#and the poor things are trying to adjust

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Golden Mercy Ch 3 (Hyrule Warriors)

Summary: When Ganondorf returns during Hyrule Warriors, he’s on a mission to make things right, though what that means is beyond everyone around him. Kidnapping the Hero of Hyrule and telling him he’s protecting him from the Queen is not what anyone expected, and nobody can quite figure out what his ultimate goal is. Link sure is confused, though, and… starting to realize there’s more to Ganondorf than just being a monster. Zelda, on the other hand, is quickly spiraling with panic and fear over losing her friend and Hero, as well as trying to protect her kingdom from such a threat that was so dangerous the previous Hero split his soul into pieces to prevent him from ever returning.

AO3 link

Chapter 3: The Mission

Zelda groaned, rubbing her head as she woke. It was the first time she’d slept in this bed and not had a nightmare in what felt like years, but she could definitely tell she should not have had quite so much wine last night.

It was only two glasses, she grumbled internally as Impa moved towards her, having been protecting her while she slept.

“Are you alright?” The general asked gently.

Zelda smiled reassuringly. “Yes. I just need some water.”

Impa chuckled, walking away for a moment, giving Zelda time to herself. She marveled at how the Sheikah was almost always there when she awoke. It made her feel safe, but she also had to wonder if the poor woman ever slept.

I suppose that’ll change when Link and I…

Zelda shuddered a little at the continuation of that thought, and then she felt guilty for doing so. Link was her friend. She shouldn’t feel… she didn’t know.

They were destined to be together. She shouldn’t feel uncomfortable about it. She really liked Link, after all.

Perhaps it just felt rushed. Or… she didn’t know. She’d known her entire life that if a Hero came, her life would be bound to his. Tradition dictated they join in every way. That wasn’t a choice. She’d prayed and hoped, over the years, that it would be someone kind. She’d figured it had to be, right? But perhaps, she'd told herself as a child, she wouldn’t need a Hero if she herself could fight. She wouldn’t have to live in fear of the nightmares of oncoming darkness, of the foreboding destiny hanging over her.

Despite her accomplishments with the blade, she’d still needed a Hero. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She still honestly felt like a failure, unable to do anything herself. But she also felt like a fool, pretending that destiny would not have its way.

But it was time to stop feeling like a failure. She was good at standing tall and proud no matter how she felt, anyway. She'd always faced her problems and worries head on.

Except... except for when she hadn't, when she'd hidden behind a mask and claimed to be Sheikah to hide from the shame of her failure, the grief of her loss. But she'd shed that identity. The fear that had eaten away at her, the dread of her destiny that chipped at her mind over the years, one of the main reasons she’d tried so hard to be the best fighter possible… well, she had no reason to be afraid anymore. It was done. They’d won.

She’d spent so many years preparing for anything bad happening to Hyrule that she didn’t know what to do when the fight was actually over.

Zelda supposed Link wouldn’t be much help in giving her advice. She was supposed to be the bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom, after all. Link was no fool, though – while he didn’t care for subterfuge and politics, he seemed fairly decent at it. He’d spent the last year trying to rise up to the challenges presented to him, navigating the politics of new rank that he’d been given. It was about time Zelda did the same.

She hoped she could hang out with her friend today. She hoped they could… just be friends today.

Well, to be honest, she’d probably be too swamped to really hang out with Link. And she knew he would have duties to attend to as well. She wondered how long it would be before they saw each other, how long she should wait until…

She was queen now. The war was over. There was really no reason to wait.

She shivered a little, anxious.

At least the man I have to marry is kind. At least he’s my friend.

Impa returned with water, and Zelda took some comfort in having the dear woman around. She smiled as she got dressed, wearing armor of a new kind now, and prepared to help Hyrule rebuild.

She’d gotten through the worst of it. She could do this. She would.

XXX

Link looked around in the morning light, smiling. It was amazing how quickly new life could grow, how fast the rains and winds and sun could blow away the stains of war. Hyrule Field was a mess, but it was recovering. He heard chatter and footsteps, the sound of rubble moving and rocks being placed for new foundations as he oversaw the restoration efforts in the village near Castle Town.

The capital itself had slowly been repaired throughout the war after the initial attack that had started everything, though parts of the castle had been abandoned until now - Zelda's priorities had been her people, not herself. It was the rest of the kingdom that needed the majority of the aid.

Zelda had started her new reign strong, immediately ordering Link to escort supplies to the nearest village so they could safely begin rebuilding. Although the war was over, there was a high likelihood of monsters roaming the land with no mistress to order or organize them. It gave him a renewed sense of purpose, and he’d happily accepted the mission.

Yesterday had been strange, filled with emotions and worry, but today was a new day. Everything would be fine.

It still felt a little odd, not starting the day with a war meeting with Zelda and Impa present.

Well. There had been a meeting. But they had been discussing repair, not destruction. It was… nice.

Link could get used to this change in pace. If he could just shake the way he kept looking around in anticipation of an attack.

He closed his eyes a moment, just listening to the birds singing as they started their busy day, wings fluttering. He didn’t spend too much time on it, just enough to center himself, as he knew he was being watched by his men, looking for guidance, and by the villagers, looking for hope and safety.

Something flew by his ear, and Link looked, expecting to see Proxi. Instead, it was just an insect, and he sighed. With he war over, Proxi happily returned to the Great Fairy near the castle, spending time with her sisters and brothers. Link missed her, but he supposed he really just missed letting her speak for him.

Epona nickered, watching him, and he smiled a little, petting her. His smile grew as he watched the soldiers under his command laugh and joke around, keeping guard but still being able to relax a little.

As the day progressed, Link found that while he appreciated the peace, he found he wasn’t very adapted to it. After a year of war, a morning with no action was making him so antsy he was getting downright anxious. He didn’t want an attack to happen, but not having one made him expect it all the more.

The day passed uneventfully. As did the next, and the next. After three days overseeing repairs, Link was ready to lose his mind, but he was blessedly recalled back to the city.

He should be thankful for the peace, really. It made no sense that he was going insane. Maybe he just wasn’t used to the peace and quiet yet. At least returning to the castle would be different.

Not to mention there'd be more to do in general, even off duty. Link was city born and raised.

When he arrived back at Hyrule Castle, Zelda was in a corridor full of tapestries depicting Hyrule's beauty across the land. Link had to stop and do a double take, though, as she was dressed in a way he’d never seen before. Gone was her bronze armor, replaced instead with pale pink gown that went all the way to the floor. The kirtle underneath was a deep red, akin to the outfit she wore in battle, fanned out around her in a relatively tight but conical shape. The main reason he knew it was her in an instant was she still wore her hair the same way as she had in battle, as well as her crown.

Link suddenly felt severely underdressed and self-conscious when Zelda caught sight of him, but her smile burned most of the anxiety away. She walked over to him quickly. “Link, it’s good to see you. I’ve been reading your reports on the village, I’m happy things are progressing.”

Link bowed in acknowledgement, and Zelda shifted a little.

“I trust it has been a restful time as well,” the queen continued.

The captain nodded, glancing at her. She seemed far gentler all of a sudden, but commanding attention nonetheless. It was a trait of hers that he’d always admired – whether she’d been shouting commands in the battlefield, thanking the soldiers for their valiant efforts, or telling everyone to recover, she’d always had so much confidence. Link had stepped up in that regard—he’d always been bold, but typically not around others, and certainly never by his words. But no matter how confident or brash he felt, he paled in comparison to her.

It used to be comforting. Right now, in her formal attire, it felt strange.

Zelda’s smile faded a little, anxiety showing on her own face, and Link relaxed.

“It’s weird,” he finally answered honestly.

The queen watched him a moment, biting her lip, and then she chuckled. “It is.”

The response was simple, but Hylia if it wasn’t reassuring. He’d spent the last few days going insane wondering if something was wrong with him. “I think it’ll get better, though. It makes me happy to see things improving. I just… am used to fighting.”

Zelda’s smile returned, and she extended a hand. Link kissed it gently, and then he let her guide him down the corridor.

“I’ve spent the majority of my life preparing for evil’s return,” Zelda said as she glanced at the tapestries once more. “The last few days have begun a new era of light, and they’ve been far more difficult than anything I could have trained for.”

Link was silent a moment, remembering Zelda silently mourning her parents the night of the celebrations. After her coronation, Link had hardly seen her, but he imagined she was still trying to process as much as he was.

“Maybe we could spar?” Link suggested. “Some familiarity might help both of us.”

Zelda paused, her hand still held in his, and she smiled brightly. “That would be nice. I was hoping you could join me for a while today. I had something I wanted to discuss with you. But… let’s spar first. Familiarity is something I feel we both desperately need.”

“Your Majesty!”

Link immediately slipped his hand out of hers, stepping away respectfully as they both turned to see Impa approaching. Her face was dark, eyes filled with worry as she marched toward the pair. When the general reached them, she said, “Your Majesty, I have news from the north.”

“What is it, Impa?” Zelda asked as calmly as she could, face like a stone. Link felt his own stomach twist anxiously as he schooled his own expression.

“Scouts near the Valley of Seers just arrived, they—they said there was an attack. We’ve heard of activity in the south as well, monster battles and organized assaults.”

Monsters were organizing in the Gerudo Desert? And they attacked the Valley of Seers?

“Any word from Lana?” Zelda immediately questioned, looking as surprised as Link felt.

“No,” Impa answered, crossing her arms worriedly. “I fear something may have happened to her – she would have been the one to notify us herself of these incidents.”

General Impa was right. Lana would have either called for help or notified them that someone had tried to attack. If she wasn’t speaking at all…

For a moment, Link wondered if perhaps she did have the situation under control and she simply didn’t want to bother them. She had left them rather abruptly however, given...

That was an entirely other complicated matter. Link viewed Lana as a friend as well, even if he'd been surprised by the revelation of her and Cia being essentially the same person. (Why did all his friends seem to have secrets they had to reveal? Lana, Sheik...)

But he was far too worried for her safety to consider such a line of thought – even if that was the case, they had to confirm it.

Zelda seemed to come to the same conclusion, determination in her eyes. “We have to make sure she’s alright, and we need to figure out what’s going on. Impa, head to the Valley of Seers and report back your findings. Link, you and I will go to the desert to investigate.”

“Your Majesty,” Impa cut in gently. “You should stay here in the castle. We can handle this. Hyrule needs your leadership now, not just its army.”

Zelda’s stony expression faltered, and she looked uncertain for a moment. Then she sighed, eyes downcast. “…Very well.”

Impa watched her a moment longer, trying to convey something, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she nodded and headed off without another word, leaving the two teenagers alone.

“Well… as you said, it is strange, now that the war is over,” Zelda sighed again, seeming to deflate. “I feel so useless staying here. What if something terrible has happened?”

“There are many monsters left in Hyrule,” Link tried to reason. “I’m certain Lana is fine. Probably just leftovers from Cia.”

“I hope Wizzro did not break his seal,” Zelda muttered. “Lana ensured Cia’s magic held.”

“Wizzro is easy enough to beat,” Link huffed, agitated at the mere thought of that monster trying anything again.

Zelda grew silent, eyes darkening as she considered matters. She shook her head. “It can’t… no. Let’s just…”

The queen seemed more uncertain than ever, and Link tried to reassure his friend. “It’ll be okay, Zelda. I’ll investigate the desert. We’ll get rid of the monsters. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he started to march towards the other corridor, heading for the barracks to ready himself and gather a squad. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, he felt renewed with energy.

Familiarity. His energy boost was from familiarity.

Too bad it couldn’t just be from sparring.

“Link.”

The Hero of Hyrule turned to see Zelda watching him, hands clasped in front of her. “Please be careful.”

Link smiled and nodded. What was there to worry about? It was just a group of random monsters, after all.

This would be over in no time.

[mwolf0epsilon]

I have some major gripes with the premise of 'Day of the Diesels' and honestly think it could be fixed if, for once, the stale 'Steamies vs Diesels' plotline had been disregarded and the movie actually showcased the diesels in a more sympathetic light.

I'm not here to say characters like Diesel, Arry & Bert, and Diesel 10 are completely blameless in their acquired bad rep. Lets face the fact, they're deceitful, have a rather aggressive approach to things, and more often than not they are out to cause trouble for others because they think it's funny.

But come on man... Going for the same kind of storyline where Steam Engines and Diesel Engines are at each other's buffers just for the fact they're different types of engine is kind of lazy at this point (especially considering the fact this was done before in 'Calling All Engines').

Wouldn't it be much more compelling if, for once, the diesels actually do have a rightful reason to be causing a ruckus (their home is decrepit, unsafe and lacks basic amenities for maintaining them) and (because they feel like they can't be upfront about their concerns due to their past misbehavior), they end up making this grand convoluted scheme that goes terribly sideways, but that ultimately gives way for some actual exploration of why Sir Topham Hatt's management of the diesels feels so underwhelming in comparison with the great care he takes in tending to his steam engines?

It could even be that the fat controller doesn't realize he's neglecting them a bit because he's so focused on trying to keep the steam engines from ever wanting for more (I mean, the time of steam has come to an end in the mainland, so of course he'd be worried about the future of his beloved steam engines he's had for so much longer!).

On a logical standpoint, it's considerably easier to get diesels and new parts for diesels nowadays, so Sir Topham Hatt would postpone something he feels like can be done in the snap of a finger versus something that might potentially take much too long... And that's the mistake here.

The fact the diesels can get new stuff so easily but don't, could be the crux of the issue. Prioritization, procrastination and perhaps a bit of forgetfulness and obliviousness to the mess one has made...

[naamahdarling]

Augh

[teenagefeeling]

"social skills are something you can work on learning and it will help with social anxiety!" this is true, but are you saying it because you want to help or are you saying it to shame people? because not everyone is gonna always have amazing social skills, even people who don't normally struggle have bad days. holding people to such a high standard and expecting everyone to be able to be at 100% all the time not only isn't fair, but imo isn't a healthy mindset because you're also putting that pressure on yourself.

yes, social skills can be learned. but for a lot of us, they're really hard to learn and even harder to put into practice. sometimes when someone has poor social skills it's not just because they don't know any better, there are other factors at play making things more difficult. i think we should all learn to be a little more patient with each other and get comfortable with the idea that different people might have different methods of communication, and sometimes you're gonna have to be the one who adjusts for someone else (whether that involves learning stronger social skills or being patient with someone who isn't there yet)

communication is hard to get right, and it's impossible for anyone to get it right all the time. it's okay if you stutter while speaking or can't ask for ketchup at a restaurant or whatever. it's okay. you will get there with practice. not being able to do it overnight is okay. it's a long process to get comfortable with these things. not everyone is always going to be patient with you, but that's their problem, not yours. be proud of yourself for the small victories and don't let demanding assholes online convince you that you aren't good enough as you are.

[saltyztuna]

Summer may be ending soon but y’know what’s never ending?

That’s right!- This Maniac’s Bloodlust and Competitiveness! Yippeeeeee~~~

(Based on that one ff14 red chocobo meme..)

[kitteninabunker]

i had a dream about this so i'm too far gone

giving nerdyclassmate!choso head for the first time ^^

"you're doing so good," you praise him, voice muffled as you bob your head steadily on his fat cock. spit strings from your lips, eyes watering as your throat strains around him, but fuck, it's worth it. he's huge. stretching your mouth to the limit, making your jaw ache in the best way. you’re honestly pissed at yourself for not getting in his pants earlier, who knew the quiet dork in the back of the class was hiding this?

"y/n i-i'm gonna cum..." he quietly huffs, running his fingers through your hair as he adjusts his hips in the chair. unlike the other guys you’ve been with—cocky, loud, full of bravado—he’s shy, shaky, almost scared of how good it feels, and his submissiveness stirs something deep in your core. you pull your head up, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a wet pop as you slap his tip on your tongue, looking up at him. "wait!" he jerks his hips up as his cock throbs in your hand. "don't stop, i-it feels good..."

total virgin.

"why should i?" you tease, dipping your mouth lower to trail kisses along his balls, tongue flicking playfully while your hand keeps pumping his soaked shaft. "beg for it."

his jaw clenches as he fights the urge to thrust. he’s flushed deep pink, glasses sliding down his nose, hair sticking to his forehead. you can tell he's close by the way he keeps twitching and you're about to ruin his orgasm, but that’s part of the fun!

"y/n, pleaseee." he whines, breath hitching. this time he yanks your hair, grabbing his own dick as he presses it against your lips. you give in, sucking his cock some more as he throws his head back.

you grin against him, giving in and sucking him down again, tongue dragging along the underside as you take him deeper, wetter, messier than before. he throws his head back with a choked moan, hands trembling, thighs clenching under your palms.

“shit—s-s’too much,” he whines, but his hips are still twitching, still trying to fuck into your mouth like he can’t help himself. poor thing doesn’t even know how to handle getting head.

you pull back again, licking up the length of his cock slow like you’re savoring it. “thought you wanted to cum,” you murmur, breath warm and filthy against his tip. “what, too much for you, pretty boy?”

his whole face is red, glasses slipping down his nose, lips parted and panting. “n-no, i want it—please keep going, i’ll cum, i swear—!”

you press a kiss to his slit, watching his whole body jerk. “then be a good boy and let me taste it.”

his hips stutter as he cums hard, moaning through gritted teeth as thick spurts paint your tongue, your lips, your cheeks. he tries to cover his mouth with one hand, but he’s shaking too bad, moaning your name like it’s the only word he knows. you milk him through it with slow strokes, licking him clean as he falls back against the chair like you just ruined him.

you crawl up into his lap, lips and chin still messy, and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “not bad for your first time,” you purr. “next time, i’ll let you finish inside.”

[cummitted]

dilf!toji who just can’t resist his cute lil neighbor :(

two big, meaty hands grip your sides, blunt nails digging in hard enough to where you’re sure bruises are already forming and marring your soft skin. he slams you back onto all eight inches of his cock, and his pupils expand as your ass jiggles and you squeal, “toji!”

his name sounds so perfect on your glossy lips, like a damn hymn.

“this is what ya wanted, right?” toji doesn’t even bother with waiting for a response from you — he already knows the truth.

why else would you always tell him “good morning, mr. fushiguro!” with that bright, pretty smile and big, round eyes or offer to babysit megumi in those dangerous scraps of fabric you call shirts and skirts, matching lacy pink bra showing from your low-cut top and panties peeking out whenever you bend over to pick up a fallen pencil?

or, the boldest thing his pretty baby has done, fuck some loser so loud that toji could hear it through his bedroom wall? you wanted him to hear your moans, every cry — “mm, harder!” — and whine — “oh, fuck, right there!” —, every muttered praise that couldn’t have been for the peon you were with, but for him, for toji.

and toji hates to disappoint, especially someone as cute as you.

that’s precisely how you ended up where you are now, face down, ass up in his bed, drool dribbling from your open mouth and eyes nearly crossing as he splits you right on open with his monster cock.

your fingers desperately scrabble for purchase against his sheets, acrylic nails digging in as your hips uselessly try to squirm away.

you hadn’t expected your neighbor to be so cruel, either! he’d barely stretching you out before ramming that girthy length into you, leaving your poor hole fluttering and stinging in an attempt to adjust. not that it did much — he’s still much too big, his tip bullying your cervix with every thrust and making you feel impossibly full.

it’s soooo not fair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. hell, you can barely think, much less speak.

even if you could, you wouldn’t tell him to. you’ve never felt this good while having sex in your life.

“ungh, mmngh, t-toji—”

a snap of his hips shuts you right up, and toji grins, that sexy scar in the corner of his mouth stretching with his lips. “yer gettin’ what you asked for, but now yer whinin’?” he tuts, and one hand abandons your hip to deliver a harsh smack to your ass. “greedy slut.”

and, no, he doesn’t miss the way you clench down.

“jus’ hold still and take this dick, yeah?”

as if you can do anything else.

each thrust is loud and sloppy and mean, your pussy crying out for more with every lewd squelch. it’s like he wants to plow you through the damn mattress, and god knows you’d let him.

you’d let him do anything.

which is why when he cums, you let him pump you full of his hot seed, every spurt making your overstimulated body convulse. toji doesn’t say anything, either, thinking you’re too out of it to question him.

y’know, megumi has been whining about not having anyone to play with. maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll give his baby boy a precious little sister <3

[theladygazingatemptiness]

me @ me: hoe don't kill this fish tryna be Mother Ocean

[dollbrbie]

thinking about your boyfriend sukuna who has an insanely violent and nasty size kink. he’s so shameless about it, too. he just can’t help but admire the difference between you two.

sukuna absolutely towers over you, and his broad build is nearly triple the size of yours. his hands engulf yours whenever he holds them and his clothes? they don’t even slightly hold onto you, completely drowning your figure which for some reason makes sukuna’s cock twitch.

he’ll never try and hide his smirk when you have to ask him for help because he purposely left something completely out of your reach, or when he see’s the difference in size when you’re cuddled up next to him in bed.

and that’s what’ll set him off most of the time, starting to place hungry kisses on your neck as you murmur his name before moving on top of you and pinning you down, pulling his shirt off his body. then he does this thing where he’ll grab your smaller hand in his, gently tracing over the outline of his abs and you’re reminded just how big your boyfriend actually is.

the first time he pulled out his cock you were honestly a little scared. how was that going to fit inside of you? and sukuna’s reply was simply, “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll make it fit.”

and boy, he did. he had his tip alone stretching out your pussy, rubbing small tight circles on your clit to help you relax and adjust to his size. he was honestly pretty sweet about it, which is definitely not the usual for sukuna. but, seeing you try so hard to take his massive cock had his heart swelling, and his cock throbbing.

it wasn’t long before he had you in a mating press, pounding into your poor abused pussy and bottoming out inside of you. your moans and whines were like music to his ears as he watched the light bulge in your tummy, pressing down on it, “y’feel me, baby? fuck- you’re taking me so well, m’so proud.”

and for that, he’ll obviously reward you. he’ll make you cum again and again until a thick white rim forms on his cock, making sure to give your clit as much attention as your pussy as he stretches out your gummy walls, fluttering against him.

“you’re so beautiful like this, think i’m obsessed with ‘ya.”, he’ll say as he watches you cum down from your high, your eyes glossy and your lips parted, “i’m not done with you, baby.”

oh, boy.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[cursingtoji]

listening to ghost and soap infamous “are you ugly?” conversation and not being able to stop thinking about what ghost meant by “quite the opposite”

you’re used to having him wearing his mask even whenever you two escape to blow off some steam, but since that day you’ve been building up some courage to ask the same thing soap tried to.

“take it off” you murmur with your lips inches away from his mask while setting a pace riding him.

Ghost, who was spread out on the couch raised his head, “y’r gettin’ spoiled, brat. last week was a kiss now you want my whole face?” he gives your ass a mean slap.

“’s not fair” you pout, whilst you are completely naked every time, simon only removes his shirt when you beg, maybe lowers his pants down to his ankles instead of just enough to let out his cock, but that’s it.

“Aight, want me to lose the mask?” he takes your black shirt, folding it sloppily until it’s narrow then he puts around your eyes tying on the back of your head.

“simon! no!” you raise your hands to undo it, he’s faster though, taking both your wrists and holding in the air. you hear some fumbling and suddenly your palms are being tickled by a stubble, you gasp realizing under your hands is ghost’s uncovered face.

“keep ridin’” he demands, adjusting his body to lay lower and thrusting you from bellow as a reminder he’s still inside.

you bite your lips, needing to put a hand on his chest as support, your other hand explores his face trying to paint a mental image of him.

his jawline is sharp, a few uneven parts along his skin, probably scars, there’s more hair on his chin than the rest of his jaw and to imagine simon with a blond goatee make you clench.

“shit” he curses tightening the grip on your hips, “what’re you so excited ‘bout, private? huh?” he pinches your nipple. you run your fingertips on his bottom lip, it’s thin and he could use some lip balm, but the excitement about touching him in such a intimate way gives you hope to one day convince him to let you apply lip balm on his lips, “behave” he growls.

“‘m behaving, sir” you smile sheepishly forgetting he can actually see your face. ghost takes your hand, making you close it and leaving just your index up. under the improvised blindfold you frown, next his lips are wrapping around your finger and his tongue is under your digit.

your clit throbs, not expecting this from your lieutenant.

“fuck, Lt.” you arch your back, approaching your orgasm.

“faster” both his hands are gripping your ass, he groans and you feel the vibration on your finger. you obey as one does, slapping your ass on his mighty thighs, as he sucks your finger, even letting some saliva run down your palm.

“si-mon ‘m close” you lose yourself on the sensation, seeing nothing makes you more aware of the stretch his cock gives you, not to mention the sounds your lieutenant is trying to hold. with one last suck he removes your finger, moving it to your own clit, where he presses it on your bud.

“cum then” you’re so close, but that’s one thing you still want.

“can i kiss you?” you edge yourself waiting for his answer, he sighs and you take it as a negative response, but his other hand leaves your ass as he guides your face to his where his lips awaited yours, he immediately pushes his tongue in, that’s merely your second kiss and you’re already coming.

“louder, i think the terrorists haven’t heard ya” he teases when you moan a high pitched note.

“fuck you, sir” you’re still riding him intensely, knowing he’s close too. he bites your lip, forcing your hips up and down faster and groaning as he fills your insides.

by the time you remove the blindfold, his mask is back on and you sigh in defeat, moving away from his lap and getting one last spank.

“goatee” you whisper in soap’s ear as he is about to eat his morning scrambled eggs.

“wut?” he turns to you.

“he has a goatee” you wink and leave to get your own breakfast. poor johnny is still processing what was said when ghost enters the room, later than usual.

soap drops his fork.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Steam and Silhouettes

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: While trying to take a shower, Bucky comes barging into your shared bathroom, claiming Alpine misses her new mama.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mild nudity (non-sexual); mutual pining; suggestive humor; domestic fluff; Alpine being Alpine; Bucky being a ridiculous dork

Author’s Note: This is a part of a series with a loose timeline, but you can also read this as a standalone. Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Oh my god, Bucky, get out!”

Your voice resounds off the steamed-up tiles, somewhere between scandalized and entirely unconvincing. A squeak of the shower curtain rings as it trembles slightly, your poor attempt at pretending this isn’t the weirdest and most you moment of your life as Bucky Barnes’ roommate.

“Relax, doll. She missed you.”

You peek through the waterfall of hot water stinging your eyes, blinking furiously, heart lurching somewhere high into your throat.

A shadow casts on the shower curtain. A tall figure with broad shoulders and the boldest audacity, backlit by the bathroom light.

And perched high on his forearm, just barely bobbing into view over the shower curtain, is a tiny white paw. Then another. Then two crystalline blue eyes.

You sputter a wet laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of water. “Buck! Did you seriously bring Alpine in here?”

The kitten meows. Sweet, high-pitched, held up by Bucky’s arms, peering over your goddamn shower curtain as though she’s Simba in The Lion King.

Your heart is hammering.

Not because of Alpine.

But because Bucky Barnes is standing just on the other side of the plastic barrier, mere inches away, and you’re stark naked, and your feelings are very much not platonic, and your brain is officially trying to outrun you.

Bucky sounds way too casual about the whole thing. “She was cryin’ outside the door. Thought maybe she just needed to see her mama.”

Huffing, you push your wet hair out of your face, the weight of it slick and heavy down your back. “She’s a baby, Bucky. Babies cry. Doesn’t mean you come walking into the bathroom while someone’s taking a shower.”

Bucky holds her up with both arms, the way someone might offer a sacred relic or a bottle of wine. His bare forearms flex slightly, and you hate that, even though he’s holding an adorably sweet and fluffy white kitten, Bucky is still somehow distracting.

“But she was cryin’, doll,” he says, now softer. “Wouldn’t let up. Climbed up my pants. Clawed her way up like I was a tree.”

“Seriously?”

“Swear on Steve’s good name. Wouldn’t stop till I picked her up. That’s how I figured she missed her mama.”

Your heart stutters. That stupid word again. Mama.

“Bucky, get out,” you only repeat exaggerated.

“You left the door unlocked,” he shoots back through the veil of hot air, all indignant as though he’s the one being violated.

You make a strangled noise, rubbing your temples, breathing through your nose, trying to remember that you do like him most days. You chose to live with this idiot. You’ve lived with him for a while now. You’ve survived him accidentally setting a potholder on fire, singing 90s power ballads at 2 am, and alphabetizing your spices just to mess with you.

“That’s not an invitation to come in here like a psycho and lift our kitten over the curtain to watch me shower.”

There’s a rustle on the other side. The shuffle of his feet on the tile. “But she was sad, doll. Missed you. Thought maybe you abandoned her for good.”

“She saw me ten minutes ago,” you state with a sigh in your voice, turning to rinse shampoo out of your hair.

“Well.” You see his shadow shrug behind the curtain, adjusting Alpine’s wiggly butt in his hands. “Ten minutes is like a week to a baby. You ever gone a week without your favorite person? It’s tragic.”

The words trip something in your chest. You hear the slight quirk of his mouth in his voice, as though maybe he knows what he is doing. As though this isn’t entirely about Alpine.

Alpine mews again, that high-pitched kitten sound like a squeak toy dipped in sugar, and Bucky chuckles, soft and low and affectionate in a way that makes your knees threaten to buckle.

Her tiny nose twitches, eyes wide, paws scrabbling at the edge of the curtain as Bucky still keeps holding her aloft like a proud, ridiculous cat dad.

You sigh, one hand on your face, the other holding the curtain in a defensive scrunch. “I’m still naked, Barnes.”

There’s a pause. Like a thoughtful, huh kind of pause. You hear him shuffle on the tile. As though he only just caught up with that part. As though he hadn’t really thought this through beyond the cat misses you and you probably miss the cat and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see you too.

“I mean, technically she’s naked too,” he deadpans after a beat.

You let your forehead thunk gently against the tile wall, groaning into the rising steam.

“And she’s a girl, y’know. So… girl to girl. Girl solidarity. Ain’t weird,” he adds helpfully, as though this might somehow serve as a legal defense in court.

“She’s also two pounds and can’t even use a litter box without falling in,” you hiss back.

“Details.”

You sigh, slumping back under the spray and dragging your hands down your face. Soap hangs off your eyelashes. Alpine meows, a chirpy sound, as if she’s telling you to be nice to your ridiculous roommate.

“She says she didn’t get a real goodbye,” he says, voice low and a little sing-songy as though he knows he is pushing your buttons and is committing to the bit anyway. “Her little heart’s broken now. Might never recover.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the snort that leaves your lips. God, you’re so in love with him it’s embarrassing. Your heart feels like a paper lantern too close to the flame.

Alpine meows again, tiny paws curling over the curtain as she cranes her neck to spot you better, big blue eyes wide with wonder, as though you are the best thing she’s ever seen.

And Bucky is holding her so gently he might have spent the last ten minutes convincing her that yes, mama still exists and no, she didn’t disappear, and yes, you can go look at her now.

Reaching out, you poke your hand over the curtain, water dripping from your fingers as you scratch softly at Alpine’s chin.

“There you are, baby,” you utter amused but soft. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Bucky chuckles, deep and low, but there is something fragile under it. His hand - still holding the kitten - brushes yours for a second and he stays still.

You can see the shadow of his boots from under the curtain, the soft shuffle of his weight shifting, but not moving toward the door like a normal person would do after realizing they’ve invaded your steamy sanctuary of suds and sanity.

Then, you lean out. Just your head. Damp hair dripping, chin tucked, eyes narrowed as you peek past the edge of the curtain like a very cautious ghost.

And there he is.

Standing. Holding Alpine as though she’s the goddamn crown jewel. But his hands have stilled on her fur, mid-stroke, and his face is softened, startled. As though he just remembered something he wasn’t supposed to forget.

Then his gaze flicks - unintentionally, just a tick - toward the vague silhouette of your body behind the curtain. His breath hitches. Just slightly. And then his ears go red.

His eyes do an awkward flutter toward the ceiling, toward the tiles, toward Alpine, anywhere but toward the slice of your face. He looks like a man trying not to glance at a solar eclipse without sunglasses.

“You good?” you ask, dry as bone, drops of water landing on the edge of the shower.

He clears his throat. “Uh. Yeah. Just gonna let you finish up. I, uh- think Alpine’s satisfied now,” he says, one hand coming up to scratch behind the kitten's ear. She purrs lazily, utterly unaware that she has single-handedly plunged her two favorite humans into an emotional fever dream.

You bite back a smirk. “Sure she is.”

“I didn’t see anything, obviously,” he goes on, still looking at literally anything other than you. “Not that I was tryin’ to. Not that there was anything to see- I mean- that’s not how I- I meant, that you- Fuck, now I’m makin’ it weird. Which is not what I meant. I mean- it’s not bad, just- Jesus Christ.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Not because it’s funny - though it is funny - but because there is something in your chest threatening to melt. Something painfully weak. The kind of thing you don’t want to touch too hard in case it turns real and runs away.

“Right. Great,” he mutters. A pause. “I’m gonna take her out,” he adds, finally lowering Alpine down to the little mat beside the door. She immediately tries to climb his pant leg again.

You tilt your head.

“You sure? She might still want to see her mama.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well, her mama deserves a shower in peace without bein’ ogled. Just thought she’d calm down if she saw ya. You can resume whatever mysterious shower rituals you do in there.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, it’s called cleaning myself, Barnes.”

He huffs a laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m goin’. Don’t yell at me in front of the kid.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s sensitive.”

You shouldn’t be this warm. It’s not the water anymore. It’s something else creeping under your skin, behind your ribs. You want to say something. Want to reach out and grab his shirt and pull him in - not into the shower, not like that, not yet. Just into your space. Into the same space you’ve been for a while now. Waiting.

But you’re also very wet. And very naked. And this isn’t exactly the moment you want him to remember for the rest of his life when he thinks of your first real step forward. If he even believes you could take such a step.

So instead, you smile, shake your head. “Get outta here, Barnes. I’ll be out in five.”

He lifts his eyes at you, long enough to catch your expression. And even though you’re barely there - just your head, framed in fog and water and shampoo suds - he smiles. Something tender glimmers in his eyes. Maybe he’s already counting down those five minutes.

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Take your time,” he says, voice gone quiet now.

And it’s soft. Not teasing. As though maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s not entirely sorry.

Your face does something treasonous. Your heart does something worse.

With a clear of his throat, his hand takes hold of the doorknob, opening it a crack. Alpine trots out of the bathroom, tail swishing, entirely pleased with herself. He watches her for a beat. Then stares at a tile. Lingers. Then looks back at you. His eyes snap quickly to your body shielded by the curtain, and fly away instantly, as though he caught himself in the last moment. “Alright, I’ll give you some privacy,” he utters, voice a little raspy. “Gotta go now. Gotta go learn about boundaries or somethin’.”

And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.

You’re standing there dripping, heart pounding for reasons that have less to do with steam and everything to do with him.

He’s got that effect on you. Even when he’s being a ridiculous dork. Especially when he’s being a ridiculous dork.

The door cracks open again.

“Oh my god, Buck-” you begin to protest, but he interrupts you quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just-” Bucky calls out, soft, voice low as though he’s trying not to scare a bird. “Uh, I was thinkin’. You want takeout?”

One hand freezes mid-reach for your body lotion, the other still braced against the curtain. You didn’t expect him to ask that.

“Thought maybe you’d be hungry,” he explains, as though it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to have a food conference while you’re still literally naked and trying to have some privacy. “I’ll order. You take your time in there. By the time you’re all… y’know-” You see his shadow gesture at you behind the curtain, “human again, it’ll be here.”

You laugh. It kind of bursts out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Human again?”

“Well, you’re half-shampoo, half-grump right now,” he says with a smirk you can hear. “Didn’t wanna assume you were ready to talk logistics until you de-soaped.”

You don’t know what to say. So you sigh and wait for him to leave.

But he lingers.

You peek your head around the curtain again, water droplets trailing down your temple like punctuation marks to your raised eyebrows. “Barnes.”

His eyes flick up. Instantly. And then down. Instantly-er.

“Oh,” he blurts, practically recoiling, sheepishly running his hand down his face. “Still- uh- yep. Still naked. Right. Shit.”

“You literally knew that going in the first time. And now you did it again,” you deadpan, grinning at how fast he suddenly backs away again.

“I wasn’t- I mean, I still didn’t see anything, not that I was looking. Or trying to look. I just thought- well, Alpine was done sniffin’ the rug and I figured maybe food- ya know what? Never mind.”

The door squeaks.

“Bucky,” you call just before it closes again.

He pauses. Leans back with only half his face showing - one hand gripping the edge of the frame as though it might keep him tethered.

You soften. You can’t help it. “Takeout sounds good.”

He smiles, small and crooked and pleased, and god help you, it tugs at something in your chest that makes you want to sit down and cry for no reason at all.

“Got it, sweetheart.” His voice is warm again. Familiar. “I’ll get the usual. You just… take your time. Wash the world off.”

You nod. And he’s gone again.

You hear his footsteps pad down the hallway.

With a sigh that’s 60% fondness, 30% embarrassment, and 10% utter, unrelenting this man, you lean back into the steam, your heart performing some frantic dance in your chest.

Outside, Alpine lets out a mewl that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

“You don’t accidentally end up sharing a life.”

- Erin Hahn

[dmitriene]

cw: no smut, just mention of being hard.

young single mom reader and police officer john price, being the one to raise the baby boy that just gone to his third grade is tough, really so, try to have time to work and at the same time be the one who will pick him up from school, feed him and help him with his homework is getting up to you and your nerves, especially when you get a call from the school, saying that your baby boy gone missing.

you don't remember how you've made it to the school, a veil of salty tears blurring your vision as his class teacher and the principal try to reassure you that police patrol is already checking all the area around, that he's a smart boy, and possibly didn't wandered too far away, cameras catched that he sneaked away all alone, not kidnapped or worse, so you only pray that they will find him quick and safe.

the police car gets parked by the schools gates just short of a time, doors opening, and the first thing you see is your precious son seated on the elbow of the officer, a small, bright colored bouquet of flowers in his little hand, and he smiles wide and crook toothed when he notices you, getting lowered on his feet to run up in your wide spreading hands, a joyful sound of his voice calling you mom making you tear even more.

then you see him, officer john price, as his badge says, pinned right against the fabric of his what seems perfectly tailored uniform, sure, it's probably not made to directly complim his features, but the sinewy bulk of his body is hugged tight, adding to the seriousness of his profession, if not the softened, compassionate crinkle of his pale, icy blues that look down at your shaking, crouching form, his silver graying mutton chops beard getting raised up to fit the tentative, gentle smile stretching on his lips.

you don't have enough words to describe all your gratefulness, voice tear chocked, stammering, as you hug your boy closer, asking him why would he run away, and the admission puts you down even harsher than the weight of the stone, that he wanted to buy you something nice, what would make you happy, because you're so often sad and tired, and he wanted it to be a surprise, and then that nice officer helped him pick a bouquet for you, even payed for it.

john doesn't needs anything from you, voice a low, smoke gravelled murmur, he just does his job, and no one is here to blame you for what happened, especially not price, not when the sight of your eyes, shimmering with clear innocence and tears, doe wide, looking at him from beneath as you and your sweet boy thank him politely, make him readjust his spread legs stance, adjusting to the growing warmth in his pants, a simmering something, hungry to the point of salivating, crawling up his spine.

the knowledge that there's such a poor, sweet single bird with no one behind her, except of her baby boy, is enough for him, and perhaps he'd pay you a visit along the week, just to make sure if you need anyone to help, after he'd drive you both to your apartment, give the small of your back a comforting pat, see how you lean into the touch subconsciously, starved, and like the man that promised to take care of every civilian, he'd come back, for sure now.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[arina24]

Reprise

LE SSERAFIM Kazuha x M Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut

10k words

You’ve always loved the carnival. The yellow lights splash across the land like streaks of fire, growing ever more alluring the closer you get. The Ferris wheel is the first to appear—giant, unmistakable. Then the merry-go-round with the painted horses comes into view. Nearby, a huge tent hides the mirror maze underneath.

When you’re right up there, the stalls selling popcorn and potato snacks pop up, filling the evening air with salt and warmth. Maybe you’re a little too old for most of the rides now, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s about how it makes you feel, right?

You thought you’d noticed all the highlights on your way there. But something still feels just out of sight, like the memory is yet to fully take shape.

Then you see. You’d missed something—no, someone important. She might just be the most important attraction here for you.

You don’t remember your childhood best friend being this beautiful.

Your gaze locks onto Kazuha, wearing a sporty white crop top and a baseball cap. Fits the theme. Her jet-black hair dances in the wind, but never blocks her view as she aims a long air rifle at the board of balloons—a fierce look in her eyes.

And when dawn breaks, she’ll disappear, like the carnival itself. Again.

“Still awful at aiming, huh?” Your voice catches her off-guard as she’s reloading for a second try.

She turns sharply—bullets slip from her fingers and roll towards you. You promptly stop them with your feet. “Careful, butterfingers,” you add as you bend to pick them up.

Her eyes stare at you for a moment, flickering with something unreadable, before going back to the natural cockiness you’ve always seen her sport.

She snatches the bullets out of your palm with a scoff. “Not awful. I was compensating for the wind—it changed direction at the last second.”

“Right,” you reply, amused.

“And someone I haven’t seen in years randomly shows up? I think some shock is warranted.”

She takes another shot. This one almost hits the operator a few feet away from the target.

“You know you’re supposed to hit the balloons, right?” You gesture to the board. “Let me have a try before you end up hitting some poor kid around here.”

Kazuha grits her teeth at that comment. As competitive as ever.

“I’m going for the harder balloons at the back. They keep moving.” She puts all her focus on this shot—posture adjusted, wind analyzed and eyes narrowed.

The bullet flies, and this time, hits her target. The balloon pops with a loud crack, startling some kids nearby.

“Yes!” She punches the air. The operator hands over a big teddy bear to her. Kazuha flips you the finger with a smug smile, hugging the bear to her chest.

“You still have a couple bullets left,” someone reminds her. She reaches for the gun—but before her hand can get close, you quickly pick it up. You point it at the same area she was aiming at and fire off two quick shots in succession. Both hit your target, much to her visible displeasure.

Two plushies for you. You turn towards Kazuha and hold them up in mock triumph, taking in the spite written all over her face. It only makes you feel warmer inside.

“Being the gentleman I am.” You offer her both the bears. “I will let the lady have her prizes.”

She rolls her eyes at that and gives the bears to some kid roaming around. He snatches them from her hands and runs away, without so much as a thank you.

A woman nearby, likely his mother, stops and chides the kid. “Go on, thank the nice lady. You can’t be rude like that.”

“Yeah, thank the nice lady who couldn’t win a single thing till I showed up,” you whisper into Kazuha’s ear. She endures the lecture with a tight, polite smile.

”No, no, it’s completely alright. I know how kids can be sometimes.” She grabs your wrist as an excuse and pulls you away with her.

Soon enough, the pair annoying her disappear from view. ”I hate kids,” she mutters, not realizing she can let go of your wrist now.

“That’s funny.” You let her lead. “Because the last time I saw you, you were one.”

Evening slowly dips into night, and more and more lights are being switched on. Kazuha adjusts her cap, tying her hair back with a rubber band. Her perfectly fitting crop top slides up a little as she raises her arms, revealing more of her toned midriff. But the view is fleeting—her hands drop back down, searching for your wrist before she notices she doesn’t need to hold you anymore.

The smell of burnt sugar and frying oil thickens as more stalls open up. Laughter from kids on nearby rides echoes through the air. You’ve walked these places with Kazuha before. But the way her fingers brush her wrist now—you hope, maybe it was yours she was reaching for.

You get the lightest feeling you're seeing her differently this time.

“Gosh it’s been…” She tries to count the years, but gives up. “Forever. Didn't even know if you were alive. Or if you offed yourself for losing to me in too many games.”

“You could’ve known, you know, if you ever bothered to reach out after disappearing.”

She ignores that comment. You want to press again, but the night is just getting started. Maybe you'll get your answers later. Maybe. But for now, you'll let it slide.

“Speaking of games in which you lose to me—” She stops, revealing where she’s been leading you: a big toy hammer leaning against a massive target, and a tower of numbers climbing all the way up to 1000.

You know you’ve been had.

“Remember this?” she asks with a cheeky grin—planned all along.

“Clear as day.” You deadpan.

“Thought I'd give you one last chance to try and beat me.”

The sting of losing to her all those years ago suddenly feels fresh and piercing. There's no way you're still worse than her at this, right? You are a grown man now, and she’s just a girl.

“Loser has to buy the other marshmallows, same rules,” she continues, sweetly. You curse yourself under your breath. You’ve given her way too much money in this stupid game.

“Fine. Who goes first?” You pick up the hammer, feeling its weight.

”Since it’s already in your hand, I’ll let you go ahead, gentleman.” She hands over some change to the operator nearby.

You cannot let her beat you. Not again. Not this time.

You take two practice swings. Grip firm. Stance solid. Hammer lined up dead-center. This can’t go wrong. On the third swing, you go for it, hitting it hard with a satisfying thump which makes the marker shoot up. It races past the initial numbers, and your heart kicks up with it. Maybe this is it. Maybe this time you finally win.

To your dismay, the pace drops rapidly near the top. 800, 850, 900, and the marker comes to rest at 950. One square away from a 1000.

“Not bad.” She almost seems genuine—then the corners of her lips slowly curl up. “But clearly, there’s room for improvement.”

“Oh, cut it out, Zuha. No way you’re making 1000.”

She doesn’t respond right away, picking up the mallet and trying to block out the crowd noise. Her fingers curl around the handle, and that familiar smirk returns. No practice strikes for Kazuha—she’s going all in. But just as she’s about to bring the hammer down, her foot catches on a rock. The swing goes wide, and the hammer almost slips out of her hand.

You burst into laughter, but she’s unfazed. She takes another swing, making sure her feet are clear this time. The sound the button makes is enough to cut through your laughter and let you know she’s smacked it.

The marker shoots up again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s faster than yours. The pace drops like it did for you: 850, 900, 950—and then it ekes out a slow, grinding climb to a perfect 1000.

Not again.

”Streak still alive. Guess you just lost a strength game to a girl, again.” Not trying to be subtle today.

Her arms don’t look remotely like they pack that much power. They’re long, slender, and smooth—not the kind that throws down 1000s like it’s nothing.

What does she even do to be so strong? Although it’s weirdly attractive in a way you don’t quite know how to explain. You don’t know how to explain a lot of things about her tonight—her eyes sparkle with the reflections of the lights surrounding you, and if you stare into the golden streaks in them long enough, it’s almost enough for you to feel something.

Though that could just be the nostalgia talking, you argue.

You have no choice but to add to the already large amount Kazuha has looted from you in this game.

“The lady in the food stall is still the same.” She dips a marshmallow into the chocolate dip and nibbles on it.

“Maybe she loves—” A running kid bumps into Kazuha, pushing her off balance. Her chocolate spills all over your fingers.

“You little shit!” you shout, but he’s long gone already. You steady her with your clean hand. “You okay? Didn’t knock the wind out of you or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” She brushes herself off. “Was the same kid from before. I suppose this is what I get for trying to give him some teddy bears.”

“Did earn him a lecture.” You hold up your fingers, showing them coated in her dip. “He made my hand a mess too.”

“Well, can’t let my hard-earned snacks go to waste now.” She pops a marshmallow into her mouth and lifts your fingers to her plush lips. She pauses for a second, then slides them into her mouth, sucking the chocolate off like it’s an everyday occurrence.

In her defense, it could have passed for one. A few years back. But right now, it does not feel so everyday to you. Kazuha’s warmth envelops your fingers, savoring the sweetness from you so casually. You hope she doesn’t catch the flush creeping on your face. She’s quick with it—you’re in public after all, but it’s enough to get your pulse racing. Her tongue slips out to lick the remaining off her lower lip.

“Mouth clean?” she asks.

You wish it weren’t (maybe you could have offered to clean it off).

But it is, and you report that truthfully.

You were staring at her face maybe a bit too long—her delicate lips, fierce dark eyes (soft underneath, you know), strands of hair framing her face like she’s a photograph—a moment to be captured, and it’s long enough for Kazuha to notice. She tilts her head, amusement slipping into her eyes.

”All okay? Did I suddenly turn too beautiful for you to take your eyes off me?”

(You have no idea.)

“What—no, no.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting around for an excuse to change the topic. The gigantic rotating structure right behind her catches your eye.

“I was admiring the Ferris wheel behind you. Brilliant architecture, right?” And if your memory serves you right, this might just prove to be the best excuse.

“It’s alright. What’s so brilliant about it?” You can feel her smug exterior crumbling ever so slightly.

“It’s the biggest attraction here and we should definitely go on it once.” (Second biggest.)

“Nuh uh.” She knows your intentions.

“Oh my, the strong and mighty Nakamura Kazuha still pisses her pants at heights.”

“That happened once,” she protests.

“Do you know what happened every time we went on the wheel? You holding—no, crushing my hands and not letting go no matter how much I cried.”

”That won’t happen again, because we aren’t going on it,” she says with an air of finality.

“Can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.” You shake your head in disappointment.

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re going on it—right now. Even little Zuha wanted to go on the ride. Every single time. Have you really become more of a coward?”

A long sigh leaves her mouth. She’s conflicted, but you can sense the side you’re rooting for is winning the battle.

“Are you gonna hold my hand again when we get to the top?” you ask, waiting in line after getting the tickets.

“Not a chance,” she retorts.

The queue is short, and your turn comes quickly. Kazuha’s denim shorts ride up her thighs as she sits down, and you try not to stare too long. You take your seat next to her in the cramped cabin. The operator pulls the metal bar down with a clang, locking the two of you in place.

The wheel moves a little, then stops for the next passengers to get in.

“The worst part is the loading, really.” She leans forward a bit to look at how far the ground is from her.

After peeking down, she immediately snaps back in place. “Nope, shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“Hey calm down. Let’s maybe try to talk about something else. What have you been up to? My guess is training to be a professional athlete.”

The wheel is set into motion, and Kazuha breathes again.

“Good guess.” She snorts. “But no. Regular adult life, mostly. Nothing as glamorous as that.”

The wheel stops for the next loading, about halfway up now. You are suspended several dozen feet in the air, feet dangling below. The cart rocks unevenly, making it worse, at times tilting almost perpendicular to the ground. Kazuha’s face is red. She looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Hey, think this is a good time to ask—” She turns to you nervously, voice shaking. ”Are you seeing someone?”

“Not currently, no.”

”So I won’t get jumped by some girl for holding your hand, right?” Her hand slips into yours, palm in palm. She grips you hard—the usual, but you were the one who got her on this time, so you’ll bear it.

“Only if I won’t have to deal with any jealous boyfriends or exes either.” Your other palm moves on top of hers, affirming her grip. She relaxes a little at the touch.

“Boyfriends, no; exes, I’ll trust you to defend yourself if it comes to that.” She rests her head on your shoulder. Her hair falls behind you, brushing softly against the back of your neck.

“Tell me something. If you’re so afraid of heights, why did you want to go on it every time we came here?”

The wheel is moving again, and you’re on the way to the top now.

“Look.” She motions towards what you’re already seeing. The small-town houses look like mere dots across the landscape, none of the buildings tall enough to display any of their features. Rolling green fields surround the town, broken only by the occasional winding road.

Below, the carnival stretches out, cheap decorations and all, but charming in its own right. The striking yellow lights tie it all together. A scene worth the ride.

“I love the view. The town looks absolutely stunning from here.”

“So why'd you just up and leave one day? Seems rather unfair to the town.” (To the town.)

“Because.” She shrugs. “How could anyone be content where they are?”

“Dunno. I could be pretty content staying right here.” You turn, looking into the eyes which effortlessly held your attention the entire evening.

The wheel comes to a slowing halt right at the very top.

“Talking about the view or me?” Her eyes look back at you, pupils dilating in the lush ambient glow around. You could stare into them forever.

“I mean the view—” Your throat tightens. Words stuck in your mouth.

"Is that all you were gonna say?"

“You, you look so beautiful.” You barely manage to get it out.

“Kiss me, then.”

What happens next is a blur. Purely instinctual.

She pulls you in, your lips connecting like opposite poles of a magnet, finally allowed to meet. Your hand wraps around her waist, and her fingers thread through your hair. Her lips are soft and warm—perfect.

There’s still a trace of chocolate from earlier, not that her mouth needs any help being sweet. Her nose brushes slightly against yours, and you keep her lips locked in place, almost like you’re afraid she might disappear again.

A soft whimper leaves your mouth, letting her know how much you’ve wanted this. She tilts your head towards her, finding the perfect angle for you to feel her lips full against yours, her body moving closer. The air between you carries her scent—fresh, floral, sharp.

You wish you could freeze this moment: Kazuha’s lips pressed to yours, the kiss full of everything neither of you could say aloud.

She pulls away for a second, her fingers still tangled in your hair, not willing to let you go. She looks into your eyes, searching for a reaction to what she did.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you like this,” you murmur.

”Feels right.” Her lips part in a soft smile.

You cup her cheeks and pull her back in, her lips crashing onto yours. You aren’t satisfied with one round. You couldn’t be satisfied with a million rounds.

The wheel is back in motion, the cart rocking gently. Neither of you care. In your world, the two of you are still, existing only for each other.

The night is warm; it’s still summer, but there’s a cool breeze flowing through you now. You’re unsure if it’s because of the ride or the released tension. No—it has to be the kiss. Normal breezes don’t feel this freeing.

The rest of the ride passes in a mix of fervent kisses and dodging onlookers whenever the cart dips too low for comfort. Kissing you seems to work better than any antidote for Kazuha’s acrophobia—you don’t hear another complaint from her. All her attention is on you.

Eventually, the ride slows to a stop. You lend her a hand getting off the cart (though she'll deny ever needing help with that). Palm in hers, barrier lifted.

“Next time, maybe I won't have to fight to get you on this thing?”

“Maybe you will.” She steps out of the cart, getting on the trimmed grass with you.

”I’d do a lot worse things to kiss you like that again.”

The lips you just kissed waver into a smile as she sweeps a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Didn’t know you had a flirt in you.”

“You weren’t around for my best years.” The thought reminds you. “You never told me why you left.”

She takes your wrist in her hand and starts walking, going who knows where again. Her eyes drift toward the fields far away, like she could find her answer there if she tried hard enough.

“Not my call, really. Mom wanted a fresh start, I think.” She kicks a stone. It skips past a nearby stall. “Said I'll get more opportunities in a big city. More exposure, yada yada. Probably just excuses.”

Her voice trails off for a second, like she’s holding back the rest. Excuses for what? But instead of continuing, she just keeps walking. You decide to give her space for now.

“So, did you? Got into any new stuff?”

“One or two.” Her gaze drops to her feet.

“Like what?”

“Ballet.”

You break into a smile. “Didn't peg you for a pirouette. All that inhuman strength—and you chose ballet?”

“Shut up. I’m good at it.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna need to see a performance to decide, live.”

She scoffs. “In your dreams.”

The walk keeps going. She pulls you past the stretched-out haunted house and the bumper cars. The carnival music fades, speakers switched off one by one as the night gets deeper.

“Do you have a place in mind, or are you just taking me in circles?”

”We are going somewhere. It’s been waiting since we got here, you’ll see.” She rounds the corner and stops in her tracks. Lifting your hand, she points to the huge tent in front of you. “We're here.”

Mirror maze.

“Why does it feel like you've been calling the shots the whole night and I'm just following you?”

“When have I ever taken a bad decision?”

You don’t even bother with a response, and just look away.

“Come on, you’re really gonna pretend we didn’t have fun here?” Kazuha continues, half-challenging. Truth is, there's a spark in her eyes you'd follow anywhere.

You shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t remember much of this.”

”So the onus is on me to make this memorable for you.” She nods like she’s been expecting this.

“What does that even mean?”

Ignored. You turn to the ticket stand—only to find it shut down.

“Zuha, it’s closed. Guess we’re too late.”

A playful smile creeps on her lips. “Just as planned. Follow me.” She heads to the back of the tent, where there’s no one around. Lifting a loose flap, she pulls you in and lets it fall shut behind you.

Shiny is the first word you’d use to describe the place. Disorienting the second. It feels like you’re in one of those high school physics puzzles: Given k mirrors at various angles, calculate how many images you’ll see. The answer to this one is millions. Millions of yourselves and Kazuhas surround you, some even intersecting at odd angles.

You take a step—only to hit yourself on the head. All the Kazuhas around you grin widely as you rub your forehead.

“Watch and learn,” she says and strides forward. Not an obstacle in her path. Eyes locked ahead, no hesitation, almost like the mirrors themselves part to make way for her.

“Caught that grace? Ballet.”

“If you brought me here just to show off again.” You roll your eyes at her. “I'd rather leave.”

She keeps walking, taking right and left turns at specific spots like she's memorized the entire map. You follow. The way she moves—self-assured, hips swaying ever so lightly—is captivating nonetheless.

Your thoughts spill out before you have a chance to catch them. “Though I’d be content just watching you like this.”

That’s not how you talk to your childhood friend.

A soft laugh slips from her. “I thought you wanted to leave a minute ago. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to show off. I brought you here to show something, if it still exists…” She taps behind the panel of one of the mirrors. “We're in luck.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Shh.” Her finger brushes your lips—light, deliberate. It lingers there a second longer than it needs to. Your heartbeat stumbles. You want to kiss her fingertips, suck them into your mouth like she did yours, but you don't.

“I know you said you can't recall much. But try jogging your memory, do you remember when we used to play hide-and-seek here?”

You take a look around, and in the reflections, the past becomes clearer. Environmental memory and all.

“Somewhat. Didn’t you always vanish for way too long?”

“Precisely. I'm about to reveal to you where I used to hide.” Kazuha motions with a flair suited for revealing a lifelong secret.

She pulls at a mirror. It gives way to a relatively small space—just enough for the two of you to fit, with a little room to spare. Brown walls, a break from the bright and shine everywhere, make it feel like a private spot made only for you both.

You step in first, Kazuha slips in after you. As she moves past, her chest brushes against your hands—slow, almost like she wants you to touch her. You can hear—no, feel her breathing. Steady. Yours isn’t.

A second later, she's in place. The mirror slides shut behind her, darkness swallowing you both.

“Give it a minute, your eyes will adjust,” she murmurs, her hand settling on your shoulder to steady you. “Unless you’d prefer to feel your way around instead.”

You’re facing each other, backs against opposite walls.

“Is this the first time you’re here with someone?”

She nods. Kazuha’s floral scent hits you stronger now that you’re this close to her. You’re almost scared to breathe her in twice.

Your eyes adjust, just enough to make out her face. You can’t help but admire how gorgeous she is, right there in front of you, even if you can barely see her in the dark.

Almost like she knows what you’re thinking, she stands on her toes to reach a panel behind you. She pushes it open, letting a few rays of light in. They illuminate her face a little, her features even more striking in the dim golden light. The light carves across her cheekbones, emphasizing their sharpness.

And yet, it’s the same Kazuha you’ve seen a million times.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Nobody will. It leads nowhere, I know this maze inside out. We have this place to ourselves.”

Her thighs touch yours as she settles back into place. It’s incredible how sure of herself, confident, she can be even when she can’t see anything. Or maybe it’s because you’re here with her.

“Why are we here?” you ask softly.

“I’m not staying here long.”

Her words land like a stone in your chest. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, you had no idea why she was even here, but it was easy to get lost in the memories with her and pretend this was permanent.

It’s not though, and her words remind you—maybe both, that this night is fleeting. You need to make it count.

She brushes the back of your neck. The warmth of her body is comforting, even in the summer, heating you up. The silence hanging tells you exactly what you have to do.

You cup her cheek and pull her in, lips meeting yours. You slip a hand around her waist, impossibly slender against you. Maybe there was truth to her claims on grace after all.

Her fingers are tangled in your hair again, messier this time—like she wants to show you exactly how much she wants this. Wants you. She pauses for a second, her lips grazing your ear, breath hot on you.

“And when I said you can feel your way around,” Kazuha whispers. “I meant my body too.”

You don’t move at first.

Not because you don’t want to—God, you do—but because this version of her, the one offering herself to you in the dark, feels almost too surreal to touch. Like one wrong move and she’ll vanish. Disappear into thin air. Again.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I just... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her fingers find your chin. She tilts it toward her. “I’m here now. So touch me.”

Your hands trace the outline of her figure. You've touched her before—games, scrapes, fights—but never like this. Never with intentions like this. You slide down the curve of her back, her skin damp from the heat, before finally resting on her ass.

Your fingers hang there awkwardly—hesitant, unsure what to do. Kazuha notices. She places her free hand on yours, guiding, and presses your hand into the soft curve of her ass. It’s plump, yielding, and fits perfectly in your palm.

“Feels good?” she asks, voice low.

“Mhm,” you breathe.

Satisfied, her lips return to yours. You squeeze her ass cheeks again. A soft moan escapes her, caught by your mouth before it can go anywhere else.

The tip of your tongue grazes her lips, asking for entry. And her lips part willingly. Your tongue slides against Kazuha’s in her mouth—hungry, slick, and deep.

For once in her life, she’s happy to lose to you. Her tongue submits to yours, letting you savor her mouth at your own pace.

Her hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of your hardness, already heavy against your pants. She cups it with her palm, groping, gently stroking through the cloth. It only makes you harder. Throbbing. And a grunt slips out at how she's touching you.

She tugs at your pants, asking for more. You grab her wrist and lift it away.

“My turn.”

Her brow lifts slightly, but the corners of her mouth curl in approval. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

You sink to your knees, planting kisses on the abs you've seen all night, but never really admired how fit they are. Tight, slim, built to be shown off, worshipped. And worship them you will, tasting her skin with your tongue, licking across her midriff. Her skin has a hint of salt, sweat glistening under the light, but she still manages to taste sweet.

“Can we at least take my shorts off?” she huffs.

You look up, meeting her eyes. “We've got all night.”

Still, you decide not to torture her further. You unzip her denim shorts and slide it down in one fluid motion. Her black panties greet you, fabric stretched over the shape of her lips, outline clear. You only need one touch to feel how drenched she is, and it’s immediately clear why she needed them off.

Her inner thighs are a creamy, milky white, tempting you to taste more of her. You start with kisses, then drag your tongue slowly over her soft skin. Her flavor is stronger on her thighs, more intense, addicting. You can't get enough.

Her muscles tense beneath your tongue, and Kazuha's fingers weave into your hair. Every flick of your tongue leaves her trembling, you're getting closer, but never close enough. She shifts her body, trying to press down on you, wanting something you won't quite give her.

It’s not like her to beg for anything. You’d probably laugh if someone told you she ever did. But now, for the first time, you hear her beg. Kazuha herself, whispering for release.

“Please.”

Your hands reach behind her and pull her panties down. Her pussy presents itself for you—bare, pink folds slick with a mix of sweat and arousal. Your tongue finishes its ascent, giving her core a long, slow lick. She whimpers, so satisfied. She’s warm, the heat on your tongue telling you just how much she’s been holding back.

Her grip tightens in your hair, urging you closer.

But you tease her instead, giving slow, deliberate licks—agonizingly gentle. You love how each moan slips out in rhythm with your touch, music only you get to hear.

“Someone might hear us,” you murmur, fully aware you’re the reason they might.

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Let them, then. Feels too—fuck, good.”

She gets wetter with every lick, your saliva mixing with her arousal, coating her pussy in a translucent mess. Some of her sweet nectar trickles into your mouth, and you savor every drop. Your hands wander to her ass, groping handfuls of her flesh, driving her further, closer, deeper into ecstasy.

“Clit too, please.”

You wrap your lips around her clit, one swirl of your tongue, and she’s squirming. Kazuha arches her back, trying to push herself further against your tongue, wanting all of you on her.

You pick up the rhythm, quick swipes of your tongue at her clit, and she melts into a moaning mess. Her hands clutch locks of your hair, not daring to let you go.

“Had no idea you were so fucking good at this.”

Her thighs lock on either side of your head, pushing you further and further into her heat. You can barely inhale anything but her pussy now—her sweat, slick, lust for you. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The more frantic her hands grow in your hair, the more you reward her with your mouth.

And it’s no surprise she’s already getting close. She grinds her pussy on your tongue, chasing her release. Her knees go weak, and her fingers dig deeper into your scalp, as if needing you just to stand upright. You press her further against the wall, steadying her.

Her wetness is all over herself, thighs, abs, pussy, coated in her own desire. Her moans take over the entire room—someone’s definitely hearing, and she couldn’t care less.

She’s screaming all sorts of things, your name included, and it’s the first time you’re hearing it in this flavor out of her mouth. You could get used to it.

As she finishes, a gush of juices flows into your mouth, and everywhere else. Your cheeks, lips, and neck are all a mess. Kazuha’s slick is all over you, and you could stay like this forever. (Not literally forever—good thing she always carries tissues)

“Maybe I did miss out on a few things,” she says between heavy breaths.

You look at her with an expression that says, I told you so.

You climb up and kiss her lips, offering her a sample of her own juices. Her tongue slips out to swipe at your mouth, tasting the mix of her slick and your spit, and she laps it up into her own. She lets you go once she’s satisfied.

“Not bad. Been a while since I’ve tasted myself.”

“You're kidding right? You taste incredible.” You wipe some off your mouth.

“Since when do you shower me with praise like this? Maybe I should disappear more often.”

She rests for a good few minutes, catching her breath. Once she's steady, her hand slides down to your pants once again, finding your cock pressing through it. “Can I have my turn now, Mr. Decision Taker?”

“Sure, but I don't see how anything can match up to the performance I just gave.”

“Ooh, shouldn't have gone there,” she purrs, dropping on her knees in front of you. Your pants are tugged down quickly, your hardness even more obvious on your underwear. “You have no idea what you started.”

“Or maybe I know exactly what I'm doing.” You grin, hand slipping through Kazuha's hair.

There’s no hesitation in her grip as she fondles your boner through the cloth, trying to familiarize herself with the shape before she even sees it.

“Brat…” She rolls her eyes as her fingers tighten on you.

“Just the way you like it.”

She slips her hands into your underwear and pulls your cock out. You’ve known those eyes your whole life—seen them light up over dumb jokes and game nights—but now, they’re locked on your cock like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Someone must have been feeling a little… constrained.” She runs her fingertips along your length, barely brushing. Every touch sends sparks dancing across your skin.

She glances up, catching the way you squirm. “Two can play at the teasing game.”

Your cock is throbbing, twitching for anything more than the ghost of her touch. Your thighs tense without permission, breath catching—shallow, uneven. You want to grab her hand, make her finish what she started. But you also want to stay still, because somehow the way she looks up at you, barely touching, is better than anything else could be.

Once she decides she’s done playing, she wraps her palm around you, slow strokes gliding up and down your length. You let go of a soft moan, ”Zuha…”

Her eyes meet yours and she strokes you firmer now, steadier. “I like hearing you say my name like that.”

“Keep going and you’ll be hearing it a lot more.”

She brings in her mouth close to your tip, tongue about to slip out—

—instead, a hot breath rolls over your skin. It hits you like lightning. Your cock pulses harder than before.

“Oops. That wasn’t intentional.” The smile tugging at her lips says otherwise. Her hand rubs gently over your tip, like nursing an injury. She holds your base firmer, leans in near your tip again—breath careful this time—and kisses it. Another, then another, and plants a line of kisses to your base.

Finally, her tongue slips out, and she licks you all the way back to the tip.

Kazuha gives you a few more licks, slow and deliberate, making sure not a single spot is untouched. Your cock is lathered with her spit, giving it a glossy finish.

“You taste good.” Her eyes glint up at you. “Could suck on this all night.”

You’re already getting weak for her. “Not sure I can last that long. But we’ll try.”

One of her hands drifts down to your balls, massaging you gently. Suddenly, she squeezes too hard.

“Ah—careful,” you wince, hips pulling back instinctively.

She lets go instantly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Was that too hard?”

You nod.

“Should I stop with my hands?” A flush spreads over her cheeks, as if she’s second-guessing herself. Doesn’t happen often.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. “I know you didn’t mean to. You can still do it if you like, just be a little gentle. They’re sensitive.”

“Okay, I'll be careful.” Her hands return to your balls, fondling with a calculated care.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.” You cup her face with one hand. “Don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Her cheeks only flush a deeper red at that comment. She tries to ignore it and focuses her energy on your cock instead, trying to wipe that smile off your face.

Her hand spreads the slick mess all over your shaft. Your fingers dig deeper into her hair, urging her to take you in—and to your surprise, her lips immediately part open. Guilt always did make her more agreeable. Her hands rest on your thighs, steadying herself, breath hot against you.

Then she takes you into her mouth.

She’s soft. So warm. Incredibly wet. Her mouth wraps tight around you, tongue flat underneath, her spit making you slick as she slides deeper. Her cheeks hollow—sucking hard enough to pull a sharp gasp out of you. You twitch inside her mouth, and that is all the encouragement she needs to keep going.

Her tongue swirls around your cock, slurping loudly as she sucks, like she’s convinced it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

She keeps you there for a while, her eyes gripped on yours, watching them roll back deeper with every passing second. Drool slips from her tongue, soaking your cock until it runs down and lands on her own midriff.

“Your mouth feels unreal.” It takes effort to even pronounce words. “Zuha.“ More moans of her name, as promised. You see the glimmer in her eyes every time you say it.

She slides you deeper into her throat, her lips brushing against your waist. Her throat constricts around you—so fucking tight. Kazuha’s making the dirtiest noises you’ve ever heard.

And when she finally can't take it—she pulls back. Her face is a mess. Strands of her spit glide from her lips to your cock. It almost feels wrong to see Kazuha like this, but then why does it feel so fucking good?

She steadies herself with a breath, then plants kisses down your length, getting ready to take you back into her mouth. You brush a few strands of hair out of her face and lock them in your hand, still gripping her hair. Her lips envelop your length again, the sensation drawing a grunt out of you.

Her mouth bobs up and down on you, taking you deeper with every round. Your knees go weak, and you look around for something to hold onto—but nothing.

“Is it okay if I hold your hair tighter?”

She nods, unbothered, and barely reacts when you tighten your grip on her hair like your life depends on it—focused on worshipping your cock. If anything, she takes it as a sign to go harder. Her mouth moves faster on you, suction tighter than ever.

The wet, slick sounds of her lips on your shaft are somehow louder than your moans.

Her lips release you with a pop, and her hand takes over—lips kissing your tip as her grip tightens, almost possessive of you. She strokes you, steady and firm, and for once, your moans rise louder than the obscene sounds she makes. The sensation makes your back arch, every movement pushing you closer to release.

“It’s okay, you can cum on me.” Her hand keeps working you, milking you for all you’re worth, her face right below your tip.

And then you let go. Thick ropes shoot out of you, landing across Kazuha’s face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and some in her mouth as well.

A few drops drip down to her chest and midriff. She’s a total fucking mess for you—and somehow still manages to look like the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen.

“So, not matching up to your performance is out of the question.” She swipes a streak from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers.

You struggle to form a response. It takes a while before you can say, “Ouch. And here I thought you were doing all this because you were into me.”

“Of course I am, you dork.” She gestures to the sticky trails from her hair down to her body, like that alone should be proof. “And I pull off this look too, by the way.”

“Sure you do. Thank God you always carry tissues though.”

“Yeah, God,” she mutters, already digging through her bag—only to come up empty-handed. “Not this time.”

”What the fuck? We are not going out like this.”

”Yeah, I gathered.” She lets out a quiet breath while she takes one last look in her bag. “I can’t walk out covered in cum and spit. You’re gonna have to go grab napkins for me.”

”Your juices are all over me as well, ma’am.”

“All this is definitely worse. So you are going.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You stand there, staring at her, she is right. There’s no way she's stepping outside like that. Which means it's on you to dodge a dozen eyes and sneak your way to a food stall for napkins.

She looks at you, eyes glinting, lips pursed like she’s trying to suppress a smile.

”Not funny, Zuha.”

She shrugs. “A little funny.”

The packet finally comes out from her bag, and right when you’re about to grab it—it slips from her hands.

“Jesus. At this rate I might have to actually go out like this.”

She picks it up and offers one to you. “If I were you, I’d be thankful someone actually brought tissues.”

You grab it and start wiping yourself off. “We should take this someplace a little more… intimate. No point taking risks like this again.”

“That, I agree. But where?” She's dabbing at her face too. These are the wet deep-cleanse ones. Should do the trick.

”Same as usual, my place? Nobody’s home—whole reason I came here.”

“Works.”

—

“So what did you use to do there before you, you know, had a guy to play around with?” You plop on the couch beside her, packet of cookies in hand. The air conditioner drones in the background, a welcome break from the heat outside.

“Play with myself,” she says casually, grabbing a cookie.

You turn to her, brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that, dumbass,” she shoots back. “I meant doodle, sing songs, dance.”

You flip through TV channels, stopping on some old sitcom. “Prefer my company to that?”

“It’s close, but I’d say so.”

“Ever think about what life would’ve been like if you’d stuck around?”

“Sometimes.” She pulls at the strap of her top, then lets it snap back.

“Maybe we wouldn't have had to wait so many years for something between us.”

“Or maybe things would have never gone this way.” She leans back on the couch. “We were around each other all the time back then. And still—nothing.” Her eyes drill into the ceiling.

The TV screen flickers, static crackling from the speakers.

“Does that sometimes. Let me go check the connection.” You head behind the TV stand, feeling for the loose wire. You crouch down, out of her line of sight.

“Did you miss me?” Her voice is quiet, distant, like she’s not sure she wants the answer.

You don’t reply right away, spending a few seconds fiddling with wires that aren’t even loose.

“Sometimes. Like when I got sick, I half expected you to show up with juice and stupid movies again.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

You get up and walk back to the couch. “I never understood why you ghosted. Just had to make peace with it—no other option.”

“You really wanna get into all that?”

“Of course I do, Zuha. We were best friends for a decade. Whatever this is now, barely a night. I still care about you. That’s the issue, really.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She lets out a long sigh.

“Life got… weird when I moved. My new school was awful. I tried. But people either acted off or pretended I didn't exist, so I just stopped”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting her posture.

“And home wasn’t much better. Dad rarely visited, guess that was always the plan. Everything sucked. I wanted to text you—God, so many times. I’d open our chat and just sit there like an idiot.” Her fingers tug at a thread on the couch, eyes somewhere else.

“I couldn't. I was scared. Scared you'd moved on. Scared I'd look pathetic like that.

I wish I did though. Tonight… felt easy. Felt right.”

She meets your eyes now. “And more importantly, it was fucking unfair to you. I'm so sorry.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy.

“Hey… that sounds rough. Must have been hard to reach out with all of that going on. I had a sense things weren't great with your parents but not the full extent.” You pull her head to your chest. “I’m glad you told me though. Are things better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m alright now. I still think about you from time to time, but it felt like the door had closed by then.”

She stretches her legs, resting her head higher up your chest. “Shit, we've been talking all about myself. What about you? How’s life been?” Her eyes glance up at yours.

“Nothing that dramatic.” You chuckle. “Stayed at the same school. Then college. Got an internship starting soon, offer came through just a few days back.”

“Wow. Someone’s been busy winning.” Her voice softens. “I’m proud of you. If we’d still been in touch… I probably would’ve been the first person you told.”

“Nah, you never were.”

“Shut up, I so was.” Her palm covers your mouth. “You came running to me to celebrate after placing second in a sack race.”

“Hey, it was a highly competitive—” You fight to lift her hand off. “—race. Millions would’ve killed to get on the stage and collect that medal.”

”Sure.” She laughs—the sound so sweet to you. Infectious. You can’t help but join in.

Both of you sit there for a second, smiling, catching your breath. It's easy like this. Familiar.

You nod toward your bedroom. “I suppose we should be making up for the missed movie nights.”

“You wanna watch something or just sleep with me?” She grabs your wrist, tugging you along.

“Wow, that reminds me. One of those sleepovers, you fell asleep first, as usual, on me and I had the most confused boner ever.” You pause. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that out loud.”

“Were always into me, huh?” She looks back over her shoulder at you.

Your memories tug at you, almost like they're trying to say something. “I'm not sure. Which is what made it weird.” Her step slows a little.

“What’d you do?”

”What could I do? I waited till it went away, then went to sleep.” You reach the bedroom and shut the door behind you. “Can't believe our parents never suspected anything, with how close we were. Not that we ever crossed the line back then, but still.”

Kazuha gets on the bed with you, pulling the blanket over you both. “My mom did. She had the same two lines every time I left the house—‘Tell your boyfriend I said hi,’ or, ‘Have fun on the date.’”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Your lips twitch into a smile. “How come I never heard about this?”

“Because I told her if she ever called you that in front of you, it'd be the last day she saw me.”

“Sounds about right. Didn’t she question your tragic outfit choices for a ‘date’ though?” You pull up Netflix, and hand her the remote. “Your pick for the night.”

She scrolls through the options. “You want me in some short little dress or what?” Her nose scrunches just at the idea.

“Obviously. Don’t you do ballet anyway?”

“Performing’s different. I’d probably cancel the date if I had to wear one outside.” She eyes your watch history. “What kind of trash do you watch?”

You sit up, facing her. “Let’s up the stakes of our next hammer game—marshmallows are boring. If I win, you’ll wear a dress on our date.”

“And if I win, the dress goes on you?”

You stare at her, deadpan.

“Kidding.” Her hand reaches for yours, intertwining fingers. “And you're never winning against me. So if you really wanna see me in a red dress, choose a different bet.“

“Why red specifically? Maybe I’d rather see you in green.”

”Wasn’t red your favorite color?” She finally settles on a cheesy romcom.

“Didn’t know favorite colors are still a thing after you grow up.” The movie begins—opens on a girl monologuing that she’ll never settle down. “Wow. You called my taste bad, and now we’re watching someone explain why love isn’t for them for the hundredth time?”

“Best I could salvage from your recommendations list. And hey, fits the mood at least.” She slides her fingers up your arm, and they settle on your shoulder.

“And what kind of mood would that be?”

Her grip tightens on your shoulder as she leans in. “It’ll take her the whole movie to realize that love is, in fact, for her.” Her hair hangs dangerously close to your face, brushing your cheek. “We can skip to the ending.”

You breathe her in. “Why does your hair smell so good? What's that scent?”

“Same shampoo I've always used.”

“No way. Didn't smell like this before.”

She laughs. “Maybe you had rocks for a nose back then.” She moves even closer, and you can feel her breath, hot against you. “You smell it better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, moving in to kiss her neck. Kazuha wraps her arm around your waist. A low moan slips from her lips as you leave a trail of soft pecks down her neck. She tilts her head back, letting you find the curve of her neck better. You keep kissing her—until a crop top interrupts your descent.

“Want it off?”

You nod and help her lift it off. You continue your path, lips brushing on her collarbone. Your hand finds her chest, cupping her breast through her bra. Her breath hitches. Her soft sounds grow louder at how you’re touching her.

She lets her hands wander down your body, feeling your hardness poking through your pants. “Already hungry for more?” Her fingers grazing you like that don't help at all.

“Hungry for you, Zuha.” It feels so good to tell her that. Your lips find her cleavage, kissing at the tiny bits peeking out from her bra. The chatter of the movie—the female lead’s friends urging her to text someone—fades into the background, replaced by the sounds Kazuha makes just for you.

Your hands reach behind and unhook her bra, freeing her tits. Her breasts are soft and creamy, perfectly shaped for your hands and mouth. You taste them—tongue gliding over her sensitive skin.

Her nipples are already taut, and you take one into your mouth, savoring the texture of her arousal. Her hand tangles in your hair. She’s not willing to risk letting you go.

You feel her other breast with your hand, taking her in your palm and gently squeezing—more moans for you. She leans back, pushing more of her flesh into your mouth, urging you to have more of her.

You take your time with her. Quick swipes of your tongue, gentle sucks on her nipples, your hands massaging her tits, and with every motion, soft sighs slip from Kazuha’s mouth.

“Figured you’d be thorough with this too” She lets out a breathy laugh. You can feel her body getting hotter—and one slip of your hand beneath her shorts confirms what you were thinking—she’s soaked. You gently push her onto her back, climbing over her.

“These aren’t needed.” One swift motion—and her shorts are off and on the bed. Her juices are already soaking through her panties, leaving damp spots on the sheets.  You kiss your way downwards, moving to her abs—before she stops you, clutching your shirt.

“Can we please take this off too?” she asks.

“You’re so adorable being polite during sex, you know?”

She smacks your shoulder—

—”Ow, that hurt.”

“Yeah, kind of the point. Now shut up and get naked with me.”

“What's wrong with me finding you cute like that?” You shrug and let her help you take your shirt off.

She shifts her gaze. “I don't know. That's not… our thing.”

“Going down on each other wasn't our thing till tonight. Didn’t stop us.”

“Good point. But that doesn't mean everything will change overnight.” She drags a line down from your chest—coming to a stop at your waist. “Do your pants need a separate invitation?”

You take off your pants and underwear, and she’s wrapping her hand around you again. She grips you tight, stroking your length.

“I want you in me.” Her hand glides naturally on your cock this time, like she knows exactly how to please you best.

“Come here.” You help her get her panties off, her hand not letting go of you—almost like you’d disappear if she did. You stare at her beautiful bare folds, coated in her translucent arousal, aching for you.

Kazuha’s hair is spread across the pillow, framing her face, almost angelic. She breathes short, needy gasps; even having your cock close to her core is too much for her. You line up your tip against her lips, her heat brushing against you. Every graze sends sparks flying through both of you.

Her hands come up to your face and tilt it toward her. “Look at me, please,” she whispers.

You meet her gaze as you slide inside her. Your cock is immediately wrapped in her warmth, drowning in her wetness. “Fuck,” she hisses. Her walls clench down on you, gripping you tight, almost making you lose control.

“Zuha, you feel amazing.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. You can tell she needed that. You want to throw in another unnecessary quip but you decide against it—enough smacks for the night. Her walls stretch around you as you go deeper, adjusting for your thickness. Your hips meet finally, your cock fully enveloped by Kazuha’s warmth.

“Go ahead,” she sighs, arching her back slightly to give you a better angle. Her juices spill all over your cock. “Give it to me.”

You start slow, drawing your hips back leisurely. Her eyes flicker—caught between wanting to shut them and savor the feeling, and keeping eye contact with you.

“Ah!” She parts her lips when you thrust back into her wetness. Your fingers roam her body—the curves of her chest, the tightness of her abs, the softness of her thighs. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Your hand comes to rest on her hip, gripping her to steady yourself. You find your rhythm, your cock disappearing into her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

Your fingers press deep into her as you build momentum, little by little. You take a quick look at her reaction to make sure it doesn’t hurt her—all clear. If anything, the lip bite says she likes how possessive you’re being with her.

Each time you push into her, she lets out a louder moan—soft, breathless gasps spilling into the space between you. Her cheeks flush, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gives herself over completely. God, you could watch her face look like this forever.

It’s mesmerizing, really, how easily you can push her into the depths of ecstasy.

One of her hands grips your waist, grounding herself against you as she basks in the feeling of you fucking her.

“Fuck, just like that,” she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. The last word comes out somewhat awkwardly, but with how much of a moaning mess she is, it’s hard to tell. “Feels so good. Please, don’t stop,” she gasps, her perfect tits bouncing with every thrust.

“Not—” You grunt, hips rocking into her. “—planning to. You feel so—fuck—fucking good, Zuha.”

She fights to keep control of herself—loses. Her back arches, then sinks deeper into the bed, eyes closed shut as she melts into you. Her legs hook behind your back, thighs tightening around your waist, locking you in. Kazuha surrounds your entirety.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her mouth cups into an ‘o’, her body trembling as the pleasure crashes through her. You already know: It’s an image that’s not leaving your mind so easily.

One of the (several) things you’re getting to know about Kazuha tonight is that when she cums, she leaks like a waterfall.

Her juices gush all over your cock, somehow drenching it even more than before. Her body first tenses around you, then she quivers in pleasure, trembling. Her eyes flutter open to meet yours.

“Are you close too?” she asks. You nod in response. If you weren’t already—the sight you just saw was enough to nearly push you over.

“Keep going, feels so good.” She drapes an arm around your neck—the motion almost too much for her spent body. “Kiss me, please.” You lean in close to her, Kazuha exhales softly when your lips touch.

The kiss is lazy, lingering, a complete contrast to the rhythm of your thrusts down below. You pull back just enough to ask, “Zuha, where should I—uh, cum?”

Her brow furrows briefly. “Wherever you want… but I wanna feel all of you in me.”

“That’s what I want too.” You drive into her with a few final pumps—climax fast approaching.

“Cum in me, sweetheart,” she whispers against your ear. Your lips go back where they belong—pressed firmly to hers.  Thick streams pour into her. Her soft, drenched pussy pulls you in, clenching tight around you.

“Give it all to me,” she breathes. “Every single drop.” You keep pulsing inside her, each spasm dragging more of you out. She takes it so well, her body milking you dry like her words promised.

You slowly pull out of her, your cock slipping from her soaked core. Your release drips out of her, trailing down her thighs. You collapse beside her, every muscle sore. Kazuha clutches the sheets, still breathing hard next to you.

"That was nice," she sighs.

"Nice sounds like a participation award."

"Fine, it was fucking amazing."

“I hope you mean that." You drape an arm around her shoulder. "Wanna go sit on the fields later? Big cities just don’t have skies like these.”

“Yeah. Been so long since I’ve properly seen stars.” Her head rests on yours.

“Can’t say the same, seeing one right next to me.”

“Gosh, enough flirting for the night, Romeo.” The way her cheeks turn red disagrees with her words. “Starting to miss the days when you’d just call me names all day.”

“Who says I can’t do both, loser.”

“There we go. Much better.”

“Besides, you were the one who called me sweetheart earlier.”

“Never happened. Oh, and we don’t have to leave right away, right?”

“No.”

“Good. I wanna rest here for a while.” She snuggles up to you and shuts her eyes.

—

You lie down on the damp grass, the air cool this late at night. The blades are soft but cling to your skin, carrying a faint earthy scent.

Kazuha settles beside you. The sky above is wide and clear, scattered with stars. In the distance, the Ferris wheel still glows in yellow.

Balloons are being popped, stalls shuttered. Leftover food dumped into buckets. The painted horses are lifted from the merry-go-round, loaded piece by piece into trucks. Teddy bears crammed into plastic covers. The tents are gone—replaced by bare ground with nothing to offer.

“Sweet spot to light one.” She flicks a stray blade of grass at you.

“You smoke?”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “You heard my whole story. What do you think?”

“Thought that was just a TV trope. Guess not.”

The wheel lights glow brighter with every minute, while the rest of the carnival dims.

“Would be cool if the carnival lasted all year.” She exhales, like she knows it's wishful thinking.

“Don't know if it'd feel the same. But still, does feel weird watching it get packed up like this—like seeing a school after hours. Or an empty mall.” You wrap a strand of her hair around your finger.

“Liminal space,” she says.

“Hm?”

“Places of transition—or something like that. Exactly what you said. Felt the same to me when I saw it from the train window. The first time I was leaving town.”

The quiet stretches between you. A faint pop echoes, cutting through the silence—maybe another balloon meeting its end. The carnival getting taken apart suddenly feels like the only thing worth seeing.

“So…” You clear your throat. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

She tilts her head up, like she’s just noticed the stars. “I lied about something.”

“Wait—you're staying?”

“No. I’ve got a ticket.”

Something in your chest crumples, slow and painful. “What is it?”

“About why I always wanted to go on the ride with you, even when I was scared of it as a kid. The view was nice and all, but I never got the appeal.”

“Then why?”

“You liked it. I wanted to confess to you at the top.” She draws her knees up, curling into the thought. “Cheesy, I know. But I saw how your eyes lit up at the view. I wanted some part in that.”

She pauses, then adds, “And felt nice to have an excuse to hold your hand.”

It takes a few seconds to respond with a question that only sounds smaller out loud. “Why didn’t you—you never told me.”

“Chickened out every time. It hurt, not being able to tell you. Whenever you smiled at me there, it felt like I was drowning. And when I was leaving the last day…” She takes a long breath.

There’s a heavy thud of something getting thrown in a truck.

“But I could never risk what we had—could never risk hearing that you didn’t love me back.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” You say it with such conviction that it silences whatever doubts were still in her eyes.

“The second I saw you here today, knew I had to take my chance. Wasn’t getting yet another one.”

“Guess you took it.”

She shifts slightly, turning towards you. The grass rustles beneath her. “What I’m trying to say is, yes, I have a train to catch. But no, I’m not disappearing again. Not without you.”

Her words echo in your ears. They settle somewhere deep in your chest, humming.

All those nights you spent wondering why she stopped replying. Why she left without a word. Wondering if you were the reason she never looked back.

“So, what—I just drop everything and follow you?” The words come out uneven, rougher than you expected.

“No, but that doesn’t mean this has to end here either.” Her voice wavers, choking in her throat. “That doesn't mean I can't still have you in my life, right?”

Something in her tone sounds different this time. Like she’s scared to lose you too.

“True.” A soft gust of wind ruffles her hair across your cheek. “Suppose our date with you in a red dress will have to wait.” (But not forever, right?)

For the first time in all the years you’ve known her, you see her eyes pool. They shine—stars caught beneath the tears. One drop falls onto your shirt, sinks through the fabric, straight into your skin. Burning.

Her hand finds yours and squeezes, probably harder than she means to—as always. She whispers, “I’ll wait for it.”

The Ferris wheel flickers once, then goes dark.

—

[gf2bellamy]

i have a silly request for spencer x reader where it’s clear reader likes him and they go to a trip somewhere far and cold and the bau needs to double like in season 5 and morgan is similarly like no i don’t want to share with reid and reader just excitingly stands up like i’ll take reid then!!! hahahahah

sharing — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of working on a case, reader has a nightmare, mention of an unsub who fixated on reader once, a/n: hiii !! love this idea <3 i mixed like 3 requests together so i hope that's fine <3

You tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, shifting on the worn-out lobby couch as Hotch finished debriefing the team on tomorrow’s case.

Just as he was about to dismiss everyone, Hotch hesitated, then delivered the news.

“We have to double up. There aren’t enough rooms.”

It didn’t even take Morgan two seconds before he blurted out, “I’m not sleeping with Reid.”

The rest of the team grinned, some chuckling under their breath, while Spencer—poor, oblivious Spencer—just blinked, looking mildly offended.

You bit back a small smile at his expression, the way his brows furrowed just slightly, like he was mentally calculating why Morgan would say that. Before anyone else could volunteer (or more likely, protest), you spoke up.

“I’ll share a room with Spencer,” you offered, perhaps a little too quickly.

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to you, then to Spencer, who blinked at you like you’d just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“You… want to share a room with me?” he asked, voice tinged with genuine surprise.

Heat crept up your neck. Oh no. Had you been too obvious? It wasn’t exactly a secret among the team that you had a soft spot for Spencer—well, a secret to everyone except Spencer himself. The man could profile a serial killer in seconds but remained blissfully unaware when someone was flirting with him.

Under the weight of the team’s knowing glances, you swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“Uh, yeah?” you said, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

Spencer opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “It’s—yes. That’s fine. More than fine.”

Morgan snorted. “Damn, Reid, try not to sound too excited.”

Spencer shot him a glare, but you caught the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks.

Hotch, mercifully, cut in before things could get more awkward. “Alright, it’s settled. Keys are at the front desk. We meet back here at 7am.”

As the team dispersed, you grabbed your bag and moved toward the stairs, hyper-aware of Spencer falling into step beside you. The narrow hallway seemed to shrink around you, as you finally arrived at your door.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Spencer murmured, voice low, almost hesitant.

You glanced at him as he fumbled with the key, the old lock stubbornly resisting. “Do what?”

He let out a quiet huff, adjusting his grip on the key. “Volunteer just because Morgan didn’t want to share a room.”

The implication in his words—that he thought you’d only stepped in out of pity—made your chest tighten. You watched as he wrestled with the door, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“I didn’t volunteer because of Morgan,” you said softly.

The key finally turned with a reluctant click, but Spencer didn’t push the door open. Instead, he paused, his fingers still resting against the handle as he turned to look at you.

“Then why?”His voice was quiet, curious,

You held his gaze, willing yourself not to overthink it. “I volunteered because I like spending time with you, Spencer.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips slightly parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard you right. Then, slowly, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” he said, voice softer now. “Thank you. I… I like spending time with you too.”

The sincerity in his words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you had to fight the urge to fidget under his gaze. Instead, you smiled and reached past him to push the door open, trying—and failing—to ignore the way your heart was fluttering wildly in your chest.

The room was exactly what you expected from a budget Alaskan motel—dimly lit with two queen beds that had seen better decades. But the blankets looked soft, and a small chocolate mint sat on each pillow, a token gesture from the management. You stepped inside, toeing off your shoes with a tired sigh.

"Comfy," you mumbled sarcastically, poking at the mattress before flopping onto it with a dramatic exhale. The springs creaked in protest, but you didn’t care. After hours of travel and a grueling case briefing, even this lumpy bed felt like heaven.

Spencer hovered near the doorway, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder, watching you with an amused tilt to his lips.

"You wanna use the bathroom first?" you asked, already burrowing deeper into the pillows, your eyes drifting shut.

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Yeah. It doesn’t seem like you’re getting up for a while now," he observed, his voice warm with fondness.

"Mhm," you hummed in agreement, a lazy smile curling at your lips. You cracked one eye open just in time to catch the way Spencer’s gaze lingered on you. He gave you one last small smile before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

The second he was alone, Spencer braced his hands against the edge of the sink and let out a slow, shaky breath. His reflection stared back at him —wide-eyed, flushed, utterly overwhelmed.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to survive this night.

I mean, hello—he was sharing a room with you.

You. The one who laughed at his rambling facts even when no one else did. The one who always remembered how he took his coffee. The one who had somehow, without him even realizing it, become the axis his world tilted around.

And now you were lying right there, just a few feet away, looking unfairly soft and sleepy and perfect.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He could not afford to overthink this. Not when the alternative—letting himself imagine what it would be like to crawl into that bed beside you, to pull you close and press his lips to the curve of your shoulder—was so dangerously tempting.

He splashed cold water on his face, willing his heartbeat to slow.

Just get through the night, he told himself.

Spencer went through the motions mechanically—brushing his teeth, washing his face, changing into his sleep clothes—all while his mind raced a mile a minute.

When he finally emerged, the door creaked softly, revealing you still sprawled across the bed, though now with your bag half-unpacked beside you. A sweatshirt was draped over the chair, your toiletries neatly lined up on the nightstand. You’d clearly tried to make yourself at home in the brief time he’d been gone, but the way you curled into the pillows, one arm tucked under your head, suggested you hadn’t moved much.

“Are you done?” you mumbled, cracking one eye open to peer at him. Your voice was thick with sleep, but the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket betrayed your nerves.

The entire time he’d been in the bathroom, you’d been silently battling your own heartbeat, cursing yourself for volunteering to room with him.

What were you thinking? Sharing a room with Spencer Reid—the man who made your stomach flip with just a glance, the man whose mere presence turned you into a flustered mess. And now you were trapped in this tiny motel room, with nothing but a few feet of space and your own racing thoughts between you.

Spencer hovered awkwardly near the bathroom door, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat when his voice came out too quiet. “Yeah, it’s all yours.”

You pushed yourself up with a small groan, rolling your shoulders as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, grabbing your toiletry bag and shuffling past him.

The brush of your arm against his sent a jolt through both of you, and for a split second, Spencer’s breath hitched. His eyes flickered down to yours, lingering just a beat too long before he quickly stepped aside, giving you space.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, and you let out a shaky exhale, pressing your palms against the cool porcelain of the sink.

Get it together.

Outside, Spencer stood frozen for a moment, staring at the closed door before dragging a hand down his face.

This was going to be a long night.

Twenty minutes later, both of you were settled in bed. Spencer propped up against the headboard with a book in hand, you curled on your side texting Garcia who was flooding your phone with increasingly ridiculous messages.

[Garcia 11:37 PM]: "So. Two beds or did someone 'accidentally' get assigned a single??"

[Garcia 11:37 PM]: five winking emojis

[Garcia 11:38 PM]: "I need details sweetcheeks. Is our boy in glasses wearing pajamas? Are they adorably mismatched? Does he have bedhead yet?"

You muffled a laugh into your pillow, typing back a scolding reply even as your cheeks warmed. The soft sound caught Spencer's attention - he glanced over the top of his book, watching the way your nose scrunched with suppressed laughter. Something warm and fond settled in his chest at the sight, and he had to consciously school his expression before returning to his reading.

Eventually, your phone slipped from your fingers as sleep claimed you. "Night, Spencer," you murmured, already half-lost to dreams.

"Goodnight," he whispered back, smiling at the way you immediately burrowed deeper into the blankets. He should have turned off his light then, but found himself watching the steady rise and fall of your shoulders instead, the way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks.

It took three tries to actually refocus on his book.

As the night went on, Spencer's own eyelids grew heavy. He was just considering sleep when a small, distressed noise broke the quiet. His head snapped up, sleepiness forgotten.

You'd turned onto your side facing him, fingers clutching the sheets with white-knuckled intensity. A faint sheen of sweat glistened at your temples, your breathing coming too fast. Spencer watched, his chest tightening as your fingers twisted deeper into the sheets, knuckles blanching white.

He wasn’t sure what to do.

The logical part of his brain—the part that could recite statistics on sleep disturbances and the neurological response to nightmares—knew that waking someone abruptly wasn’t ideal.

But the other part, the part that ached at the sight of you in distress, overruled it completely.

Spencer set his book aside with careful silence and stood, crossing the small space between the beds in two strides. “Hey,” he murmured, hesitating only a second before placing a tentative hand on your shoulder.

You barely stirred.

His grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the curve of your arm. “Hey, wake up,” he urged, voice low but firm.

Your eyes flew open, blinking up at him in the dim lamplight. For a moment, you just stared, disoriented, your breath still unsteady. Spencer had shifted to sit on the edge of your bed without realizing it, his free hand already moving in slow, soothing circles against your shoulder.

“Hi,” he whispered. “You okay?”

You swallowed, pushing your hair back from your face with a shaky hand. “Did I have a nightmare?” you asked, voice rough with sleep—and something like embarrassment.

Spencer nodded, his thumb still tracing absent, comforting patterns on your skin. He couldn’t seem to stop touching you, as if the contact alone could chase away whatever shadows lingered behind your eyelids.

“Do you get them often?” he asked carefully.

You exhaled, slowly sitting up. His hand slipped from your shoulder—only to settle, almost instinctively, on your knee. His thumb resumed its gentle circles, as if his body refused to break contact entirely.

“Yeah,” you admitted, avoiding his eyes. “Ever since that case in Texas.”

Texas.

The word landed like a stone in his stomach. He remembered. An unsub who had fixated on you, his gaze predatory, obsessive.

Nothing had happened but the way he had looked at you, the way his voice had curled around your name during interrogation… Spencer’s jaw clenched.

He hadn’t realized it still haunted you.

"He's locked up," Spencer blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. Then, like floodgates opening, the rest came pouring forth: "Seventy-three years with no chance of parole. The appeals were all denied last month. He's in ADX Florence now—maximum security, complete isolation. His cell is monitored twenty-four seven and—"

You blinked up at him, the haze of sleep slowly clearing as his ramble continued. And then it hit you—the way he recited the details with pinpoint accuracy, the way his fingers flexed against your knee.

Spencer had been keeping tabs on him.

Not just casually. Not just in passing.

Obsessively.

The realization sent a strange warmth curling through your chest. You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his wrist, stilling his nervous ramble.

"You’ve been checking up on him," you said softly. Not a question. A fact.

Spencer froze. His lips parted, then pressed into a thin line, as if debating whether to deny it. But then his shoulders slumped, and he exhaled, long and slow.

"Yes," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb resumed its absent circles on your knee, but his gaze dropped, suddenly fascinated by the frayed edge of the motel blanket. "I—I needed to be sure. That he was still there. That he couldn’t—"

That he couldn’t get to you again.

You squeezed his wrist, and when he finally looked up, you offered him a small, tired smile. "Thank you," you murmured.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, because the tension was too much and the night was too long, you nudged his leg.

"You’re not sleeping on that lumpy bed over there," you said, nodding toward his untouched mattress. "There’s room here."

Spencer’s eyes widened. "I—are you sure?"

You rolled your eyes, shifting to make space. "Just don’t hog the blankets, Spencer."

He hesitated, then—slowly, carefully—stretched out beside you, his body a warm, solid line against yours. The bed was small enough that your shoulders brushed, and when you turned your head, you could see the faint flush creeping up his neck.

"I'm sorry you have them," Spencer mumbled suddenly, staring resolutely at the ceiling as you shifted onto your side to face him.

"The nightmares," he clarified when you didn't respond immediately, finally turning his head to meet your gaze.

"It's fine," you said, your voice thick with sleep but carrying that familiar dismissive tone he knew all too well. "They'll go away eventually."

Spencer studied you in the dim light, noting the way your fingers twisted in the sheets again, the slight tension in your jaw despite your casual words. He hated this. Hated that you suffered through this alone night after night.

Before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out:

"Did you know physical contact during sleep can reduce nightmare frequency by up to 32%?" His fingers twitched against the mattress, itching to reach out but hesitating. "The pressure stimulates oxytocin production which lowers cortisol levels and—"

He cut himself off when he realized he was rambling, but the damage was done. You were staring at him now, eyebrows slightly raised, that tired smile turning into something more genuine—more amused.

"Are you suggesting we cuddle, Dr. Reid?" you teased, your voice laced with sleepy humor.

Spencer's flush deepened, spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. "I—that is—statistically speaking—"

You didn't let him finish. With a quiet huff of laughter, you closed the small distance between you, tucking yourself against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer froze, his breath catching as your warmth seeped into him.

"Like this?" you murmured, already sounding more relaxed.

It took Spencer several heartbeats to remember how to move, but eventually his arm came up to wrap around you, his hand settling tentatively against your back. "...Yes," he managed, his voice oddly thick. "Exactly like this."

The moment the words left his mouth, your fingers began absently tracing patterns against his chest—slow, wandering lines that burned through the thin fabric of his sweater. Spencer's breath hitched audibly, his entire body going rigid beneath your touch.

"Sorry," you murmured immediately, starting to pull away. "I didn't—"

"No!" The word came out too loud, too desperate. Spencer cleared his throat, his arm tightening reflexively around you to keep you from retreating. "I mean... it's. It's fine. More than fine. Actually, studies show that—that light physical contact can lower heart rate and—"

You pressed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing his ramble. In the dim light, you could see the way his pupils had blown wide, the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat.

"Spencer," you whispered, your own heart racing. "Breathe."

He exhaled shakily, his lips brushing against your fingertip before you slowly lowered your hand. For a long moment, you simply stared at each other—both painfully aware of every point of contact, every shared breath.

Then, with deliberate slowness, you returned your hand to his chest, resuming your idle tracing. This time, when Spencer's breath caught, you didn't apologize.

And when his fingers began tentatively carding through your hair in response—his touch feather-light and trembling—you couldn't suppress the small, contented sigh that escaped you.

Somewhere in the back of your sleep-fogged mind, a thought surfaced:

This might be even better than actual sleep.

[crimsonvictory]

Just thinkin’ of Simon being a big meanie. :(

THIS IS FILTHY GOD

Teases you all day - little brushes of his fingers across the small of your back, the back of your neck. Loves holding you in place as you walk alongside him, thick fingers wrapped around the top of your spine - an impromptu leash. Never lets you out of his sight. Can’t let a pretty thing like you get away.

Pulls you in his lap just so he can get a look’atcha. You’re just in one of his tees and a pair of panties. His fuckin’ dream. Dark eyes glittering with mischief as he adjusts his hips. He doesn’t even hold in the huff of a laugh when the tent in his pants bumps against your clothed pussy. :(

“Jus’ admirin’,” he sighs, eyes lazily gliding down your form.

Has a tight grip on the fat of your hip, pads of his fingers slowly brushing your exposed skin. Swirls absentminded patterns as he focuses past your shoulder on the movie quietly playing in the background. Squeeeezes when a pretty pout forms on your face and a soft whine leaves your lips.

A soft ‘tut’ falls from his lips, grin pulling one side up that shows his sharp teeth. Acts like he has all the time in the world, that the movie is more interesting than you sittin’ in his lap. :(

You try your best to stay still. Huffing softly after waiting so patiently for him to notice you. You cross your arms over your chest, puffing out your perky tits to try and get his attention. Wetness pools in your underwear, causing the fabric to stick to your folds. Any touch of his has your pussy weeping, aching to be filled by his fingers or his cock.

He’s really mean today, brushing you off as he sinks further into the couch, the warm weight of your body relaxing him even further. You want to cry in frustration, his hands barely itching the burning scratch of pleasure rippling under your skin.

“Si,” you pout, fluttering your eyelashes at him - begging for him to move goddamnit.

His eyes flicker over to your own, dark irises nearly swallowed up by his pupils. You can almost see your reflection in them. How pretty you look, sittin’ all dolled up in his lap and he’s not even payin’ attention to you. :(

Simon doesn’t answer you, just watches. Loves watching you squirm in his lap under the scrutiny of his gaze. You’re nearly trembling with want, pouty lips all bitten red and he’s barely touched you.

“Please,” you whisper, reaching a delicate hand out to rest over the one that’s circling your hip.

His resolve almost crumbles. Almost. Little bird beggin’ so nicely. But you catch it, the wicked glimmer in his eyes as he decides to keep you waiting just a bit longer. His fingers move slowly, brushing upward and under your thin shirt. They rest just under the swell of your breast, dry pads of his fingers lightly touching the skin there.

A hot flush burns down your neck, turning your skin a pretty pink. A soft sound building in the back of your throat. You don’t dare move - afraid he’ll go back to ignoring you again. Your breath stutters to a halt, wide eyes watching his every move. Simon’s fingers slowly glide upwards, brushing against your already peaked nipple. Goosebumps appear on your skin, body reacting to his soft touches.

He pinches your bud with his thick fingers, a sharp, sudden pleasure pooling down into your stomach. His eyes are on you now, predatory as he rolls the little bud around, watching as your eyelids flutter and the breath you were holding leaves your lips. He does this for a while, releasing his hold and watching you squirm before doin’ it all over again. The denim of his jeans rubs perfectly against your folds, pressing into you every time you squirm. :(

“Sit still,” he grumbles, placing his other hand on your hip to hold you in place.

A pathetic whine leaves your lips, tears pricking at your eyes. Your little nose turns red, snifflin’ away the inevitable run that threatens to fall as you get all worked up. Poor little thing - pussy puffy and throbbin’ - beggin’ for just a little relief. Simon grins when the first tear falls, cooing softly as you come undone in his lap.

Now he’ll touch ‘ya. Just has to break you in a little. You learn how to sit still, conditioned to sit all pretty until he’s ready. His large hand slides down the slope of your torso, slipping into the waistband of your panties.

“Fuckin’ drippin’,” he hums, the approval evident in his deep voice.

Simon takes his thumb and brushes it over your little pearl, laughing softly when you arch into his touch.

“Needy little thing,” he nearly mocks, pressing slow circles into the bundle of nerves.

Fire licks down your spine, the touch of him fueling your want even more. Arousal gushes out of your neglected hole, dripping down your thighs. He alternates between swirling his thumb and pulling away suddenly, loving the way you arch and cry when he abruptly neglects your abused clit.

Mean. He’s so mean.

Your lip quivers as you hold onto his broad bicep, grounding yourself as the pleasure starts to pull you away. Your hips stutter in his lap, legs shaking as your first orgasm burns hot. A moan chokes its way out of your lungs, eyes fluttering shut as you writhe against his touch.

“Barely touched ‘ya and you’re comin,” he gruffs out, fingers not letting up on your sensitive bud.

You whine, trying to push his hand away but he doesn’t let up, keeps polishing that little pearl between your thick thighs. His index and middle fingers reach out to pull your soaked panties to the side, lookin’ at your cunt.

“Look,” he coos. “She’s cryin.”

He pats your pussy then, three thick fingers smackin’ your clit. Dark eyes watching as your arousal drips down your thighs and pools on his jeans. :(

“Makin’ a mess,” he scolds, sliding his fingers down and tracing them through your slippery folds.

“Simon!” you cry, pretty little face puffy with tears.

His thick fingers dip down into your hole, arousal making them slip right in. A soft moan rumbles out of him, and you feel his cock twitch against the backside of your thigh.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he coos again, lust softening the mean streak in him just a bit.

He almost forgets just how mean he was being, thrusting his fingers up into you, tight walls clenchin’ around them. He gives you a little bit of leeway, pumpin’ you full while he watches. You writhe on his fingers, especially when they curl against that spongey spot that has you seein’ stars.

“F-Fuck,” you cry out, voice wobbling with how tight your throat is.

You feel another familiar burn in your stomach, chasin’ to fuel the fire and set you over the edge. Just when you’re about to come, Simon pulls his fingers out. You burn hot with rage, sobbing out in frustration as you’re left clenchin’ around nothin’.

“We got all night, sweetheart. Why ‘ya rushin’?” he mocks, accent thick with lust.

You sob then, truly sob as somethin’ in you breaks. You just want to come. You’ve been such a good girl and he’s bein’ mean to his little bird.

“You’re bein’ mean,” you sob, exasperation leeching into your tone.

The pooling of your tears have your cheeks shiny, illuminating the blush spread across your skin. Simon loves it. Doesn’t think he’s ever seen anythin’ prettier.

“Aw, lovie,” he sighs. “Feelin’ neglected are ‘ya?”

You nod, trembling when his hand squeezes your hip, thumb brushing over your clit. He tuts softly, thick fingers slowly pushing back in, watching them slowly disappear. You moan in relief, clenching around his fingers again.

“There we go,” he murmurs, watchin’ his pretty girl bounce in his lap.

It lasts a moment or two before he’s pullin’ his fingers out again. A wail climbs out of your chest, tears pourin’ freely down your face as you lose that burning pleasure yet again. You don’t even notice him moving, lifting you up and layin’ you down on the couch before spreadin’ your legs.

His thighs push your own open, stretchin’ your hips wide as he pulls your panties to the side and gives your pussy another slap. You squeal, scramblin’ to reach out and grab his broad shoulders. Simon’s pulled himself out of his jeans, thick cock bobbing up against his soft belly. You nearly drool at the thought of havin’ him inside you.

“Please,” you whine again, nose stuffy from cryin’.

Simon’s dark eyes glint with that meanness again, smirkin’ as he takes the base of his cock in his grip and guides the velvety tip through your puffy folds. The smackin’ sound of your juices is filthy, allowing easy passes of his cock. The head bumps against your clit, causin’ your toes to curl.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes glued to where the two of you meet. “Look’atcha.”

His pretty girl is all doe eyed, dumb as fuck from the pleasure. You’ve got drool in the corner of your mouth, looking up at him like he set the sun. A laugh huffs out of his broad chest at the sight of you. Gorgeous. :(

Simon loves his pretty girl. Loves bein’ mean and makin’ you stupid with his cock. He slides the tip down, groaning as it catches against your puffy hole. You swallow him up, pullin’ him in and clenchin’ around his length.

“Goddamn.” he grits out, one hand clenchin’ your hip like a lifeline.

The other rests on your throat - a placeholder. His hips snap forward, nestling deep inside your cervix. You’re cryin’ again, chest heavin’ with the pleasure that sets your nerves alight. The sight of you has his cock twitchin’ - nearly bustin’ and fillin’ you full of his come.

Simon thrusts in and out slowly, milkin’ you for all that you have. Your thighs stretch in a delicious burn, wrapped around his own as he keeps you close. His large frame cradles you, keeps you formed where he wants you to be, as close as possible as he whispers sweetness in your ear.

You’ve got him now, got him nice and pliant and sweet talkin’. Your hands rest on his face, cooin’ and moanin’ against his plush lips. He grinds against your hips, tip of him bullyin’ your cervix. :(

“So fuckin’ tight.” he groans. “So perfect f’me,”

Words tumble out of his mouth, so pussy drunk he doesn’t even know what he’s sayin’. All he cares about is the warmth of your womb, keepin’ him close to his doll baby.

“Simon,” you gasp. “I’m gonna come.”

He groans against your skin, neck pressed into the softness of your neck.

“Come f’me Angel,” he murmurs, biting down at the junction of your shoulder.

You do. How can you not? The perfect mix of pain and pleasure ripplin’ down your body as you arch against him. Simon holds you close, pumpin’ his pretty baby full as you come down from your high. You gasp at the fullness, whimpering as he nestles closer. Not leavin’ anytime soon.

[st7rnioioss]

omgggg can you please do bestfriend chris guiding inexperienced reader on how to ride for the first time

BSF!CHRIS GUIDING INEXPERIENCED!READER HOW TO RIDE

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... smut, p in v, unprotected sex (nuh uh!!), kissing, mentions of hickeys, lowkey hate this💔

“shh- hey. it’s okay, you’re doing so, so good..” chris mumbled, his hands stuck on your hips while his thumbs traced mindless circles over your soft skin, admiring your pretty form on top of him.

your face was contorted with pleasure, eyebrows knit together and eyes pinched shut while trying to adjust to his size. you were sucking him in, his tip already kissing your cervix as you sat on top of him, your walls fluttering around his thick stretch.

“mhh- chris.. i- i can’t-“ your voice cut through the constant praise and sweet murmurs from chris, your nails digging crescent-shaped moons into his shoulders.

he let a soft groan fall from his lips, running one of his hands up your back in a comforting manner, attempting to soothe your nerves and pain just a little. your pussy was already drooling around him, and all it took was a couple right words and a pair of fingers.

“yes you can, sweetheart.. fuck, such a pretty sight. can you believe i haven’t made you do this earlier, huh?” his question was mostly rhetorically asked, not really expecting an answer from you because of the already fucked out expression plastered on your face. gosh, you haven’t even started yet.

“um.. n-no..?” you shook your head weakly, your eyes batting back open to look down at him, his head thrown back against the headboard of his bed, your response earning a chuckle from him.

“i- i think i’m ready..” your words were mumbled, but chris nodded, clearing his throat as he tightened his grip on your hips.

“i’ll help you, okay? then you’ll try.” you nodded in response, his hands slowly guiding your body to move in a back and forth motion, his eyes flickering to your face to see your reaction, if it made you feel good.

still clawing at his shoulders, your jaw fell slack, letting strings of moans fall from your parted lips. chris was nearly about to cum from just the sight, almost not believing a second of what he was seeing—his best friend since forever, riding him like that.. well, grinding.

“yeah? y’like that?” he chuckled dryly, looking up at you through his lashes from his halfway-shut eyes, nearly leaving marks from his tight grip.

whines fell from your lips as you ground on him, your clit brushing perfectly over his pelvis. chris’s grip on your hips became tighter, gently attempting to lift you, helping you ride him properly this time.

“o-oh.. oh my god-“ you moan, pinching your eyes shut at his tip kissed at your cervix over and over again. “f-feels good..”

chris could tell you were close already from how you basically squeezed around him, your cheeks flushed and lips parted into a perfect o-shape.

“so beautiful.. can’t believe i’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he smirked up at you, deciding to loosen his grip on you, causing your movements to still. your eyes flutter back open in confusion, his fingers making their way to your waist instead.

“w-what are you doing?” you whined, your hands running down across his chest, eyes glued to his.

“come on. keep going baby, you can do it,” he lightly ran a thumb over your bottom lip that was stuck in a pout, dragging it down just enough to part your lips.

but you couldn’t. at least that’s what you had convinced yourself. “chris.. i can’t, please! it hurts..” you whined and pleaded, but chris just shook his head in return.

“oh, poor thing.. don’t be whiny, just do what i did, yeah? i promise it’ll feel better in a second,” he cooed, his hand cupping your face to lean in, pressing a kiss to your lips while his hand snaked to the back of your head, keeping the kiss simple but firm.

pulling away with a faint smile, you nodded. with your hands still on his chest, you tried moving your hips until you found a somewhat nice pace and motion. pretty moans slipped from your lips that echoed with the lewd squelches from your leaky cunt, eliciting a groan from chris.

“juuust like that.. that’s good-“ he murmured with a strain to his voice, his fingers gripping your waist almost leaving red marks, complimenting the ones he left earlier down your neck and collarbone.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head before batting them shut, eyebrows knitted up in pleasure as you desperately tried your best to keep going, to keep up your face.

but it was getting hard, your thighs aching from the unfamiliar stretch, from both the uncomfortable position and how snug chris was stuffed inside of you.

“chris! g’nna… c-cum..” you babbled between whimpers, letting go of his chest to hold onto his shoulders again, your movements turning sloppy and haphazard.

“g-go ahead.. y’look so adorable, doing just what i’m telling you to,” a choked moan fell from his lips, before taking the plush and swollen lip between his teeth.

when the waves crashed over you, letting loud and careless noises slip from between your lips, he helped you ride out your high, before you both stilled your movements. chris wrapped his arms around you, letting you collapse onto his chest.

“so pretty.. y’think you can keep going for me, angel?” he whispered while playing with strands of your hair, his lips grazing your ear before his hands sneaked back down to your hips.

more bsf!chris x inexperienced!reader

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: that fucking cheetah print jacket you fucking hottie!!! anyway- not over the fact my fic was in an edit.. im literally sobbinggg its so funny to me. love you freaks!:33

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