Although, that wasn’t how it always was. 

In the beginning, neither of you had exactly been in the other’s good books. Though, you supposed that had something to do with what Rogue would call your “meet cute” rather than your individual personalities. 

Your “meet cute” (as Rogue put it) had been when Xavier had first tried to recruit you to join X-Men. 

At the time, you had been living in Colorado and was spending most days either working at the library or working at the local bar. And one evening when you got home, you found three strangers on your veranda meaning they had misread your “Keep Out” sign at the pathway entrance, or had completely elected to ignore it. 

“I don’t know what you’re selling but I’m not buying.” 

You walked through the three of them and their huddle, opened up your screen door, unlocked your front door and slammed both in their faces. 

“Logan,” you heard a British voice sigh before an American one replied with; “I’m on it.”

Maybe he was Canadian?

Either way, he didn’t sound thrilled to be having to do whatever he knew was being asked of him. 

But you soon found out what that was because a few moments later, he was opening up your back door. 

So, as any woman would do when a stranger is ignoring her polite “fuck off, please” and trying to get through the back door of her home. 

You threw a book at him. 

And it wasn’t just any book. 

It was a hardback copy of Kings and Queens of Britain. 

“Wha- Jesus!”

Stumbling back, Logan caught hold of the door frame as his head mended his new found concussion. 

“Get out!” you screamed. 

Finding yourself walking towards him, you were about to shove him out when he noticed what had hit him and before you could throw a punch to his face, he caught your wrist. 

“Whoa, hey, wait. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Said every intruder ever.”

“Please, Ms Y/l/n.” The British guy was back. “We only wish to talk.”

“Yeah?” You looked around at the three of them before you looked back at the book. Logan’s grip squeezed on your wrist to get your attention. 

He had it. 

“I wouldn’t think about it.”

Glaring from Logan, you turned back to the Brit. “Please. Just five minutes of your time.”

Once more you looked around them and yanked your wrist from Logan’s grip. Turning, you picked up your book and placed it back where you had found it. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you grumbled to yourself as you walked further inside. 

The three of them entered and stood around your living room as you walked from your kitchen and back in again. It was more of an open floor plan so they could still see you. Not that you were trying to hide from them. 

“So why are you here? Other than trying to break into my home?”

“We wish to offer you a job,” the woman said. 

“And you are?”

She smiled at you. So far, she was the only one you liked. “Ororo. But you can also call me Storm. And this here is Logan.”

You looked at him. “We’ve met.”

Logan mirrored your look to him. 

“And this is-”

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He introduced himself. 

You nodded. “What sort of job?”

“It’s to be a part of our team. The X-Men.”

You took a gulp of your drink. “And I want to be a part of this…why?”

The Professor rolled forward. “Ms Y/l/n-”

“Y/n.”

The Brit smiled. “Y/n. Our team is made up of some of the best people we know who are like us. Mutants.”

You paused. “Mutants?”

“Ororo here can control the weather. Hence her nickname, Storm. And Logan-”

“Is what? Catwoman? I mean, with the breaking and entering and the little kitty ears for hair, it sure does fit him.” 

Storm chuckled and Logan looked less than amused. The Professor held back his laugh, too. “Actually, Logan is, well…”

Turning his head to look at him, Logan rolled his eyes a little and gave a short sigh before bringing his fist up and clenching it just as metal claws came out. 

You grimaced. “That’s super gross.”

Logan rolled his eyes once more and put his claws away. 

“Like I was saying, our team is made up of mutants, who can help people. And with your reputation preceding you, I figured we might as well come down here and ask you ourselves.”

Looking around them all, you debated the idea. 

“Why me?”

“Your mutant abilities might prove a successful part in building our team.” Ororo explained. “With talents like yours and by joining our team, you’ll be able to help more people than just the locals here. Those in serious danger could use your help, just like they could use ours.”

“And you just expect me to join you? Like that?”

“There are other parts to your job, such as becoming a teacher. I run a school for the gifted. For mutants. To help them earn a well rounded education as well as helping them learn how to control their powers.”

Logan was baffled. “I thought we were here to put her on the team, not give her a teaching position. She can’t be a teacher.”

“Why not?” Storm asked. 

“For one,” Logan gestured to you. “She works in a bar.”

Your arms crossed your chest. “Someone’s been reading my CV.”

“You really think making a bartender a teacher is a good thing?”

Your brows knotted for a moment. “I’ll have you know I do have a teaching degree and working in a bar is only part time. I also work at a library.”

“She has a teaching degree and she’s not even a teacher.”

The Professor shrugged. “This gives her a chance to put it to good use.”

“What will I be teaching?”

“Well, considering your degree is in English and History, you’ll primarily be teaching English to our students.” The Professor smiled. “And you can take some of Logan’s classes as we move closer to final exams for our older students.”

You looked at Logan, a little shocked. From the jeans and leather jacket, you figured he’d teach something like gym or shop. That’s if he was even a teacher and not just hired muscle. 

“You,” you pointed at Logan. “Teach History?”

A little offended by your shock, Logan nodded. “I’ve lived through most of it.”

“How old are you?”

By your tone, Logan was nowhere near being less offended by you.

After more than just a five minute conversation, you agreed to take the job. And six weeks later, you had your things packed, had moved into your new room and was already teaching some new classes. 

However, considering you were already taking one of Logan’s classes a week as he helped the older students prepare for their mock exams, and neither your or Logan had gotten off on the best foot, things were a little…icy. 

“You need to get neater handwriting.” Logan blurted out one afternoon as you were both sitting in the teachers break room. 

“Excuse me?”

Logan practically slammed another paper beside his thigh. “You write like a five year old.”

“Fast handwriting is a sign of intelligence,” you pointed out. 

“Fast, maybe. But illegible isn’t.”

Another paper went down by his side. 

“You know, maybe if you took your time to actually read, you’d be able to see what it said and it wouldn’t look so much like a blur across a page.”

Logan sighed, marking another paper. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

“Logan, I practically read for a living. I’m living every introvert's dream.”

Logan sighed, shuffling his finished papers. “And I mark for a living. Fixed your handwriting.”

Placing half of the papers back with you, Logan walked out carrying the rest with him. And as he did so, you took the top paper from the pile and read where you had written your feedback for the student. 

“It’s not illegible.”

Six months in, not much had changed. 

You and Logan still held small hostilities to one another. Though, on the handwriting front, Logan stopped mentioning it after three months so either he gave up on ever trying to change your handwriting, or he got used to it enough that he could finally understand it. 

And as time went on, the students started to gather their own opinions on you and Logan, both as individuals but also…

As a couple. 

And it was simply by luck that neither you or Logan had found out about it. 

The first teacher to find out was Storm during one of her classes, to which she mentioned it to Jean who later heard the same from her students before she shared it with Scott in the privacy of their bedroom as they were getting ready for bed one night. 

Soon enough, all the teachers save for you and Logan knew of the group of students “shipping” yourself and Logan. 

But things between you and Logan began to change almost a year into you starting your position at the school. 

“But she’s annoying.”

You already knew Logan was talking about you. Over the course of a year you’d somehow become accustomed to the tone and tune of Logan's voice when he was talking about you. 

“Oh, please,” you grumbled as you entered the Professor’s office, still dressed in your pjs. 

Though, considering you had fallen asleep in lounge wear that consisted of joggers, an old t-shirt and a black hoodie which you were 40% sure had been Logan’s at some point, you figured you could get away with being dressed the way you were at eleven in the morning. 

“I annoy everyone,” you told Logan.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Logan mumbled. 

“You’re nothing special.”

The Professor smiled to himself. Storm and the others would get a kick out of this later. 

“Thank you for joining us.”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

You drank your coffee. “Not all of us sleep in jeans, Logan.”

“I don’t sleep in jeans.”

“Please, you’re never out of them.”

The Professor cleared his throat. “As I was just telling Logan, since final exams are coming up, I would like you and Logan to work through a plan together for next semester's classes. It seems we have a few more students than we had planned, taking History as an option next year. I’ll leave it to you both to work it out, but when you’ve finished, please give me a copy of your schedule.”

“Oh,” the Professor continued. “And please let it be an actual plan this time, Logan. Not a scribble on the back of a napkin from the kitchens. I’ll make sure the library is free tonight so you can both work without any interruptions.”

So there it was. 

After almost a year, you and Logan were being told to spend time alone together after half of the team had worked their hardest to try and make sure someone else was in the room when it came to you two in fear of you both finally snapping and doing more damage than what an encyclopaedia could do to an adamantium skeleton. 

And when Logan found you that night, he felt something shift. 

Both universally and inside of him. 

Walking into the library, he was expecting to find you absent from your chair. But instead he found you sitting at one of the desks, your ankles crossed beneath your chair, multiple notebooks around the place, two pencils in your hair, one between your teeth, pens across the desk (some without caps) and you frantically searching for something. 

On one of the smaller tables behind the sofa, Logan found a familiar notebook which he knew belonged to you, flipped open onto a page. 

Somehow in the past couple of months he’d become fluent in you. From comparing your handwriting to that of a five year old, it wasn’t long until he began to pick out words and eventually became a master in your handwriting. 

Even the others came to him, most of the time shoving your note in front of him and asking him to read it. 

“Looking for this?”

You looked up at Logan and gave a look of relief. “I thought I’d left it upstairs.”

You took it from him. “Thank you. Now where did I put my pen?”

In a similar fit of desperation, you started looking around for your pen, but something made Logan smile. Leaning across the desk, his palm on top of a couple of sheets of loose paperwork, he raised his other hand and you stopped. 

“What? What is it?”

Reaching up and behind you, you felt Logan pull something from your hair before he presented it to you with a soft smirk. 

“Is this what you are looking for?”

You looked from the pen to Logan and back to the pen before plucking it from his fingers. “Thanks.”

Logan watched as your gaze flicked from his back to your work. He stood up. “What’s all this?”

“Just things for lessons. Oh, uh, here.”

You pulled a different notepad from beneath the chaotic pile. “This is my plan for the lessons next semester. Tell me what you think.”

Logan watched as you went back to scribbling before he opened up the notepad and read through it. 

“This is good. I can take a couple more classes closer to Christmas, though. Kids’ are gonna need you for the English exams.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“How long have you been sitting here?”

You shrugged before holding down the paper you were writing on, almost like it was about to fly away. “Couple hours. I’m almost done.”

Logan looked from you and back to the pad. “I can take more lessons before Spring Break, too.”

Picking up one of the uncapped pens, Logan made his adjustments to your plan before pulling out a chair and sitting across from you. 

And for the first time, there was peace between yourself and Logan. He used your notepad to draw up a copy for the Professor on his laptop whilst you finished up your rougher lesson plans for the next couple of weeks. 

It was in the moments Logan looked at you, sitting across from him, that he felt something shift. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but somehow, rather than arguing with you over the fact you were wearing his hoodie that had gone missing a few months ago, he found himself admiring you in it. How cosy you looked. How warm and comforted you looked. 

And something sparked in him when he realised something of his brought you that. 

Time pressed on and those civil moments that seemed to be saved for one day out of the year, became less and less rare. 

In fact, you now found yourself looking forward to spending time with Logan. 

A sentence you never thought possible. 

You’d spent so long bickering and fighting and glaring at each other over the smallest things, that you’d both failed to realise that you could actually be quite good friends.

At the beginning of the new academic year, the students and even some of the teachers thought someone had lost complete control of their power and had set something on you and Logan. 

But no. 

You had both simply…made friends. 

Now rather than frosty mornings spent poking fun at each other, mornings were calm and a little warmer. Of course, you and Logan still bickered occasionally. Mainly when you had pointed out the change in your dynamic. 

“No, this is too weird.”

“What’s too weird?”

“Us,” you gestured between yourself and Logan. “We’re friends.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

You almost whimpered. “Don’t you find it weird?”

“That we’ve gone from not being allowed alone in a room together to being friends?” 

You nodded. 

“No.”

Logan continued hanging up the posters around your classroom. 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes you can agree with me?”

He nodded. “I know. But it is fun watching you squirm.”

“I don’t squirm.”

“You’re squirming right now because rather than bickering, which we are still doing, we’re friends.”

 You sighed and handed Logan another poster. 

Soon the days began to feel like they were bleeding into one until finally Christmas break came around and you found yourself sitting in the kitchen on a snowy day, eating some soup. 

“What is it?”

Logan had walked in to find you looking at your soup with a confused look. 

“Something’s missing.”

Less than twenty seconds later, Logan dumped some crackers beside your bowl. That’s what was missing. 

“You’re missing snow day, by the way.”

You dipped one into your soup and ate it. “I’ll be out later. If I can just find my hoodie.”

“You mean my hoodie?”

“It became my hoodie a long time ago,” you told Logan. 

Then you watched as he smirked a little before walking out of the kitchen and towards the laundry room. When he returned, he was carrying the black hoodie and handed it to you. It was still warm. 

“You left it in the library the other night after you spilled some milk down it. So I washed it.”

You smiled, almost vibrating in your seat with excitement to have a freshly washed and warm hoodie. It warmed you instantly, for more than just being fresh out of the dryer. 

A few hours later, it was keeping you warmer still as you were being pelted with snowballs by a couple of the students and eventually found yourself being chased by Logan down the field after you had sent one flying to the back of his head causing it to run down the back of his clothes. 

He caught you, spinning you both before you both found yourself rolling in the snow. Except, as you both came to a stop, Logan was flat on his back, his arms still around you and you were lying against his chest, your faces mere inches away from each other. 

And as the laughter died down and the smiles remained, you felt something shift. 

Looking from Logan’s eyes, you own dropped to his mouth for a moment before coming back up again. And you couldn’t help but notice he did the same with you. Suddenly, his hands that had kept you steady were now creeping across your back and his touch was practically seeping into your skin. 

Only, before anything could happen, you were both hit with a snowball. 

“Come on you two, we’re dying out here!” Rogue yelled before narrowly missing a snowball being thrown at her. 

You and Logan laughed before scrambling to your feet and heading back into the game. 

Later that evening as you and Logan were doing the last rounds of the school, you’d found a couple of kids fast asleep in their pjs, clearly having snuck out of bed at the last minute to watch the late night snowfall. 

Yourself and Logan carried them back to bed, you shutting the light off as Logan closed the door quietly. And as he bid you goodnight, a part of you couldn’t help but wish that you weren’t going off to a different room, two hallways down from him. 

However, it was only a few mornings later when Logan came and woke you earlier in the morning than usual to bring you down to breakfast where everyone was up and ready for the day. It was a surprise field trip and by the time you had gone back to your room to get dressed, you gave a small yelp as you opened the door back up to find Logan already standing there. His fist was held up, just getting ready to knock on. 

“Jesus, Logan. Give a girl a word of warning before you go to knock her out.”

Logan chuckled a little. “You ready?”

You grabbed your bag. “Yeah, let's go.”

The day was fun but it was long and after spending half of the night convincing yourself of “one more chapter, then sleep” – it was safe to say you were knackered. 

So when Logan pressed his hand to your head and brought it down to rest on his shoulder as he leaned back, you didn’t protest. 

Only, since your eyes were closed, you had missed the small smile on his face when he noticed you were nodding off and the comfortable sigh that left him when he realised you were fast asleep against him. 

Halfway back to the school, he’d felt you shiver a little. 

“Rogue?”

She pulled out her headphones and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“There’s a blanket in the cabin above your head. Pass it to me.”

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she did so, but took time to take in the picture before her as Logan covered both himself and you up as you slept. 

“What?”

Rogue just smiled, “Nothing.”

And she sat back down. And for as much as Logan wondered what Rogue meant by her smile, the thought left his head when he looked back down at you and you snuggled in closer to him. 

Once you all finally got back, Logan led you to your bedroom and slipped the shoes off your feet as you climbed under your covers. But as he went to walk away, you reached out and grabbed hold of his hand. 

And for a moment, he soaked it all in. 

The feeling of you holding his hand. The feeling of you falling asleep against him. The feeling of you. 

Until you let go.

It was only a few months later that you held onto his hand again, except this time you were fully conscious and didn’t let go until after the plane had landed. 

You had known Logan was afraid of flying since you first met him. You’d gotten onto that plane to take a short tour around the school before you officially accepted the job. Only, as you stepped onto the plane, you noticed Logan became tenser. And when it finally took off, he seemed like he was either wishing to pass out or he was gonna puke. 

“You’re afraid of flying.” You said almost with a smile, delighted to find out that the gruff man you’d thrown a book at merely an hour before, was afraid of something. 

Logan's stomach churned. “If man was meant to fly, he’d grow wings.”

You leaned back watching him with a smile. “Some already have.”

Logan just looked at you and tried to put his focus elsewhere. 

Knowing this, and finally being his friend, you found a seat next to him. The flight was going to be a long one. 

“How can you be afraid of flying? Weren’t you in the army for like…a gazillion years?” You asked as you boarded on with him. 

“You try nearly dying each time you get in one of these things, see how bad you’re itching to get back in one again.”

Logan put his bag in the compartment at the back before taking yours and placing it with his. As he buckled his seatbelt, you found difficulty with yours and just as you were about to give up or, at the very least, swear at the inanimate object, Logan’s body turned and helped you do it up. 

“These can be tricky.”

He clipped it together. “Thanks.”

He looked at you before sitting back in his seat, trying to find something to concentrate on as the jet started to lift. 

Only, his search to find something else became distracted when your hand reached across and held onto his. And for a moment, he was shocked. And then he smiled. And relaxed a little. With a little bit of turbulence, he squeezed your hand but never enough to truly hurt. 

But you never let go. 

And when the jet finally landed and you both found tarmac under your feet, you felt the climate hit you a lot more than you had been expecting. Except, less than a minute later, the familiar scent of Logan surrounded you and you found his jacket spreading over your shoulders. 

You smiled, letting your senses drown in his scent and warmth before you slipped your arms through the holes and found your way to your intended location. 

A week later, you were all sitting around in the living room, reading different things or watching TV. However, Logan lay on the sofa with his head in your lap, slowly dozing off to the sound of the TV, you turning your book pages every now and again and your heartbeat which only seemed to be amplified when he pressed his ear to your leg, hearing the blood rush around your body. 

By the time he woke up, everyone had disappeared, the lamps were on, the TV was on low and you were sitting on the floor, not too far from his head, going through a small pile of essays. 

“Hey.”

His voice sounded a little rougher than usual. You turned your head and smiled. It wasn’t often you got to see sleepy Logan, let alone comfortable Logan. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just some marking. Ooh, now you're awake, can you read what this says?”

Logan took the paper from you and looked at it. “This is your handwriting.”

“I know but I can’t tell what it says.”

But Logan could. 

You thanked him before taking the paper back. “Sometimes I think you know my handwriting better than I know my handwriting. Case in point.”

“You’re your own language.”

You smiled. “And after a year, you’re an expert. Maybe you missed your calling. Logan, the Language teacher. Read and speak in English, grunts, kitty cat and my handwriting.”

Logan groaned, trying to hide his smile. He was still waking up. His muscles couldn’t fight it off just yet. “I’m not a cat.”

“You have quite literal claws.”

“I’m Wolverine.”

You jokingly scoffed. “You’re a cat. But it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

Logan just rolled his eyes with his smile and brought his hand over to cover your mouth. “You done?”

You eventually nodded and went back to marking the essays whilst Logan simply watched you. 

He’d found himself doing more of that recently; watching you. Not in a stalker kinda way- at least, he hoped not. But just small things you did in the day. Grading papers, scribbling on paper, walking down the hallway and somehow avoiding every pillar and post on the way despite your nose being buried deep inside whatever book you were reading. 

And he’d noticed more things about you, too. 

How you walked, how you moved. And when you were in the zone, it was almost like watching you dance. You knew what you were doing, ten steps ahead of time. You’d caught more students talking and passing notes more than even he had. 

Some days, when he was on his lunch break, he’d sneak into the back of your classroom. The class would be fully engrossed in whatever it was you were talking about, so he mostly went unnoticed. So, he’d pull up a chair at the back and sit in the sea of students. 

And when he forced himself to pay attention to what you were saying, rather than just checking you out and watching you, he managed to learn a thing or two. 

It was also on some of those days, you’d find a protein bar and a coffee at your desk by the time you returned back to class. 

For another year, these small gestures continued. You, holding his hand during a plane ride, him bringing you coffee and a snack, both of you falling asleep on each other, him routinely finding lost pens and pencils that most of the time were stuck in your hair or behind you ear. Even going so far as to bring each other meals when you knew the other had missed one. 

That was how the “dates” started. Sometimes in the library, other times in the kitchen or out in the garden. If one of you was missing for a meal, the other would wrap leftovers on a plate. 

Across a couple of these nights, some of the students had gone unnoticed when passing the rooms. Because, when you and Logan looked at each other, everything else faded away. 

And then one night everything changed. 

Everything went from the small moments and small gestures and a friendship that made you question if that’s all you wanted when it came to Logan, to both of you confronting your questions with the answers you’d both known, deep down, for a long time. 

Or maybe it was just one answer. 

“Yes.”

Logan turned and found Rogue leaning in the hallway. He placed down the photo frame he’d been holding. 

“I was just looking at some pictures. Found one of you.”

Logan picked up a second and held it out for her to see. “Cute. But, I don’t think that’s why you were looking here.”

Rogue put the photo down and picked up the familiar frame. The picture Logan had just been holding. 

“You know, if you asked her, she’d probably say yes.”

Logan put the photo back down. “Say yes to what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”

Rogue gave a smirk as she watched Logan walk away. And she followed after him. 

“You can’t just run away from feelings, you know. They’re inside of you. Unless you can outrun your own skin, you can’t leave them behind.”

Logan looked at her. “Don’t you have a class to be in?”

“My final exam is tomorrow.”

Logan pushed open the door. “Then shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Giving my eyes a break.” Rogue hopped down the steps behind him. “It’s just a date, Logan. Everyone already knows you’ve completed steps 4 through 20. Just need to complete the first three.”

“Three?”

Rogue followed Logan into the garage. “Ask her out on a date, first kiss and first…time.”

Rogue smiled up at Logan a little, watching him blush a little before awkwardly walking away. “I forget you’re old enough to know about stuff like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just sex, Logan. But the more important part here is step one. Asking her out on a date.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Step twenty.” Rogue told him. “You’re in love with her.”

Logan paused what he was doing and turned to look at Rogue. “Logan, you can’t just keep running away each time you feel something for someone.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Then where are you going?”

“To the store. We need some things.”

Rogue sighed, getting back to her point. “Look, I get your whole “lone wolf” act, but you keep forgetting something.”

“Really? And what’s that?”

“A lone wolf can still find a pack. Better yet, build one of their own.” 

Logan took in Rogue’s expression as she held onto the door on the other side of the truck. He sighed. 

“Do you need anything from the store?”

“Period pads.”

By the time Logan got back from the store, it was almost nightfall. He left the bag of products inside Rogue’s door before he headed into the kitchen and found it…quiet.

“Where is everyone?” Logan asked as he put the milk away. 

You looked over your shoulder from the stove. “Jean and Scott are out on a date, Ororo took the kids out with the Professor. Last minute deal – they get to spend a night inside a museum.”

“Anyone else home?”

You shook your head. “Just us.”

“So,” Logan eventually found his seat across the kitchen island from you. “What do you want to do?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a plan outside making dinner and eating outside.”

So that’s what you both ended up doing. Sitting outside, under the stars, backlit by the lights from the kitchen, eating dinner. 

Logan washed up inside, looking over his shoulder every now and again to see you stood outside, looking up at the sky. 

“You know, back home you could see all the stars. I think I was about ten when I finished mapping out all the constellations I could see.”

Logan leaned against the backdoor, listening to you explain. Then with a smile and a kick of his feet, he made his way over to you. 

“Here.”

“What?”

Logan opened up his jacket for you and you thanked him quietly as he helped you slip it on. It was big, the sleeves managing to cover your hands more than your own jackets did. 

Twirling you around, Logan pulled the jacket close by the collar and you found yourself inches from him. 

“Figured you’d get cold.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

And for a while, you both just looked at each other. You’d noticed Logan always had this look on his face when he looked at you. You just couldn’t pin it. But then it shifted. Like you could see the cogs turning in his head, but he had come to a conclusion before you could ask. 

“What?”

“Do you want to go on a date?”

You felt yourself reel back a little, trying to decide if he was bullshitting you or not. And it took a moment or two, but once you realised he was being serious you said…

“Yes.”

“With me?”

You nodded with a smile. “I’d love to.”

“Are you sure?” Logan asked, his hands still holding onto the jacket. 

You raised your brow slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“Good.” You gave a short nod before looking back at him. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

Brushing the hair from your face to behind your ear, Logan smiled. And so did you. Feeling his warmth through his palm as he caressed your face, he drew you in. 

And when his lips finally met yours, something seemed to click into place. 

That feeling that had been growing inside of you, ever since you saw him for the first time when he’d pulled the pen from your hair all those nights ago, was finalised. 

This had been the shift. This was the change. You’d both taken a step forward without realising it and had found not only comfort but love in each other's presence. 

“Are you busy now?”

You shrugged, your arms looping around the back of Logan’s neck. “Depends. What for?”

“For our date.”

“Now?” You asked, a little shocked. 

Logan nodded. “Come with me.”

Holding onto his hand, he hurried you down the stone steps and towards the garden. You laughed. 

“Logan, slow down. Where are we going?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

And you did. 

He’d taken you to the greenhouse, climbing up the spiralling staircase and out onto the small rooftop. 

Looking up to the sky, you took in a breath. 

“It’s gorgeous.”

You were in amazement. The greenhouse was far enough away from the school that none of the lights from it polluted your vision. The sky was as clear as it had ever been and you felt like you could see for miles on end. Most of it was woodland, covered with a blanket of stars. 

It was one of the most extraordinary things you had seen in a long time. 

However, when you looked to find Logan to gauge his reaction, you just found him looking at you. 

[perfectlyvalid49]

On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):

Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.

But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”

And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.

What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.

First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.

And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.

And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?

I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they’re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.

I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?

And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.

On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.

But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.

One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.

And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?

The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.

I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.

I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.

The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.

I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.

Am Yisrael Chai.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[luveline]

I love anything strangers to lovers with James, something with him maybe coming to a muggle pub with the guys and coming over to talk to you, trying to be all suave but entirely relying on everything muggle studies has taught him and like mixing weird things up but he’s still so endearing you kinda don’t care

ty for requesting❤️

James is holding Remus’ hand when he sees you. They’re being touchy and weird because there’s nobody around to see it but strangers, aware that it’s a little too touchy but uncaring. The drinks they’ve had makes it less overly friendly and more this man is my best friend in the whole world. 

He sees you and abruptly drops Remus’ hand. 

“James,” Remus says, pulling his hand back. 

“Sorry, but– but look!” He gestures to you, leaning down as though this might stop you seeing him before he’s ready. 

You’re really something. In a group of friends two tables and what looks like fifteen chairs, too many bodies, you’re hanging back with your glass held to your chest, giggling at someone’s loud joke. You’re so pretty James feels it in his chest, like woah! Like, he has to talk to you. Maybe it’s the way you’re smiling as you laugh, he loves it. 

The longer he looks, the more convinced he becomes. 

“What are we looking at?” Sirius asks, back at the table with a new drink. 

Remus quickly takes it. “It’s who are we looking at,” he corrects. “There’s a girl over there James likes the look of.” 

“She’s gorgeous. I’m going.” 

Neither friend tries to stop him. James isn’t drunk nor stupid, and he’s not a bad flirt. Not that every girl he tries to talk to wants to talk back, but he isn’t disrespectful or grim. 

He tries not to overthink it. 

“Hi, ladies,” he says, directing his hello to your little gaggle off the main group. You sit between two other women, all smiling politely as he speaks up. “What are you guys doing out tonight?” 

“It’s my birthday,” you say. 

“It is?” he asks, surprised. “Happy birthday! You aren’t wearing a badge?” 

“It’ll poke holes in my shirt.” 

He nods solemnly. “Well, never mind it. Are you having a good night?” 

“I would be, if the person feeding the jukebox would stop playing Bee Gee’s,” you say. 

Feeding the jukebox, James repeats in his head. He looks around for some sort of animal but doesn’t find one, nor does he spot any games of Bee Gee’s. “People are terrible pet owners these days,” he says. 

You laugh like a riot, so he must’ve said something right. “Only an animal would play disco!” you agree, standing up suddenly. “I need another drink. Are you coming with me, or did you fancy someone else?” 

James grins. “I’m coming with you, please.” 

He sees the little twitch on your smile that shows you’re pleased; you aren’t as confident as you’re trying to appear, and your question had been a brave one. James will try to reward your courage. 

“Do you come here often?” he asks, following you through tight tables and down a step to the bar. 

“Only on birthdays.” You grin as he shields you from a passerby. “What about you?” 

“Here? Never in my life! It’s quaint though, I love the taps and the posters and the pork scratchings!”

“They don’t have pork scratchings at home? Where are you from?” 

He shrugs. “Somewhere awful. They don’t have birthday girls half as pretty as you are back there. Did you get anything nice for your struggle?” 

“What, the struggle of getting older?” You lift your chin. “Do I look like I’ve struggled? In ageing?” 

“You look like you’ve been deprived of a drink. What’s your favourite?” 

“Can you guess?” 

James slows with you, just shy of the bar. What a peculiar thing to ask. Maybe muggles play this game, maybe this is a flirting ritual. James chooses the prettiest drink for a nice looking girl. “A French seventy five,” he suggests. 

“What’s that?” 

“Gin and champagne, mostly.” 

“I don’t know about that one.” 

James grins. “A cherry spritzer, then. Ice, a little sugar, cherries on the rim. You look like you like cherries.” 

James buys you a cherry spritzer with extra cherries —it’s your birthday. You say thank you twice and sip it at the bar as he nurses a cold dark thatchers, your elbows touching. James briefly notes how you compliment one another in the mirror above the wines. He tries to catch your eye in it, but gets distracted when the TV box above it changes colour. 

“Do you watch the football?” you ask, noticing his gaze. 

“Oh, yeah. Love football. Weird shape for a ball, but. Do you like it?” 

You take a second to answer, “Well, what about rugby?” 

He’s more familiar with rugby, they talked a great deal about it in muggle studies. “I love rugby! All the scrums and scrimmages.”

“Do you play?” 

“Um, no.” 

“Well, you must play something.” 

“Are you flirting with me?” he jokes. 

“You look active!” 

“What do you like?” he asks, happy to change the subject and learn more about you at the same time. 

“I like lots of stuff, mostly books. Oh, I like karaoke,” you say. “I’m not very good.” 

James knows what karaoke is. “I bet you are. It’s about patience, right? Filling in all those little boxes. I can’t get behind the numbers part, I’m terrible at arithmetic.” 

You look at him like he’s grown two heads. You don’t mean to, he can tell, because your expression immediately clouds with guilt, and then something kinder. He likes fondness on you, and he loves for it to be directed at him. 

“I’m terrible at maths, too,” you say, smiling, nearly shy. “Do you want to get a table with me?”

“Did I say something wrong, before?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

It’s much later with his hand behind your neck when he realises the numbers game is sudoku, not karaoke. He laughs against your open mouth. You ask him what’s so funny, but the warmth of your breath on his lips has him forgetting.

(James was a tad weird, you think that night, his phone number on the back of one of your birthday cards and your lips still fizzing, but he’d been earnest even in kissing, and for that you can’t complain.)

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Big Girls Cry Too"

The LADS Men walking in on you having a good cry after bottling everything up and that one bad day at work was the final straw. Look even the baddest bitches cry doesn’t change the fact that mc (all of us) is still the baddest.

Zayne

Zayne: Are you hurt?

MC: I'm just tired

Zayne: Did you not sleep well last night?

MC: Mentally Zayne im just.....I don't know

Zayne: Talk to me what’s troubling you?

MC: I can’t find the words

Zayne: Well then just say anything I'll piece it together as you go

MC: I just .... I feel so ..... but I can't .. and today was just ..... I don't know

Zayne: You're just overworking yourself to keep your mind off your grandma and Caleb but you want a break however you can't seem to catch one and today was the straw that broke the camels back?

MC: What are you a mind reader?

Zayne: No I'm an MC reader

He would sit with you and hold you in his arms while you were a blubbering mess.

Zayne: I'll stay right here for as long as you need

Rafayel

Rafayel: I told you to stop abandoning me for that place look what its done to you

MC: Not now Raf im tired

Rafayel: I know

MC: So stop making jokes

Rafayel: Do you want to talk about it?

MC: No

Rafayel: Do you want me to leave?

MC: *sniffles* No

Rafayel: Good I wasn’t going to *throws you over his shoulder*

MC: Where are we going?!

Rafayel: For a swim it always makes me feel better

MC: I just want to lay in bed

Rafayel: Trust me a dip in the water with me is like free therapy

MC: ….

Rafayel: You trust me?

MC: I trust you

Rafayel: Good I'll do anything to see those tears stop

MC: You’re too good to me

Rafayel: Next time you need to cry call me … I have two shoulders just for you

Xavier

Xavier: Who upset you?

MC: Everything

Xavier: I can’t fight everything

MC: Why not I’m tired of it all

Xavier: What’s going on?

MC: I just need a good cry from time to time

Xavier: How often is ‘time to time’

MC: …..twice a week

Xavier: Come here

MC: *lays on top of Xavier as he rubs your back*

Xavier: Feeling better?

MC: actually ….. yea …. Is this why you lay on me all the time?

Xavier: You’re like a human battery recharger … my personal charger

MC: Are you sad every time ?

Xavier: Not every time but sometimes

MC: Oh I never noticed

Xavier: That’s because being around you makes me happy

MC: Can I lay here for a while ….. please

Xavier: Will that make you happy?

MC: *sniffles & nods*

Xavier: I’ll be your human body pillow whenever you want

Sylus

Sylus: Are you crying?

MC: *sniffles* no

Sylus: You’re a terrible liar sweetie

MC: I had a tough day at work

Sylus: A tough day at work huh?

MC: ….yea

Sylus: Sweetie it’s okay to cry in front of me I know you’ve been bottling up your emotions

MC: You don’t know anything

Sylus: I know this will help *Starts giving you a scalp massage*

MC: You don’t know if it’s helping …… but don’t stop

Sylus: I didn’t plan to …. come here

Sylus takes a seat on the bed and moves you to straddle his lap. You lay your head on his shoulder while he continues to massage your scalp with one hand and rub your back with the other.

MC: Don’t you have work to do?

Sylus: You are always a top priority princess

[lovelytsunoda]

tell it to my heart // jenson button (instagram au!)

summary: jenson and his pop-culture icon wifey celebrate their wedding anniversary and the fans reminisce on how they got there.

pairing: jenson button x 2000s actress! reader

faceclaim: sarah michelle gellar

notes: genuinely sarah michelle and freddie prinze have my whole fucking heart…he’s truly and utterly infatuated by her and they just love each other so much, I’m getting weepy just looking at their wedding photos-

2000sthrowbacks On this day in 2010, "Scooby-Doo" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer" actress Y/N Y/L/N announced her engagement to Formula 1 driver Jenson Button. To celebrate, we're counting down our favorite Y/N roles, starting with Daphne Blake in "Scooby-Doo" and "Scooby-Doo: Monsters Unleashed!"

see all comments

user how jenson bagged this baddie i will never understand

-> jensonbutton i still don't understand it either but i love her and she loves me and i hope it stays that way

user mother

user I can’t believe they’ve been married for ten years already….they haven’t aged a day

user I love how they’re both majorly successful in their own fields yet still managed to make time to support each other, even when it meant that YN had to turn down an audition for ‘the ghost of girlfriends past’ so she could be there to watch brawn win the championship

user real talk, has jenson ever asked her to wear the buffy the vampire slayer costume in bed (because if i was him that's what i'd be doing)

->y/nbutton only once and it was awkward for both of us.

Y/N Button on Live with Kelley and Mark

y/nbutton added to her story!

jensonbutton just posted!

liked by y/nbutton, markwebber, lewishamilton and others

jensonbutton happy anniversary to the love of my life, the most beautiful woman in the world, the mother of my children. she's definitely too cool for me, and i take that in stride. in fact, on the day we got married, fernando asked me if i still wanted to go through with the wedding, and that i should tie you down before you realized you could have literally any man in the world. needless to say, it felt surreal that you chose me. we've spent fourteen beautiful years together, and i can't wait for fourteen more.

i love you, y/n.

see all comments

y/nbutton i love you more and more with every passing day xx

fernandoalonso you were punching way above your weight class hermano

-> jensonbutton and yet im the one with a wife and you're not?

-> fernandoalsonso shut up

alex_albon she's everything, he's just ken

-> user LMAO ALEX WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user parents

user dilf

-> y/nbutton agreed.

-> user milf

-> jensonbutton yes.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @lorarri @cartierre @thatsdemko @userlando @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck

[viennakarma]

Alonso Shenanigans

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Mamá has business to attend, and Fernando is left to watch his son and get a hold of his whereabouts.

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: female reader, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, dad!Nando, silly little slice of life, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Another bite sized fluffy Nando fic, because I think about that one thing he said about finding happiness in becoming a father at least four times a week. Comments and feedback are appreciated xx

“Are you sure, love?” You asked again, nervous, watching as Fernando carried Alejandro attached to his hip.

“Yes, I’m sure, will you be back later today?” Fernando asked, as Ale played with his father’s hair, mumbling a little lullabye.

“Yes, in around three hours,” you said, kissing the top of Ale’s head, then pecking Fernando’s lips, “I’m really sorry, this meeting came out of nowhere, I promise I’ll make it up to you when-”

“Amor, it’s ok,” Fernando interrupted, “Go, we’ll behave and wait for you.”

It was just media day, but unfortunately a last minute meeting at your company needed to happen, and you’d have to leave your husband and kid alone in the paddock so you could go back to the hotel to attend the meeting online.

“Love you two to the moon and back!” You said, scurrying off.

“Mamá!” Alejandro asked, suddenly noticing his mother’s absence, and getting fussy.

“Mamá had to work, we’re going to have a lot of fun together today!” Fernando said, putting him on the floor, and holding his hand.

He took Alejandro all around, when he went to talk with the mechanics about the last update to his car, when he went to take a few pictures, recording a few marketing stuff, here and there. Everyone knew Alejandro as “Little Alonso”, his tiny feet padding around, his head full of disheveled brown wavy hair, and eyes that were pretty much the same as his father. He was always around, pointing at his dad’s car, muttering gibberish half in spanish and half in english, he also liked walking to the engineers pulling on their shirts to get their attention so he could ask for a headphone.

At the age of four and a half, Alejandro was a known face around the paddocks, always asking questions and waiting to know about everyone’s business.

“Papá, I’m hungry!” Alejandro patted his own belly, which made his dad chuckle.

“Ok, we’re getting food, campeoncito,” Fernando muttered, leading his son to his room. Inside, he rummaged through all his bags, searching for his snacks and juice bottle.

He ended up sitting beside Alejandro in the cafeteria, the little boy munching in a pot of cut fruits, a bag of chips, and a mango juice. Alejandro talked about everything, asking about the people and the colors, and why everything was where it was.

Eventually, Fernando had a meeting, so he set a little playing mat to Alejandro on the floor of the meeting room, where he put his son’s toys, paper and crayons. 

“Papá, yo quiero inside your car!” Ale asked, as Fernando placed him on the little mat.

“I’ll take you to sit in my car as soon as we finish here, yes? Just sit tight and I’ll be really fast. Do you want to play with your toys, or paint a little? Come on,” Fernando took a crayon and started drawing, looking over his shoulder to see his engineers and strategists getting inside, sitting down, opening their laptops and notes. Nobody batted an eye to Fernando kneeling on the floor, convincing his kid to sit quietly. Everyone was used to the Alonsos’ shenanigans.

Finally, after making sure Alejandro was still on the mat, under his sight, Fernando went on and started the meeting.

It took something between 20 and 30 minutes until it was over, and when Fernando went to pick Alejandro, he noticed his little boy wasn’t there anymore, and the door was slightly ajar. Muttering every curse word he could think of, he bolted outside. Alejandro had become a little menace in escaping rooms now that he was tall enough to tiptoe and reach a door handle.

“Have you seen Alejandro?” He stopped a couple of the staff in the hall to ask. They just shook their heads. He went to the garage, and stopped the whole team of mechanics, his heart beating faster than it did when racing, “Have you guys seen Alejandro?”

“He walked past with Lance a few minutes ago,” Someone said, pointing outside. Fernando breathed again, ok, at least he wasn’t alone, roaming around and in danger.

Striding forward, Fernando kept looking for his teammate and his son, and eventually ended up in Ferrari. He walked inside to ask Carlos if he had seen the little boy, but he stopped short when he noticed a tiny hand print made with what looked like grease on the livery of the 55 Ferrari, and the letters “ALE” written sloppily with the very same black grease.

“Oh, mierda,” he whispered. Carlos noticed him, walking up to Fernando with a smile.

“Ale was just here with Lance, we talked for a couple of seconds, and when we looked, he had his hand printed on the car,” Carlos explained, as Fernando winced.

“Lo siento, Carlos. Do you know where they might have gone?” He asked.

“Well, Lance said he was going to wash Ale’s hands. So, back to Aston Martin, maybe?” Carlos shrugged.

Fernando went back to his garage, looking for Lance and Alejandro. Finally, he found Lance using a cloth to dry his hands. He smiled and waved at Fernando, who quickly went up to him.

“Is Alejandro with you?” Fernando asked.

“Oh, he saw George walking by, ran up to him and they both bolted together. I have no idea where they went. Sorry.” Lance muttered.

Fernando walked out again, going to the Mercedes motorhome to find his son once again. Honestly, everyone loved Alejandro way more than they loved Fernando, he was pretty sure, and the little boy was frankly a menace all around. If he found someone like George to match his energy, they would go around causing trouble to everyone.

At the Mercedes motorhome, he found Lewis staring curiously at a bowl of fruits.

“Hey, have you seen Alejandro? Lance said he and Geor-” Fernando stopped himself when he got closer to the table where the bowl of fruits sat.

“Well, for sure they’ve been here,” Lewis muttered, holding an apple, showing how the fruit had one single bite taken off. One little bite which Fernando knew very well who that dental arch belonged to. There was a bite on the apple, the banana, the pear, the peach and every single fruit there.

“¡Ay, dios mio! I’m sorry about this!” Fernando whispered, “I need to find them before him and George set the whole paddock on fire.”

Fernando walked out, knowing that George was probably going to look for Alex or Lando, who would probably support their little mischief around. He found Williams garage first, where he found a laughing Logan Sargeant picking up what looked like hundreds of little pieces of lego. And Fernando knew his kid, and knew he loved throwing things to the floor to make a mess.

“That’s Alejandro’s doing, right?” Fernando asked, wide eyed. Logan nodded and explained how the little boy had been there with George to taunt Alex after throwing his lego piece to the floor and scattering all the tiny pieces. Fernando helped Logan pick up the pieces from the floor.

“The three of them left, saying they had to prank Lando too,” Logan told Fernando, when they finished.

Fernando ran off, walking to McLaren, where he found Lando washing off his hair which was tangled in pink play dough, and George was trying to help him. Standing a little far behind, Alex had Alejandro sitting on his shoulders, the two of them giggling with Oscar.

“Alejandro didn’t do that, did he?” Fernando asked, worried and getting angry.

“No, no!” George was quick, “that was an accident on my part!”

“Yeah, little Alonso is innocent on this!” Lando added. Fernando squinted, not sure if he fully believed that, since Fernando himself had gone through something similar with Alejandro and his play dough.

“Look, any kind of oil will remove that from your hair,” Fernando patted his back, walking to his kid.

Alex gave him Alejandro, who Fernando decided was best to keep attached to him, not letting the little boy out of his sight again.

“Green! Verde, verde!” Alejandro was exclaiming to Alex.

“What is going on, pollito?” Fernando asked.

“He asked me to paint my hair green next time,” Alex explained, showing his blonde hair.

“And you agreed?” Fernando frowned.

“Yeah, whatever little Alonso wants, little Alonso gets,” Alex shrudded, laughing and pinching Alejandro chubby cheeks.

“You guys spoil him too much!” Fernando shook his head, waving goodbye and taking Alejandro back to his garage, “now I understand why mamá wants to buy a little backpack leash for you, little troublemaker.”

Alejandro held his face, looking into his eyes, then hugging him tight, which made Fernando’s annoyance from having to chase his son around completely dissolve, and he melted, hugging his boy. He could never get angry with his cute little man, especially when he reminded him so much of his younger self.

“Papá? Where’s Mamá?” Alejandro asked, looking around.

“Mamá is coming back soon, pollito,” he whispered, kissing his son’s cheek, “I’m missing her too.”

Fernando didn’t lose sight of Alejandro anymore, and when he had to leave for the press conference with other drivers, he left his PR manager to watch Alejandro while you had not come back. He was sitting on the sofa, answering questions but he still could watch Alejandro in a little chair on the opposite side of the room, beside the manager.

At some point, he noticed Alejandro getting fussy and pouty from staying in the same place alone for too long and looking fairly sleepy, Fernando could tell from one look.

“Alejandro,” Fernando called into the mic, the little boy looked around, hearing his dad’s voice, finally, he set his eyes on Fernando and jumped from the chair, “vente aquí.”

The boy took off, running towards his dad, eliciting a little “aw” from the journalists, and a lot of cameras following him until he got to his father, sitting on his lap, nuzzling into Fernando’s chest.

Fernando kept answering questions, and in a couple off minutes, Alejandro was fully asleep. Everyone started talking a little lower, as to not disturb the little one who was sleeping so calmly on his dad’s chest.

When the press conference was over, Fernando carried Alejandro inside his room, keeping his son on his lap, while he went through some data.

Finally when you came back, you found Alejandro on Fernando’s chest, his dad holding him tight while both of them took a little nap, looking so much like each other that it warmed your heart. You kissed both of their heads, running your fingers through Fernando’s hair to wake him up.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, so my pretty boys can eat and rest properly, yes?” You said, kissing Fernando softly, his eyes shining with so much adoration that he didn’t need to say the words, you could see the I love you. “Did you two behave?”

“Like angels!” Fernando winked, which told you that they probably had some Alonso Shenanigans today.

[mononijikayu]

delicate — geto suguru.

Suguru glared at Gojo. “I’m not concerned, I just—” “Uh–uhuh, keep talking.” “I’m just some friend—acquaintance. Worried.” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Satoru. I don’t know what you’re going on about. If I'm in love with them, shoot me.” Without missing a beat, Gojo grinned, “Bang.” He made a playful gun gesture with his hand and gave Suguru a wide grin. “Cupid’s bullets confirm!”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Modern AU!;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance,, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Confessions, Humor, Getting Together, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Kissing, Profanity, Mention of Fighting, Mention of Bruising, Outcast! Geto Suguru, Popular Cheerleader!Reader;

WORDS: 6.9k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i made this while thinking about what dynamic i wanted to see between cute couples. and here we are. this was supposed to be shorter too, but it ended up way way longer than 4k words. but im satisfied with this. i hope you enjoy!!! i love you all <3

ADDENDUM: i just found out gege akutami said jjk ends in five chapters and i just want to say that this is going to be hard for me since ive been a fan since 2019.

but i will say ill continue to write as much as i can for this story, enjoy the anime with you for years to come. im sad of course, but im thankful. im grateful for gege akutami for letting me meet his lovely story and his bountiful characters.

and of course because of him, i met all of you. i am very grateful. from beginning to end. i am crying but i am happy too. i love jjk a lot you guys. hugs and kisses to manga fans everywhere. lets hope for a happy end to the story we have loved 🥹🫶

main masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 900;

if you want to, tip! <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌌*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

YOU WEREN’T LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. You were the it-girl, so sought after. The shining star. You were the girl everyone wanted to be—effortlessly beautiful, charming, and the center of attention at Jujutsu College. As a cheerleader, you had it all: the admiration of your peers, the envy of others, and the kind of popularity that opened every door.

Everywhere you went, eyes followed. Whispers trailed in your wake, a symphony of awe and envy that only fueled your rise to the top. You were untouchable, your smile a weapon, your presence a force. Parties, events, and the campus buzzed with your name. Everyone wanted to be near you, to bask in the glow of your effortless charisma. But all of that came crashing down when you chose to stand up for what you believed was right.

The whispers got worse the moment they took to the locker room. One of the newer cheerleaders, a girl named Emi, was their target—shy, awkward, and an easy mark for their cruelty. You watched it unfold for days, biting your tongue, hoping it would stop. They were the same, the seniors who already graduated. You let them do it then, because you hoped they’d stop like the seniors did. But they did not. Instead, it went too far.

You looked at them for a moment, trying not to be obvious. This was going too far. The girl was about to cry, maybe she’d even get even more hurt. This is enough. You cannot stay and just stay silent anymore. Maybe it was the memory of your own first days on the squad, when you weren’t yet the queen bee, when you still had something to prove. Or maybe it was just a sense of fairness that you couldn’t ignore. But you knew that this had to stop. This has to end.

"God, Emi, you can’t even get a basic cheer right. Why are you even here?" one of the girls sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

Emi stood frozen, her eyes welling up with tears. The other cheerleaders laughed, egging each other on, pushing her closer to the edge. You bit your lip, closing your locker with a loud bang, causing everyone to look at you. You could feel Emi’s eyes on you too, shaking with fear as tears fell from her cheeks. 

“Leave her alone, you freaks!” you said, your voice sharp as you stepped forward. “That is enough. She doesn’t deserve this. You’ve gone too far, even more than our seniors!”

They turned to you, surprise flickering across their faces before it morphed into mockery. You moved forward to the captain, eyes narrowed as you glared at her. You shook your head at her. “Just leave her alone. She’s a freshman. She doesn’t need your shit.”

“What, are you her knight in shining armor now?” one of the lackeys taunted, crossing her arms. “You’re supposed to be on our side, aren’t you? This is a tradition for us seniors.”

“I’m on the side that’s not full of bullies.” you shot back, your anger boiling over. “Being bullied doesn’t mean you should be one!”

“What’s your problem?” another girl snapped, stepping closer, her tone threatening. “She’s dead weight, and you know it.”

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your temper in check. “My problem is that you’re all acting like a bunch of jerks. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the dead weight.”

The tension in the room exploded like a storm that had been brewing for too long. You could feel it in the way the air seemed to thicken, in the way eyes narrowed and lips curled into sneers. It started with a harsh word—one of those sly, cutting remarks that slid under the skin like a blade. But this time, you couldn’t let it slide. Not when it was aimed at Emi, the quiet girl who had been on the receiving end of too many of those slights.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, the words spilling out of you in a rush of anger and defiance. “What’s your problem? Why do you always have to pick on someone who’s done nothing to you?”

Your voice cut through the chatter, silencing the room. The others stared at you, shocked that you—of all people—would dare to break ranks. The lead cheerleader, the queen bee, glared at you, her eyes narrowed into slits. “What, are you her bodyguard now? Don’t act like you’re better than us.”

It was the spark that lit the fire. The room erupted into chaos as insults were hurled back and forth. You didn’t back down, not when they turned their barbs on you, not when they sneered at Emi. It all escalated so fast—too fast. Suddenly, hands were shoving, nails were scratching, and before you knew it, you were in the middle of a full-blown fight.

You could barely make sense of it all. The adrenaline surged through you, drowning out the pain as someone’s fist connected with your cheek, leaving a nasty bruise that would bloom later. All you could think about was protecting Emi, keeping her out of the fray, even as the world around you descended into chaos.

The chaos only ended when the coaches rushed in, their voices booming as they waded into the mess of tangled limbs and flaring tempers. They pulled you all apart, demanding to know what had happened, their faces a mix of shock and anger.

But it was too late—the damage was done. You could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at you now, like you were the problem. The principal was called in, and you found yourself standing in his office, staring at the floor as he lectured you about school spirit and the responsibilities that came with your position.

Your words fell on deaf ears. They didn’t want to hear about the bullying, about how you were just trying to protect Emi. All they saw was the fight, the disruption, and the girl who had gone from golden to tarnished in a matter of minutes.

When you returned to the locker room, it was like a slap in the face. Your things had been removed from your team locker, stuffed unceremoniously into a bag and left on the floor. You were no longer welcome. The cheerleaders, the same girls who had once been your closest friends, looked at you with cold eyes and turned their backs.

You had wanted to protect Emi, and now you were left with a throbbing bruise, a reprimand from the principal, and a cold emptiness where your friends used to be. But even as you walked out of that locker room, head held high despite everything, you knew you’d do it all over again. Because some things were worth fighting for, even if it meant losing everything else.

The next day, you found yourself officially kicked off the squad. Well, Emi was also kicked out too, but you were glad that she wasn’t at all hurt. That was what mattered. The news spread like wildfire, and the people who once idolized you now whispered behind your back. Your world felt like it was crumbling, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the biggest mistake of your life.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting alone outside, trying to process everything that had happened. Emi had repeatedly apologized to you today, but you kept waving her off and told her to stay safe around school. It wasn’t really her fault. Maybe if you had acted much earlier, maybe Emi wouldn’t have had to go through the worst. Perhaps this was your punishment. This was what happened because of your inaction. And you feel like you deserve this. You deserve to be punished like this. You could only sigh.

That’s when you heard someone approaching.

“You know, I always thought cheerleaders were supposed to be a tight-knit group.” a voice drawled. 

You looked up to see Gojo Satoru standing there, hands in his pockets, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Guess so.” you muttered, feeling the sting of his words even though they weren’t meant to hurt. “I’m sorry, have I met you before?”

“I don’t think so.” He says, removing his round sunglasses. “Have we met before too?”

“Don’t think so.” You admitted also, face scrunching in confusion. “I don’t meddle around with unpopular kids.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not unpopular.”

“Then why have I never heard of your name before?” You raised your brow.

“I don’t know, maybe you were too focused on being a cheerleader and me being a Digimon stan?” 

“Oh, so you’re a nerd!” You clapped your hands together. “That makes sense why I haven’t heard about you.”

He sighed. “You cheerleaders are cut throats, aren’t you?”

“I’m an ex–cheerleader now. Not really much of a cheerleader anymore.” You snickered. “Those pom pom waving mean girls, goodbye them!”

He plopped down next to you, stretching out his long legs. “So, what’s the plan now? Are you gonna go all lone wolf, or are you open to a new company?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you care?”

Gojo shrugged, his smile widening. “Because I’m curious about the girl who went from queen bee to outcast in one day. That takes guts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out a little bitter. “Or stupidity.”

“Or both, you know?” he agreed easily. “But I like guts. So does Shoko. And Suguru. And Kento and Haibara. You’d fit right in with us.”

“Fit in?” you echoed, not sure if he was being serious. Your face reminded Satoru of how Kento reacted to him asking to be his friend. 

“Yeah.” he said, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “We’re not exactly the most popular kids on campus, but we’re fun. And we don’t care about that petty stuff.”

Before you could respond, Shoko Ieiri appeared, hands stuffed in her lab coat pockets, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “You’re not bothering her, are you, Gojo?”

“Me? Bother someone? Never, Sho.” Gojo said, feigning innocence. “Just making a new friend.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and looked at you. “He’s right, though. You’re welcome to hang with us if you want.”

You hesitated, glancing between them. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shoko said with a lazy grin. “We don’t bite. Well, maybe Gojo does, but only if you ask nicely.”

You laughed again, this time more genuinely. “Okay… I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

As the days passed, you found yourself drifting away from the cheerleaders and into a new circle. It started subtly at first, with Gojo casually inviting you to sit with him and Shoko during lunch. Gojo’s easygoing nature made it hard to say no, and Shoko’s dry humor quickly drew you in. 

They didn’t seem to care about the drama that had turned your life upside down. Gojo’s bright grin and carefree attitude were a stark contrast to the cold shoulders you’d been getting from your former friends. Shoko, with her sharp wit and laid-back demeanor, offered a kind of friendship that felt refreshing, real in a way that the cheerleading squad never had.

Soon, Geto Suguru and Nanami Kento joined in. Suguru had a quiet confidence about him, a steady presence that was both comforting and intriguing. He didn’t ask about the fight or why you weren’t with the cheerleaders anymore. Instead, he offered a warm smile and an understanding nod, as if he knew without needing to be told.

Nanami, on the other hand, was more reserved. He didn’t speak much at first, but his presence was reassuring. There was a steadiness to him, a sense of reliability that you hadn’t realized you craved. He welcomed you into their group with a subtle nod, a small but genuine gesture that told you he saw you for who you were now, not who you had been before.

Each of them, in their own way, made room for you. They didn’t treat you like the fallen star or the girl with the tarnished reputation. With them, you didn’t have to pretend. You could be yourself—no masks, no expectations.And slowly, you began to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time: belonging.

That afternoon, all of you were sitting together under a tree on campus, watching the world go by. Geto Suguru was in the middle of explaining something, his voice calm and soothing, while Nanami listened quietly, offering his thoughts every now and then. Yu was more excited trying to make friends with you than before. You think it's interesting, how this ball of sunshine saw you as some sort of superhero for what you did, even if you didn’t.

Yu Haibara, ever the sunshine in human form, plopped down beside you with a grin. “Hey, I heard about what happened with the cheer squad. Pretty badass, if you ask me.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of genuine friendship for the first time in what felt like forever. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing, but…”

“It was! You’re so cool, you know?” Haibara said firmly. “Standing up for someone who needed it? That’s always the right thing.”

“Besides, it’s just what it is, you know?” Geto added, looking over at you. He was smoking his cigarette roll, one he made himself. “You don’t have to be what you aren’t.”

“Yeah.” Nanami agreed, his voice steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not with us.”

You looked around at them—this group of people who had taken you in without hesitation, who saw you for who you really were, not just the image you had projected for so long. And for the first time in a while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As the weeks went by, you found a surprising sense of belonging with Gojo, Shoko, Suguru, Nanami, and Yu. They had become your new circle of friends, and their acceptance gave you a fresh start that you didn’t know you needed. They were a new sort of fun, a different kind of excitement that was worlds apart from the polished, high-pressure life you’d known as the it-girl.

With them, your days became filled with spontaneous adventures. Gojo was always dragging everyone to the arcade, where his competitive streak made every game feel like a high-stakes challenge. Shoko would roll her eyes at his antics but still join in, her laughter adding to the cacophony of beeping machines and cheerful music. Suguru, ever the cool-headed one, had a knack for choosing the perfect music stores to visit, introducing you to tracks that soon became the soundtrack to this new chapter of your life.

Nanami and Suguru were more reserved, especially at first. You could tell they were still feeling you out, trying to figure out if you really fit into their group. But even in their uncertainty, they made an effort. Nanami, despite his serious demeanor, would show up at the burger joints Gojo loved, quietly indulging in the greasy food and ridiculous banter. Suguru, with his calm presence, would often give you a slight smile or a nod, a small but significant sign that you were being welcomed, even if it was cautiously.

Yu was the glue that held it all together, his infectious energy and boundless enthusiasm pulling everyone along. Satoru was as enthusiastic as he was, but unlike him — Yu was someone that tried to keep everyone in good peace together. And he was good. He had a way of making you feel included, whether it was by handing you a spare controller at the arcade or making sure you got the best seat at the burger joint.

That’s just how it was with them. You didn’t have to worry about the petty dramas or the constant pressure to be perfect. With this group, it was all about the moment—the thrill of a high score, the taste of a greasy burger, the discovery of a new song. And you liked it. You liked who you were becoming with them.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, tossing a sugar packet from one hand to the other. “You know, you fit in with us better than you did with that cheer squad.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Are you saying I was too good for them?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Stop teasing, Gojo. You’re ruining the vibe.”

“Hey, I’m not!” Gojo argues as  his grin spreads, “Just that our new friend here is way cooler than they ever gave them credit for.”

You looked at Shoko, who was sipping her coffee with a look of amused tolerance, added, “He’s right. They were just too busy with their drama to see how awesome you are.”

Suguru, sitting across from you, offered a more thoughtful observation. He bit into his fries. “Sometimes, it takes getting knocked down to realize where you truly belong. You were always meant to be with people who appreciate you for who you are.”

Nanami, who had been quietly observing, nodded in agreement. “You’re a good blend with us, I think. We’ve had a lot of fun since you joined us.”

Yu Haibara, always the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “Yeah, and you’ve made things a lot more interesting around here. It’s not every day we get someone with your… spirit.”

You smiled, feeling a warm flush of gratitude. “Thanks, guys. I wasn’t sure where I’d fit in after everything that happened, but I really appreciate how welcoming you’ve all been.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time. It was a refreshing change from the pressure and pretense of your previous life. 

As the night wore on, Gojo suddenly stood up and stretched. “Hey, who’s up for a late-night walk? I heard there’s a new food truck downtown.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You just want an excuse to get more snacks.”

“Guilty as charged.” Gojo admitted with a wink. “But you’re all welcome to join if you’re up for it.”

“Sounds good to me.” Suguru said, standing up and grabbing his coat. 

You looked around at your friends, feeling a genuine sense of contentment. “I’m in.”

“You feeling cold?” Suguru asked as he saw you stand from the booth. 

“A little—” He threw you his jacket, which you were barely able to catch.

“Put it on.”

“O–oh, okay.”

As you all walked together through the city streets, the cool night air filled with laughter and conversation, you realized how different this life felt from the one you had left behind. There were no superficial judgments, no hidden agendas—just a group of people who valued each other’s company and had each other’s backs.

Later, as you shared food and stories under the streetlights, you found yourself in a moment of quiet reflection. You had come so far from the popular girl who had been kicked out of the cheer squad. You were no longer defined by your past status or the mistakes you’d made. Instead, you were part of a new chapter, one where you were valued for who you truly were.

Gojo’s laughter broke through your thoughts as he tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it with a grin. “See? This is what life’s about—good friends, good food, and not taking things too seriously.”

You laughed, feeling the weight of the past lift off your shoulders. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In that moment, you knew that despite everything you had been through, you had found something real and genuine. And as you walked beside your new friends, you felt a renewed sense of hope for the future, knowing that wherever life took you next, you would face it with people who truly cared about you.

But in that moment, Geto Suguru looked at you and thought to himself for a moment, just for that moment — how good happiness looks on you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌌*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, HE’S NOT ONE TO TRUST PEOPLE EASILY. But coming from a rough place in life, it was something that can’t be helped. So, in the beginning, Geto Suguru had his reservations about you. He’d heard the rumors about the cheerleader who had once been the queen of Jujutsu College, and he wasn’t impressed. To him, you seemed like just another snob who was used to getting their way and couldn’t be bothered with anyone outside her circle.

When Gojo tried to blend you into the group, Suguru’s attitude was guarded, and for a good reason. So, he kept his distance and even interacted with you, he tried to be casual, trying to not get too deep into it.

He remembers what he said then — “I’m not really into the whole ‘cheerleader’ thing,” he’d said with a shrug. “Not my style. So they're still not my style either.”

You had sensed his cold demeanor but tried not to let it bother you. Instead, you focused on being yourself—friendly, outgoing, and always ready to lend a hand. You wanted to prove that you weren’t just the image people had of you. Even though you could still be rough in the edges with your personality, it didn’t stop people from enjoying your company. 

And over time, Geto Suguru began to see a different side of you. You didn’t just laugh at his jokes or offer superficial compliments, nor were you as stuck up as people make you out to be; you were genuinely kind and considerate. You had a really good way of making others feel comfortable, and it wasn’t long before he found himself intrigued by the real you, the one who went out of their way to help others despite their own struggles.

One evening, as the group hung out at a quiet park, you were sitting on the grass, talking animatedly about a new project you were excited about. If he was being honest, excitement was a beautiful color on you. And he thinks that he wants to see more of that in you. He could only sigh as he thought about how much you’ve occupied his mind. He shakes his head. Suguru looks above the sky, trying to distract himself while Satoru spoke to everyone about his new date. 

“You know, Suguru.” you said, glancing over at him, snapping him back to reality. “I really appreciate how you’ve been around lately. And how not awkward it is between us now. It means a lot to me.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “I’m just here because Gojo dragged me along. Don’t get any ideas.”

You laughed, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe. But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here because I have to be.”

Despite his words, you noticed subtle changes in his behavior. He was more engaged in conversations around you, his smiles more frequent, and he’d even started teasing you back. You found yourself drawn to him more and more, your feelings shifting from admiration to something deeper. The way he would look at you, even with his usual aloofness, made your heart race. 

After a particularly lively conversation about your favorite books, Suguru caught you off guard with a rare moment of vulnerability. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. 

“You’re really persistent, you know that?” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but you’ve managed to get under my skin.”

You grinned, feeling a rush of hope. “Is that a good thing?”

Suguru looked away, his expression turning more serious. “I’m not sure. I told myself I’d just tolerate you, but… the more I hang around, the harder it is to keep my distance.”

He was fighting it, trying to convince himself that his growing feelings for you were nothing more than an annoyance. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” he continued, frustration evident in his voice. “But I’m not someone who easily changes his mind. So don’t expect too much.”

Despite his words, there was a softness in his eyes when he looked at you, a clear sign that he was fighting a losing battle. The more you interacted, the more he found himself charmed by your genuine warmth and infectious enthusiasm. And he didn’t know what to feel about that. He doesn’t know how to react to you.

You were infatuated with him, and it became clear that you wanted his attention—more than just casual conversation, more than friendly banter. You wanted to be the one who made him smile, the one he thought about when he was alone.

And though Suguru tried to keep his distance, you could see the cracks in his resolve. His stoic exterior was melting away, little by little, with every shared laugh, every meaningful conversation. He couldn’t deny the way he felt any longer, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

In moments of quiet, when it was just the two of you, Geto Suguru’s demeanor softened. He would catch himself gazing at you with an expression that betrayed his irritation with his own feelings. He was torn between his desire to remain aloof and the undeniable pull he felt towards you. As you continued to be your bubbly, charming self, Suguru found himself drawn to you more and more, fighting a battle he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.

The house party was in full swing by the time you and your friends arrived. The sorority house was buzzing with energy, and the crowd was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. You were excited to be there, especially because you had a date with you—Mark, a guy you had been seeing for a few weeks. 

Suguru Geto, always the reserved observer, was there too, though he seemed more detached from the festivities. He had taken a spot near the snack table, his gaze scanning the room. When he noticed you with Mark, he gave a curt nod but didn’t say much.

As the night progressed, Suguru found himself cornered by Mark, who was chatting animatedly with a group of people. You had gone off to mingle with others, leaving Mark to his own devices. Suguru, being the stand-up guy he was, decided to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m Suguru.” he said, offering a polite smile. “So, what’s your story, bro?”

Mark took a swig of his drink and grinned. “Oh, I’m just here to have a good time, mess around, party hard. You know how it is.”

Suguru nodded, trying to make conversation. “Yeah, I get it. So, how long have you and my friend been seeing each other?”

Mark’s smile faltered slightly. “A few weeks. But, honestly, they're kind of a handful.”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his tone neutral. “Oh? How so?”

Mark shrugged, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. “They’re always so cheerful and in-your-face. It gets old pretty fast. And don’t get me started on their mood swings. Sometimes they’re all sunshine and other times, they’re just… exhausting.”

Suguru’s smile faltered, and he could feel a simmering anger rising. “I wouldn’t say that. They’re actually really kind and caring. Maybe they’re just passionate around you.”

Mark snorted. “Passionate? More like over–dramatic. You must be used to it, though, considering you hang out with them.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. “I think you should stop talking about them like that.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. “Why? It’s the truth. You know, they could be a lot better if they just… toned it down a bit.”

Suguru’s eyes darkened as he took a deep breath. “Seriously, stop it.”

Mark continued, oblivious to Suguru’s mounting frustration. “They’re always making everything about themselves, always trying to be the center of attention. I don’t get why you’d even bother with them. They’re literally like….a bitch..”

Without warning, Suguru’s hand tightened around his beer bottle. He took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. “I said, stop.”

The tension in the room was thick, a simmering undercurrent that everyone felt but no one acknowledged—until Mark pushed too far. He had been needling Suguru all night, his criticisms growing more pointed, more personal with each passing minute. The rest of you tried to steer the conversation away, but Mark wouldn’t let it go, his words becoming sharper, crueler.

Suguru had been holding back, his calm facade cracking only slightly as he tried to keep his temper in check. But when Mark ignored him and continued with his relentless criticisms, something inside Suguru snapped.

In an instant, he moved. With a swift, fluid motion, Suguru swung his beer bottle, the action so smooth it was almost graceful. The bottle connected with Mark’s face with a sharp crack. The impact was immediate and satisfying, sending Mark stumbling backward as beer splashed across the floor, the bottle shattering in Suguru’s hand.

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Goddamn it, Suguru!” Shoko’s voice was the first to break the quiet, a mix of shock and exasperation. She stepped forward, ready to pull Suguru back if needed, though there was a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Couldn’t you have at least waited until he finished his drink?”

Nanami, who had been lounging in the corner, raised an eyebrow but didn’t move from his spot. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Shoko sighed deeply, looking around. “I’ll call someone to clean this up. And maybe get some ice for Mark.”

Mark, clutching his face where Suguru had punched him, looked up in stunned disbelief. “What the hell, man? You’re crazy!”

Suguru’s eyes were cold as he glared down at him. “No. I’m done listening to your crap. You should’ve known when to shut up.”

“You all are a bunch of crazy freaks! Especially that bitch!”

“You don’t get to talk about them like that!” Suguru said, his voice steady but filled with a cold edge. “Not on my watch.”

Mark looked up at him, a mix of pain and surprise in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just backed away slowly, still holding his nose. Yu came between them. “Hey, hey. Let’s all calm down, okay?”

Suguru turned on his heel and walked away, heading outside to cool down. He needed some fresh air and space to collect his thoughts. You, having witnessed the altercation from a distance, rushed over to Suguru, concern etched on your face.

You spotted Suguru standing alone in the hallway, his gaze distant as he tried to calm down from the confrontation. Determined to get some answers, you made a beeline for him, your concern and curiosity palpable.

“Suguru, what happened back there?” you asked, trying to piece together the events of the night. “Why did you hit Mark?”

Suguru glanced at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “It was nothing. He just… he crossed a line.”

“No,” you said, putting the pieces together with a sudden burst of realization. “He called me a bitch, didn’t he? That’s why you hit him. You hit him for me!”

Suguru looked away, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “No, that’s not—”

“Yes, it is!” you interrupted, your excitement and relief bubbling over. “I know I can be a lot sometimes, and I am a bitch! But you actually care about me. You love me, don’t you?”

Suguru’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he mumbled, “No…I didn’t…”

Suguru’s thoughts were still a whirlwind, his mind racing to process the events of the night and the emotions that came with them. He needed to clear his head, and talking to Gojo seemed like the quickest way to do that. He excused himself and quickly went back inside. As he entered the kitchen, the room was a stark contrast to the chaos outside—bright, warm, and filled with the comforting aroma of Gojo Satoru’s sandwich-making.

Gojo stood by the counter, casually assembling a towering sandwich with practiced ease. His movements were relaxed and carefree, a stark contrast to the tension that Suguru was radiating. He glanced up, taking in the scene with a curious, slightly amused expression.

“What’s going on, man?” Gojo asked, his tone light as he continued to layer on the ingredients. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion.”

Suguru tried to compose himself, but the frustration was evident in his voice. “Mark was being a complete jerk. He was bad-mouthing them, and I… I lost my temper.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “He was talking about them? What did he say?”

Suguru’s jaw clenched as he recounted the encounter. “He kept going on about how they are a handful and how they’re exhausting. He was just being really disrespectful. Even called them a bitch, mind you!”

Gojo’s eyebrows knitted together in surprise. “And you punched him for it?”

Suguru nodded, his gaze intense. “Yeah, I did. He wouldn’t stop, and I just couldn’t let him keep talking like that.”

Gojo’s expression shifted from amusement to genuine concern. “Are they okay?”

Suguru’s frustration softened a bit as he considered your well-being. “They’re fine. I mean, they did seem surprised, maybe in some way upset, I don’t know. But they’re okay. It’s just… I don’t like seeing them being talked about like that.”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and understanding. “So, you’re defending them, huh?”

Suguru’s face flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not just about defending them. It’s just—”

Gojo looked up from his sandwich-making with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, but is your lover okay?”

Suguru froze, caught off guard. “They are not my lover, Gojo.” he snapped, defensively. “They are just—”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? Then why’d you hit him? Seems like you’re more concerned than you’re letting on.”

Suguru glared at Gojo. “I’m not concerned, I just—”

“Uh–uhuh, keep talking.”

“I’m just some friend—acquaintance. Worried.” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Satoru. I don’t know what you’re going on about. If I'm in love with them, shoot me.”

Without missing a beat, Gojo grinned, “Bang.” He made a playful gun gesture with his hand and gave Suguru a wide grin. “Cupid’s bullets confirm!”

Suguru stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious? This is not—”

Gojo laughed, clearly enjoying the confusion. “Just kidding, Suguru. You know I’m just messing with you.”

Suguru sighed heavily, his frustration giving way to a reluctant chuckle. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Gojo shrugged, still grinning. “Just having a bit of fun. But seriously, if you need to talk or if something’s going on, I’m here. Just don’t let things like this get you too worked up.”

Suguru nodded, a mix of relief and embarrassment on his face. “Thanks, Gojo. I guess I needed that.”

With a final, reassuring pat on Suguru’s shoulder, Gojo returned to his sandwich-making. He took a deep breath and went back outside. You were talking with Shoko when you noticed Suguru come back outside towards your way. You were about to speak when Suguru turned back to you. There was a softer, more earnest look in his eyes as he met your gaze.

He looked at you with a determination, his voice steady but kind. “Take your coat, doll.” he said, offering it to you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden decision but relieved by the prospect of escaping the party. Without protest, you slipped on your coat and followed him out into the cool night air. The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth of the party was a welcome change, the crisp air a refreshing balm against your senses.

As you walked to the parking lot, Suguru’s silence was a comforting presence. His demeanor was calm and purposeful, a stark contrast to the turbulence of the evening. He led you to his car, and you both got in, the engine’s hum a soothing sound against the backdrop of the night.

Soon enough, you found yourselves parked in the lot of a nearby fast-food chain. The neon lights of the restaurant flickered against the dark sky, casting an almost surreal glow over the scene. It felt like a world away from the party, a simple, unpretentious refuge.

Suguru ordered a handful of burgers and fries, his movements deliberate and focused. You followed suit, choosing your favorites with a sense of familiarity. As you both settled on the hood of the car, the comfort of the fast food and the tranquility of the night began to ease the tension.

You took a bite of your burger, the flavors surprisingly comforting. Despite the simplicity of the setting, there was something deeply satisfying about the moment. “This is the best date ever.” you said with a grin, the warmth of the food and Suguru’s presence making the night feel a little brighter.

Suguru looked at you, a bemused expression on his face. “We haven’t talked in half an hour.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s nice just being with you, even if this doesn’t seem like much.”

Suguru looked away, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not as bad as going bowling.”

You blinked, puzzled. “Bowling? I didn’t know you liked bowling.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the car. “I do. It’s something I enjoy, and being with you is kind of like that—enjoyable and relaxing, even if it’s not always fancy.”

You tilted your head, contemplating his words. Then, feeling bold, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Suguru’s eyes widened slightly, but he responded, kissing you back with a tenderness that melted away any remaining tension.

When you finally parted, you looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. “Not too bad?”

Suguru’s gaze softened as he met your eyes, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Not too bad.” he agreed, his voice warm.

You both shared a comfortable silence, the world outside the fast-food restaurant feeling a million miles away. As you finished your burgers and settled back into a peaceful quiet, you knew that despite everything, moments like these were what mattered most.

You and Suguru remained on the car hood, finishing off the last of your burgers. The night was crisp and clear, the occasional hum of passing cars providing a steady backdrop to your conversation.

“So, what’s your favorite part about bowling?” you asked, genuinely curious and trying to keep the mood light.

Suguru chuckled, a soft sound that warmed the chilly air. “It’s the combination of skill and luck, I guess. Plus, it’s fun to just throw the ball and watch it knock down the pins. It’s simple, but satisfying.”

You smiled, enjoying his enthusiasm. “Maybe we should go bowling sometime. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun.”

Suguru’s eyes twinkled as he looked at you. “I’d like that. I think you’d be pretty good at it. You’ve got a good arm from throwing those frisbees around at the park.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “You think so? I’ll hold you to that.”

Suguru wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a promise.”

The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. The night was quiet, and for a while, you just enjoyed the peacefulness of the moment.

Suguru glanced at you, his expression softening even further. “You know, despite everything that happened tonight, I’m really glad we ended up here. I like these moments with you. They remind me of why I care so much.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights. “Me too, Suguru. It’s the simple things, like eating burgers and talking about bowling, that make me realize how much I enjoy being with you.”

Suguru gave a small, affectionate smile, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “Sometimes, it’s the simple things that mean the most.”

You sighed contentedly, feeling a deep sense of connection. “I guess that’s true. And, even though tonight didn’t go as planned, it ended up being pretty perfect in its own way.”

Suguru chuckled softly, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah, it did.”

You both sat there for a while longer, sharing soft kisses and quiet laughter, savoring the simplicity of the moment. The night air was cool, but the warmth between you made it feel like the coziest place in the world.

Eventually, Suguru shifted slightly, pulling you closer as he gave you a tender kiss on the forehead. “Let’s head back. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

You nodded, standing up and stretching as Suguru helped you off the car hood. “Sounds good. But we definitely need to plan that bowling trip soon.”

Suguru laughed, offering you his hand. “It’s a date.”

As you walked back to the car, hand in hand, the night seemed a little brighter, and the world a little warmer. The small, spontaneous moments were what made your time together truly special, and you both knew that, no matter what, you’d always find a way to cherish them.