#on the bright side - I finally figured out how to make mirrors!

[blahblahwritings]

Collateral Souls - 4

Hello! Part four. I finally wrote chapter six and by write I mean I blacked out and when I came to I'd written nearly 5k words so be ready for that chapter when it drops lmao.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

Warnings: Kind of suicidal ideation at the end?

Word Count: 3076

Chapter Four - A Dark Reflection

You wake from shallow, fractured sleep. The night had dragged by, each hour heavier than the last. You’re still exhausted, a dull ache in your bones. Reaching for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, you rattle two into your palm and pop them dry before dragging yourself toward the bathroom.

The mirror doesn’t lie. Harsh truths lay bare, exposed on the reflective surface for all to see. Your eyes are ringed with shadows. Your skin is pale, drawn tight. You look like a ghost still learning how to inhabit its body.

You brush your teeth with the new toothbrush, rinse, then splash your face with cold water in the hope it’ll wake something inside you. It doesn’t. You tie your hair up at the back of your head—tight, practical, controlled. A shower would help, but there's nothing clean to change into.

As you leave the bathroom, you notice a slip of paper shoved halfway under the door. You stoop to pick it up.

“We’re going shopping. Be ready. - Y” 

Your stomach sinks.

Shopping. You hadn’t done that in years. Not since before HYDRA. Since before choice was stolen from you.

Everything since had been assigned. Uniforms. Routines. Roles. You’d worn what they gave you. Become what they needed. Shadows whisper viciously. Killer. Killer. Killer.

Still holding the note, you step into the hallway and make your way toward the common area. The smell of coffee hits first. Yelena and Bob sit on the couch, speaking in low tones. You think about using your powers to listen—then immediately discard the idea. Your body’s running on fumes. Using shadows this morning might leave you unconscious. Or worse. You clear your throat softly.

They both look up. Yelena stands, her expression warm but casual. Bob freezes mid-sentence, his robe loose around him. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

“I got your note,” you say quietly, as if scared to be too loud, scared to occupy the space you take up.

“Good,” Yelena replies, walking toward you. “Figured since you don’t have any clothes, we’d pick up some basics. I didn’t know your sizes, so I couldn’t just order stuff.”

You nod stiffly. Your shoulders are tight, arms close to your sides, like you’re bracing for something. You are. You always are.

“I haven’t been shopping since before HYDRA,” you murmur. “I don’t even know what size I am.”

Bob glances away quickly, eyes glossy with something unspoken. He opens a book on his lap, pretending to read.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yelena says gently, already moving toward the elevator. “Come on.”

She pauses just before stepping in. “Bob, can you let Bucky know I’m taking Y/N out for essentials? I’ll drop her off for training after.”

Bob gives her a lazy thumbs-up and a lopsided smile. “Sure thing.”

You glance at him as the elevator doors begin to close. He’s watching you again, but doesn’t say a word.

Neither do you.

--

Yelena takes you to a few stores not far from the tower. The first one is easy—quiet, orderly. You grab the basics: underwear, bras, socks, athletic wear, shoes. Yelena helps you pick out a few simple garments, all neutral and functional. Nothing complicated. Nothing that asks questions.

The next store is a different story. A sensory ambush. The lights overhead buzz like hornets, bright and clinical. Conversations crowd the air in uneven rhythms—some too loud, others just whispers—but they all blur together into a rising, inescapable noise. You freeze beneath the fluorescents, suddenly aware of how strange it feels to be choosing something for yourself.

You don’t know your size. You don’t know your style. You don’t know you.

Yelena notices. Without a word, she picks up three identical black shirts, each one larger than the last.

“Here. Try these on. See what fits, and we’ll go from there.” Her voice is gentle, but direct. She steers you toward the fitting rooms.

Three mirrors greet you inside, harsh and honest. You undress mechanically, cycling through the shirts. When you find the right one, you step out and quietly tell her your size. She nods.

“Good. Now go pick some shirts.” Her tone is upbeat, supportive.

You blink at her, overwhelmed, staring out at a forest of colour and fabric. Your face must say everything.

Yelena snorts. “That’s the saddest lost-puppy look I’ve ever seen.”

Shadows begin to flicker beneath the racks—your breath shortens. The reflections in the mirrors multiply, distort, echo you from every angle. Your powers begin to surge, crawling up your spine like static. It burns just behind your ribs.

Then, her voice cuts through it.

“Pick something black. It suits your vibe.” She bumps your shoulder with hers, grinning sideways.

It works. You huff a small laugh through your nose. Not much, but enough to break the spiral. Your hands stop shaking. You scan the racks again—still uncertain, but calmer now. You pull a few things: jeans, sweatpants, shirts, hoodies. Everything is practical, layered, safe. No statement pieces. Nothing that draws eyes.

Later, you sit together in the car. The silence feels thick, but not uncomfortable. You breathe in deep. It’s the calmest you’ve felt in hours. Yelena pulls something small from her coat pocket and holds it out to you.

“I know what it’s like… not having a say in what you wear, eat, or feel. So I got you this. It’s not much, but... it’s something you don’t need. Sometimes starting with one thing like that—one choice—makes it easier to find the next.”

In her palm lies a slim brown leather bracelet, soft with wear. A small silver charm shaped like a cloud dangles from the center.

You stare at it. Your mouth opens, but no words come. Emotion builds in your chest like pressure behind glass.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

She gives you a crooked smile. “Most people say ‘thank you.’”

“Right. Thank you.” You take the bracelet from her, your fingers brushing hers. You slip it onto your wrist—your right wrist, where the manacles used to be.

It feels foreign. Not cold and metal. Not a restraint. Just... soft. Chosen.

You stare at it as Yelena starts the engine, the bracelet catching the light as the car hums back toward the tower.

--

Upon arriving back at the tower, you were both wrangled immediately into training by Bucky. You dump your bags in your room, throw on leggings, a sports bra, and a shirt, then head straight for the gym.

The space was industrial, echoing with grunts and commands. Padding lines the floor. Weapons racks are untouched — this session focussed on hand-to-hand. They had already been at it for a while.

Bucky was running the session, insisting that everyone pair up. He chooses Yelena, demonstrating a range of offensive and defensive moves smoothly. Both of them dodged and danced around each other with grace. You watch quietly, tense in the corner. 

Ava pairs hastily with Alexei, leaving John to pair begrudgingly with you. He is blunt, impatient, seeing you as both a threat and a weak link.

Bucky explains to everyone that the point is to practice basic dodges, counters and grapples. There is a ban on using powers. Only controlled contact. You breathe, moving to a free mat with John.

You lock eyes with him, uncertain. His own reflect his cold, guarded demeanor. Both of you ready yourselves. He’s in an offensive stance, you immediately move into defense. You wait. Seconds tick by. It feels like hours. Each of you anticipating the other’s move. Then he strikes. 

John comes at you hard — restrained, but intense. Each move is measured, sharp, a reminder that he’s trained to hurt, not spar. You dodge, flinching and anticipate his violence. Each move of his is equally countered by you but you make no attempt to fight back. Breaths rip through your lungs as you focus on every action, your brain panicking and unsure of how to attack without your powers.

“Fight back, Y/N, come on.” He grunts as he throws more punches. Although you blocked them, you would definitely feel it later. His super soldier strength was a serious advantage even though he was pulling his punches. 

Suddenly, you flinch, giving him an opening which he takes. His fist collides with your ribs harshly. 

You feel the wind knock out of you and you panic. Instinct takes over, pure and primal. 

The shadows rip free, screaming from your skin like whips, tearing through the air. One slams into the mat — a crack splits the foam, smoking at the edges.

John barely dodges in time. He dives. 

The room freezes.

Your shoulders tense, rising to your ears. You feel every stare — from the torn mat to your trembling frame. Your fingers tingle. You feel cold. The tension in the room rises to a fever pitch.

“You do that in the field, someone dies. Control yourself.” Ava steps back, cold and sharp.

“She’s not ready. This is what I was saying. You put us all at risk.” John raises his voice as he scrambles to his feet, pointing at you.

You’re trembling. Wide-eyed. Breathing too fast. You back away — shoulders tight, eyes dark. You’re scared of yourself more than anyone else.

Bucky approaches, raising a hand which immediately shuts down the argument. His voice is firm, but not cruel.

“That’s enough. Everyone out.”

They all slowly back out of the room. Yelena turns, her eyes watching you with concern before walking out the door.

“You’re not here to be perfect. You’re here to learn. But if you can’t control it, we will pull you back.” He says, low as he helps you to your feet. He looks into your eyes for a moment, sincere, but understanding. He turns, leaving you alone.

Alone with the echo of what you almost did. 

Your eyes fix on the slash in the mat.

When you were HYDRA’s pet, if you lost control like that, you were caged or put into stasis after a brutal beating. You always had to keep a lid on it, so why were you struggling so much now? Was it because you felt like you had more to lose? Or was it because you were exhausted and hadn’t had the time to adjust to your new found but limited freedom?

You breathe, jaw tense. Fists clenching. 

You let out a scream, throwing a punch at one of the training dummies so hard you feel pain shoot through your knuckles. Shadows pulse, throwing it against the wall. 

One of the mirrors on the wall cracks, fracturing your reflection and you feel like you’re about to pass out from pushing your abilities too far. You collapse to your knees, smelling blood before you feel it trickle from your nostril and over your upper lip. You stay there, too tired to move.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the gym door finally creaks open. You raise your head to see who it is. Bob. He has a bottle of water in his hand and a softness written all over his face as he approaches. He kneels wordlessly, placing the bottle in your hand, his fingers brushing yours. His touch is careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break. Or that he will. 

You don’t meet his eyes.

“You didn’t hurt anyone. That’s what matters.” He whispers, voice gentle as he stays close. His presence was soft, grounding. You blink, eyelids heavy.

“I don’t know how to work with people. I was never supposed to.” Your voice is barely audible, broken in the stillness of the room. The silence was a stark contrast from the violence of your earlier actions.

Your words make his chest feel heavy with melancholy.

He looks up to see Ava peering at them through the gym window before silently walking away.

--

You return to your room. It’s a welcome reprieve from everyone’s constant ever-watchful eyes. Grabbing one of your new hoodies and some sweatpants. You step into the bathroom, placing the clothes on the counter. The door clicks shut behind you, finally cutting off the surveillance camera’s gaze.

The shower is scalding, but you don’t flinch. You stand under its steady stream letting it wash the sweat and hurt down the drain. Your whole body ached with exhaustion. The shadows had gone quiet. You scrub until your skin burns, trying to wash the shame out of your pores, trying to prove—what? That you’re clean now? That you deserve this second chance?

You step out. You’d hoped a shower would make you feel more alive, improved. It didn’t.

You towel dry your hair and body, pulling on the sweatpants and hoodie. The fabrics were soft against your raw reddened skin. They felt comforting. Like a hug you had never received.

You spend some time slowly unpacking the shopping bags, storing the clothes in the closet and dresser. You had just finished, scrunching the bags up and putting them in the small plastic bin by the desk when three soft knocks sound from your door. They’re nervous. Barely there.

You open the door, revealing Bob, with his hair damp and dishevelled from his own shower. He had a fresh blue jumper on and some black sweatpants, slippers covering his feet.

“I figured you might want someone to show you around, since you haven’t seen everything yet?” He stutters softly, eyes meeting yours anxiously. His hands pulled at the cuff of one of his sleeves. The sight and the offer made you smile, and you found yourself agreeing with a soft nod despite already having seen the gym and briefing floors. He looks almost relieved at your acceptance.

“G-Great. Come on then, I’ll show you around.” He smiles as he starts to shuffle off down the hallway.

He gives you the grand tour, showing you the obvious spaces, hoping to make you feel a little more relaxed, settled. He shows you the unimportant stuff. Storage closets, kitchen quirks, silly paintings and pictures. A subtle way to show how he sees the tower—not as a fortress, but a home. It puts you more at ease. 

You watch him with grateful, curious eyes as he starts to guide you down to the recreational floor. The elevator doors slide open, revealing a space with a bar, pool table, dartboard and several spaces for people to sit. It was often used for social gatherings like galas that Valentina liked to hold for good press or as a place to celebrate after a successful mission, he explains. 

Then he turns to you.

“Well, that was the four floors you have access to…” He offers a small sheepish smile, but he hesitates for a moment. “But, I want to show you one more place, if you’ll let me?” He asks, eyes hopeful. Your eyes narrow softly, a small smile appearing on your face as you nod.

“Okay.” you agree. 

He guides you back into the elevator and uses his keycard to go to the highest level. The ride is a little longer than what you’re used to, and part of you wonders what the hell all these floors are even used for. Then it stops, and the doors part.

He trips in his eagerness, and you laugh - the sound escapes before you can stop it. His head snaps up, eyes wide. For a moment, Bob thinks he imagined it - that laugh. But when he looks up, you’re covering your mouth, eyes bright. And something in his chest cracks open.

He grins, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he feels embarrassed that he almost fell flat on his face. But, he can’t help but realise it's the first time he’s heard you laugh. It makes his heart feel warm. 

He catches himself staring for a moment too long, shaking himself out of it as you watch him carefully. 

“Come on, it's just up these stairs.” He says leading you up a cramped stairwell. At the top is a door. He pushes it. 

You both step out onto the roof of the tower. It’s dark. The only light coming from the door they just walked through, and the moon. Your eyes are soft and wide as they take in the night.

The rooftop is quiet, wind tugging gently at your clothes. Below, the city hums like a distant memory. But up here, it's just you, the sky, and the steady rhythm of your breath.

He smiles, watching you, eyes warm. 

“I sneak up here when I can't sleep. Feels like the dark is quieter up here.” He speaks softly. He was right. You slowly inhale and exhale, the tension melting from your body. Was this what it was like to be free? Part of you wonders if peace like this ever lasts.

“You know, I get it. The shadows. It’s like a void, right? Like it’s gonna suck you right in and take control?” He whispered, something about his voice was soothing. His words struck something in you, deep and sorrowful. 

You nod.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m teetering on the edge and if I push just a little further, shadows will consume me and I’ll just.. Disappear.” You admit, eyes conveying the weight of your words. “And some-sometimes.. I think maybe that’s not so bad.” You continue. The words you’d hesitated to say out loud for so long suddenly hanging in the air between you both. He doesn’t flinch.

There’s something open, vulnerable about you at this moment. 

He looks at you with something tender for a moment, afraid that if he says or does anything, you might be scared off. He struggles to think of something to say, so instead he just slowly, carefully reaches for your hand, taking it in his. 

His skin is soft and warm. It contrasts sharply with the cold air surrounding them. You notice how cold your hand is in comparison. He squeezes it gently. Reassuring. Something passes between them, something pleasant and unspoken. A kinship. 

It is as if they see the darkness in each other. Both of them are a reflection of the other. The potential for incredible violence. Yet, they recognise that the other would choose kindness every time. 

You turn your head, craning it towards the sky. He looks at you as your eyes fill with the night sky. 

In that moment, as the starlight reflects in your eyes, Bob knows -he’d do anything to keep that light from ever going out.

--

Taglist:

@piston-cup @qardasngan @inesbethari @avylanchce @mysticdelusionengineer

[justcallme-ange]

Got some feelings about c!Dream and his whole arc. So I’m making it everyone else's problem XD

The Beginning

The End (Wishful)

Also for those that like Angst: The End (Actual)

[bambikisss]

Husband activities : C.San

Husband!San x Wife!Reader

📖 : After working hard for a promotion, your husband decides to take you out to dinner to celebrate

⚠️ : Unprotected sex (please wrap it and be safe), fingering while driving, public oral (male to female), biting, lots of praise, a smidge of degrading, talks of recording/picture taking, small use of food, desperate San, pussy drunk San

🦌Bambi's notes : Hi! This is my first story back and I'm very excited to get back in the swing of things when it comes to writing and posting again. There are a few more tags added above as I got a bit carried away, but here's something to begin the year off with for book club. Enjoy!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED | ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY

"Congratulations again, Mrs. Choi"

You smiled at Barbra's compliment, thanking her once more before wishing her a good night. After months and months of hard work, you had obtained the promotion position you had been dreaming about. While it took everything you had, you were happy to finally have the new plack with your name on it and the new position.

As you continued to set up your new office, you heard a knock on the door gently. When you turned around and were met with your husband's smiling face, you couldn't help but mirror it, rushing into his arms with a bright smile. "San, what are you doing here?" You asked though you didn't mind. You loved it when he visited you and the same for him. "I just wanted to come to congratulate you in person, baby" San placed a gentle kiss to the side of your head, pulling back just enough to see your face as he wrapped his arms around you more, keeping you pressed right up against him.

San loved how you felt against him, fitting him perfectly. It was one of the many things he loved about your body: how it felt right against his.

You gave him a small tour of your office, leading him to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a beautiful view of the city. San couldn't help but look down at you with pride in his eyes, pressing his chest against your back as he wrapped his arms around you once more, leaning down so that his lips grazed your ear as he hummed "I'm so proud of you, baby. You worked hard and now you get to enjoy it all"

You smiled as San's lips met you in a gentle kiss, savoring the feeling before he pulled back, suddenly now holding his phone out to you. On the screen was a reservation reminder for one of your favorite restaurants, a smile appearing on your lips as San's hands returned to your hips as he hummed "I got us a reservation. It's nothing, just a little gift."

San loved spoiling you, doing whatever it took to keep you happy and see that smile on your face, though it didn't take much. He enjoyed the glint in your eyes whenever he bought you a gift, the sight always making him want to pin you against the nearest surface.

"It's so soon, though" You pointed out, turning to the clock on the wall. The reservation was at 7 o'clock and it was already 5:30. San nodded, gently grabbing your hand to press a kiss to the back of it, slowly turning you around to face him as he smirked "Well, we should get going then. I want you to take your time when it comes to tonight."

San words repeated through your mind as you got ready, picking out one of your favorite and best-looking dresses and matching heels before taking a long hot shower, taking your time to thoroughly relax. As you put on the dress and finishing touches, your eyes moved over the dress, happy with how it adored you beautifully.

Just as you were applying the finishing touches on your makeup, San could be heard approaching the bathroom, the sound of his dress shoes clicking against the floors as he stood in the doorway. "Hey honey, we should get…" San's words left him in real-time as his eyes landed on your figure in the dress, his mind no longer focused on the reservation, but on how fucking good you looked. You had the same reaction, looking over his broad shoulders and slim waist in his choice of outfit, simply wearing his white button-up and beige vest over it. Though the outfit was simple, he looked absolutely sinful in it.

San licked his lips as you approached him, his fingers itching to touch you as he breathed out "Baby, oh my god. You look…" His words left him once more as he spun you around, his eyes moved over every inch of the dress and your figure, his mouth watering at the things he wanted to do with you. His lips met your cheek before slowly kissing down to your neck, your hands moving up his muscular chest as you hummed playfully "shouldn't we get going?"

"Going where?" San's question was muffled as he kissed your neck, breathing in your scent as he kissed and sucked gently on your neck, drawing a low moan out of you, one that made San press you back against the bathroom sink. You knew that if you didn't stop him soon, there would be no chance of you both making that reservation. As you pushed him away gently to meet his face, San licked his lips once more, his eyes now full of hunger and desire.

"San, the dinner reservation." San groaned at the reminder of the reservation, biting his lip before he nodded, backing up as he said "God, you're going to be the death of me" San couldn't keep his eyes off of you as you both made your way out to the car, his eyes drinking in every movement you made. He found you to be the prettiest woman he had ever seen, thanking the universe every day he got to marry you.

You tried to finish your makeup while he drove, the sight of you applying your lip gloss in your little compact mirror making it hard for San to simply focus on the road. His hands tightened around the wheel for a moment, his lips itching to meet yours and lick off the lip gloss. You gently pressed your lips together to spread the lip gloss evenly, not noticing San's hand leaving the wheel to meet your thigh over the dress. It seemed like such a simple touch, offering him a small smile before you returned to your lips.

"What kind of lip gloss is that?" San asked, his eyes glancing over to yours for a moment before returning to the road, focusing on driving once more. "I think it's stawberry-" You were unable to finish your words as San's hand shot up to grip your cheeks, pulling you into a deep kiss with him as he pulled up to a red light. You moaned gently as San's tongue met yours, your lips moving together in a heated kiss as San's hand left your cheeks to move down your body, greedily grabbing and feeling every part of you before pushing away your thighs, his finger meeting your panties. You couldn't help but pull back to bite your lip as San continued driving with one hand, his other hand working on slipping your panties to the side as he pushed in a finger to your pussy, a moan leaving you both.

"You're so wet, honey" San breathed out, his finger moving in and out of you at a slow pace, the palm of his hand rubbing small circles on your clit. You gripped the seat at his motions, letting him do as he pleased as you continued to let out your moans into the car. The sight of you relaxed, head tossed back against the seat made San's cock twitch, gripping the wheel as he sped up, rushing now to the restaurant.

Your eyes opened to the sound of San's door slamming shut, the backseat door opening to show San climbing into the back, his lips and tongue wrapped around the finger that was just inside of you. His eyes were dark, a moan leaving him as he met your eyes. He motioned for you to meet him in the back with his free, only freeing his finger from his lips when you sat on his lip, his lips crashing with yours in a messy kiss.

"We have 15 minutes left before our reservation" San groaned against your lips, carefully moving so that you were against the seat as he moved onto his knees in front of you, kissing down your thighs as he mumbled "I want my appetizer"

Who were you to deny your husband such a need?

As you simply opened your legs wider for San, he smirked at the sight, blowing some air onto your wet pussy with a playful grin on his lips.

"Now isn't the time for that, San" You mumbled, running your hand through his styled hair as you pushed his head towards your pussy. San smirked, knowing you were right as he let you bring his lips to your pussy, moaning immediately at your taste. He took his time enjoying you, his tongue moving in and out of your pussy lips as he looked up at you through his glasses. He let you move your hips against his face, his own eyes rolling shut as you gripped his hair to press him more against you.

"Hmm, ride my tongue honey. Let me taste you" He moaned, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he focused on licking up all your wetness. You tossed your head back as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard on it before he pulled back to mumble against your pussy "such a good girl for me. so fucking tasty"

Your moment with San was interrupted by the sound of his phone going off, letting him know that it was time for the reservation. He sighed gently before pressing a few more kisses to your pussy, as if kissing it goodbye before he pulled back to allow you both to fix up your appearance. He bit his lip at the sight of you reapplying lip gloss once more, wanting nothing more than to kiss it off of you again.

"You know," San hummed as you both exited the car and began to walk to the restaurant hand in hand. "I wouldn't mind just going back home and celebrating there"

"San" You gently scolded him as you both entered the restaurant, following the hostess to your table. San smirked gently, squeezing your hand to let you know he was playing around with you.

The hostess led you both to a private room dining room that had a beautiful view of the ocean, the room full of candles to give it a romantic glow. You gasped gently as San led you into the room, pulling out the chair for you as he said "I wanted to celebrate in a more intimate setting" He gently placed a kiss on your shoulder before moving to sit across the table from you, smiling proudly. He knew based on the glint in your eyes that he picked right for the reservation, his heart racing as you gently thanked him. He placed his hand on top of yours, gently pulling it to his lips as he said "Anything for you, my love. And you deserve it, you worked hard for that promotion."

San placed a kiss on your wedding band, making your heart skip a beat as he intertwined your fingers with his, admiring how perfectly they fit. San was a perfect life partner for you, someone who was driven and loved with his whole chest. You were his world and he wanted to make sure you knew that at all costs.

Soon the table was covered in food, San supporting you in ordering anything you wanted to try. You hummed happily as you both picked at the various dishes, both of you tasting the various foods with smiles on your face. You fed him some beef, smiling as he hummed "That has to be my favorite thing I've put in my mouth tonight."

You raised an eyebrow playfully at his words, your mind thinking back to the moment you both shared in the car before you both came inside, feeling more wetness gather at the memory. "Oh really?" You asked flirtatiously, leaning forward onto your hand as you met his eyes. At your new tone of voice, San raised his own eyebrow, putting down his fork as he said "Well, not as good as you of course." You hummed at his words, picking at your food with a faux pout on your lips. The sight made San smirk, leaning back in his chair as he asked

"You don't believe me?"

You shook your head, shrugging as you continued eating, your eyes moving to look out the window at the water. San scoffed at your answer, his eyes roaming your body hungrily before he decided to prove it to you. Your eyes stayed on the waves as the sound of San standing up and his chair being pushed back filled the room. You expected him to appear behind you, instead when your eyes left the window, you were met with an empty room. You looked around in confusion, trying to find him when you felt a pair of hands suddenly on your thighs. You jumped lightly before moving the table cover to see San on his knees once again in between your legs, his lips kissing your thighs as his eyes looked up to meet yours mischievously. As you asked him what he was doing, he bit his lip before simply pushing apart your legs more, his free hand moving up and down your covered pussy as he simply shushed you.

You were glad you were in a private room with San, the staff not being able to enter unless you both called for them on the tablet on the table. San smirked as he leaned forward to lick up your clothed pussy, his smirk growing as let out a sharp inhale. He enjoyed seeing you squirm and shake at his touch, repeating the steps a few more times. "Baby, aren't we supposed to be celebrating my promotion?" You asked breathlessly, your voice combined with your words making San moan against your panties, looking up at you with now flushed cheeks as he said "You're right, this is about you babygirl. This is about what you want"

San found the top of your panties, dragging it down your legs slowly before he attached his mouth to your pussy, his eyes locked on you as he continued to lick and suck wherever he could. Your eyes couldn't help but flicker to the door, letting out small moans as he gripped your hips, eating you out to his heart's content. At the sight of your eyes not meeting his, he got a pang of jealousy, wanting you to focus on him.

Your hand shot down to his hair as he pushed a finger into you, San moving your other leg onto his shoulder as he moaned against your pussy "look at me, honey. Focus on your reward" Your hand tightened in his hair as you both began to let out your moans into the room, both quiet and muffled by the music that the restaurant played. You began to move your hips against his face, San adjusting to match the angle. He focused on your face, watching every reaction to everything he did, wanting to make sure to drive you to ecstasy. San had hearts in his eyes as he ate you out, drinking in your taste happily while you held back from screaming his name, arching your back against the chair.

The sight of you panting and gripping both his hair and the chair made San's cock twitch painfully, his hands leaving you for a moment, though he didn't leave you empty as his tongue moved to replace his fingers as he hurriedly removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants, allowing his cock to peek out from the top of his boxers. Your eyes returned to see San's tongue moving in and out of you as his hands worked on his cock, using his precum to jerk off.

"You tasted so good, honey" San moaned, hips pushing forward as he groaned "I couldn't hold back, baby. You're so hot, you make me so hard."

The sight alone brought you closer to the edge, the sight making San forget about himself to give you 100%, his lips wrapping around your clit while his two fingers returned to you, curling up in the best way as he pushed you closer and closer to an orgasm. As you came, you breathily said San's name, hips shaking as San quickly licked you up, his hips still thrusting forward into nothing, wishing it was you.

As you slowly calmed down, San returned to his seat as he licked his lips, stuffing something into his pocket. As you closed your legs and moved to grab your panties, your eyes slightly widened at the realization that he had taken them. San confirmed it by patting his back pocket, taking a sip of water as he said "Don't worry, they're safe with me."

"How am I supposed to walk out of here without them?" You asked, San's smirk only growing as he said "Who said we were done here?" You raised an eyebrow as San flipped the tablet to face him, leaning forward with dark eyes, smirking as he asked "How do you feel about dessert tonight, baby?"

"Shh baby, remember, we aren't home where you can scream my name baby. Here, give them to me"

You moaned as San gripped your chin, making you face him as he continued to fuck into your pussy from behind, propping one of your legs up onto the table to fuck you deeper. You gripped the tablecloth and San's hair as he moved, fighting the urge to moan louder. You bit your lip as San pulled back, his eyes now blown out as he moaned quietly "There we go baby, let me give you my present for working so hard" San began to kiss down your neck, his free hand moving to bunch up your dress more at your hips to use as leverage as he began to move faster.

The only sounds that left you both were hushed moans and the sound of your cock plowing into your pussy, the squelching noises driving San crazy. "San, slow down, you're-"

"Shh, my pussy is talking to me" San groaned, his eyes locked on the sight of his cock moving in and out of your pussy, his tongue moving over his lips as he moved faster. You reached forward further on the table as San pushed you forward with every thrust, San's eyes landing on the cake you both ordered. "Here" San leaned forward, his hips still busy with their rough pace as he was able to keep his upper body up to grab a fork, gathering some of the vanilla cake onto his fork before he leaned down with you, his chest now against your back as he held it to your lips. "Say ahh, honey."

San didn't bother to stop moving as he fed you, chuckling at the moans that did escape you, praising you as he kissed your cheek.

"You're doing so well baby. Here's more, take it from my finger, yeah?" San dragged his finger along the frosting, holding it up to your lips as his pace sped up. You couldn't help but drop your head as his new pace, the frosting leaving San's finger to now land across your cheek. San chuckled at the sight, clicking his tongue disapprovingly as he said "that's not what was supposed to happen baby. You were supposed to open your mouth, look at the mess you made." He continued his disapproving tone as he pushed himself up to stand behind you once more, deciding to take on the opportunity of having you bent against the table like this.

You gasped as San landed a slap against your ass, his pace picking up speed he chuckled, saying "Look at how you jumped baby. All because you couldn't just open your mouth for me. Why? All because this cock feels just too good?" San punctuated each word with a hard thrust, chuckling gently as you nodded. He placed his hands back on the table, leaning down to lick a stripe up your cheek where the frosting was before he moaned "You're acting so messy, aren't you baby? Allowing your husband to have his way with you in a restaurant like this where anyone can walk by and hear us."

San's words and his pace pushed you closer to the edge, nodding before letting out another choked-out moan as San delivered another smack to your ass, his hands now gripping both cheeks as he quickened his pace, groaning "You're just my little slut, right baby? Anytime, anywhere I can give you this cock, my tongue, my fingers, anything, you'll take it right?"

"Yes San" You began to feel tears brimming in your eyes, San's lips pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek as he whispered "That's what I love about you, honey. You'll let me plow this perfect pussy over and over again, giving you pleasure just the way you'd like."

"What if someone were to walk in right now, baby?" San panted, his hips rolling against the flesh of your ass as he leaned forward to bite and kiss your shoulder, continuing to talk, almost to himself as he moaned "You look so pretty like this baby, god, it makes me want to take a picture of you like this. Let the whole world see how beautiful my wife is."

San could tell you were close, leaning down to kiss up your back as he groaned "Don't hold back, please don't. Cum baby, please cum" You gasped at his words, rushing to sit up at his words on your elbows and grip his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss to muffle yourself as your cum coated all over his cock. San cursed at the feeling, keeping you up as his hands separated your ass cheeks, watching as his now cum coated cock plowed into you, the sight bringing him close to the edge.

"Where do you want me to cum tonight, Honey? Want me to fill up this perfect fucking pussy?" He asked desperately against your shoulder, kissing wherever he could as his pace grew rougher, chasing his release as you nodded, pulling him into another deep kiss as he came, his hips shuddering against your ass as your tongue locked with his. San massaged your body as you both kissed, whispering praise and compliments before he pulled back, licking his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, giving you both a moment to calm down.

"Do you think we were too loud?" You asked as San slowly pulled out, shaking his head as he placed a kiss to your shoulder once more before he pulled back with a gentle mile. "No. But even if we were, I paid extra to ensure that we were in a room with no one to either side of us"

"You thought of everything, huh?" You asked as he helped you get ready, laughing gently as he gave you a smile wink. Once you both were appropriate, San paid the bill before gently holding your hand, leading you with a proud smile out of the restaurant. San gently swung your hands as you both walked, making you laugh gently as you both approached the car.

"Wait, before you get in" San hummed, opening the trunk to take out a bouquet of roses he had hidden. As he held them out to you, he met your eyes once again with hearts in them as he said "I'm so, so proud of you honey. I cannot think of anyone more deserving of that promotion than you." You smiled as San kissed you gently, handing you the roses as he gently rubbed your arms, kissing your forehead as he hummed "Congratulations again, baby"

You accepted the flowers, climbing into the front seat as San did the same with a grin on your face. San smiled as you admired the flowers, gently rubbing your thigh as he began the drive home. "Do you have anything else planned?" You asked, turning to see your husband's smile turn into a smirk, the hand on your thigh slowly moving towards your pussy as he said "well, I plan on getting my wife home and continuing our celebration in a more private setting." You spread your legs more as San pushed in two fingers, San's voice meeting your ear as he pulled up to a red light, hunger lacing it as he hummed "starting right now."

BAMBIKISS | 2025

[burymagdalene]

Heat Lightning: Part II – Kismet - S. Reid x Reader

Making it back to your shared motel room, Spencer and reader get a lot off their chests; figuratively and literally. With a new dynamic emerging, they fight to survive the heat of Texas, the case—and each other.

Part I (Could read this alone if you wish) pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut, angst, & fluff (18+ pls pls) tags: Spencer Reid x bau!female reader, bloodsplatteranalyst!reader, virgin!spencer, subby (?) service-y Spencer, masturbation (spencer), tit sucking, thigh riding, real riding, finger sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, first time, munch!spence, murder, kidnappings wc: 8.5k a/n: Part 2/2 of my bau!reader duology! I've had so much fun writing this I hope Spencer and reader have lots of fun... this might be my dirtiest yet lol S1 Spencer is a young freak aficionado I swear.

Kismet

Destiny; fate.

“What chance did I stand against kismet?”

The tips of Spencer’s fingers have molded to take the shape of the dial on your AC as you drive back to the nearby motel. His face is turned to stare out the window on your side, wanting to catch the view he hasn’t fully appreciated while not having to turn away from you.

What he would have missed. Chewing on the inside of his lip Spencer ponders, what I would’ve missed if it was another unit, if they took on a different case.

“Whatcha looking at?”

“I just- it’s very beautiful out here at night.” Spencer replies, eyes flickering over to you in order to analyze if you think his lame answer is indeed lame. The way his voice dips at the end gives him away. That’s not really what Spencer meant.

You hum, it’s barely above a whisper, something ambient and low, but enough to fill the car. “Yeah? You thinking of moving to small-town nowhere with me?”

He smiles faintly, laughs at his hands in his lap. “No. Well, sort of. I’m thinking about how if we hadn’t took this case… I wouldn’t be sitting here. With you.”

There’s a long pause where neither of you say anything. Just the sound of tires on gravel as you approach the motel and the air conditioner still stubbornly set two degrees too cold.

Your tongue pokes out slightly over your chapped lips. “You’re very kind.”

Spencer leans back in the seat. “But I mean it.”

Taking the keys out, you’re finally parked in front of the kitschy motel. You don’t answer right away. There’s a comfort in letting silence carry things when words feel too sharp. But when you do speak, it’s quiet.

“Yeah. Me too.”

And for once, Spencer doesn’t overthink what that means.

𓆱

Out of the most incredible shower of his life, Spencer wipes away the fog on the small bathroom mirror to look over his face. Eye bags worse than they’ve been in a while, but the sun almost gave him a pink flush and bright hue that makes up for it. 

He had gathered up his pajamas from his go bag to carry into the bathroom with him after you were finished showering. Wanting to change in the bathroom, suddenly embarrassed. He was not expecting this situation while packing– how could he have?

Hair brushed and fully situated to reintegrate back into the room with the dim flickering light and the most intimidatingly perfect person he’s met. Great.

Opening the door, he’s immediately stumbling into you. Right in front of the bathroom door is the entrance to the room where you were standing by picking up a small hooked sign from the door handle. 

With a keen eye, Spencer watches as your fingers flip over the “Do Not Disturb” sign in front of the door. Very much aware that this is standard practice– he can’t help but feel personally affected by the underlying sentiment. Do not disturb us. We don’t want anybody else in here with us.

He feels drunk. Standing in the doorway silent and gobsmacked by the simplest gesture– you turn over to gaze at him, poking your tongue out playfully before moving back to the bed.

The slight sway in your hips as you walk to the room makes him clear his throat.

“Which side do you want?” You ask, already jumping theatrically on the right side.

“Um… right?” Spencer laughs, teasing you.

“Already takennn!” You sing your reply.

Sitting up, feet off of the right side, you pat the space next to you.

“C’mere. We can share.”

Padding over, a small drop from Spencer’s hair tickles the back of his neck as he sits beside you on the bed.

“I never got good at sharing, I don't think.” He is flirting, he assumes. But it’s also semi-true. An only child who is also a mama's boy, he never had to share growing up– but it comes pretty naturally to him anyway. He’s not explaining that though so his line is more effective. 

“You don’t wanna share with me?” You smile back at him in such a mind numbing way that he feels silly for flirting with you when you obviously have the upper hand. 

Spencer bites his bottom lip softly and shakes his head, eyes wide looking at you. He's pulling out the doe eyes, all his cards are on the table. 

A thick and nearly tangible silence falls over the two of you. Hips almost pressing with your close proximity, Spencer gains the last bit of strength he has from the long day to meet your gaze. Taking in your features for the first time undisturbed by chaos is making his heart flutter. The bruises have let up a bit– changed slightly in color and severity. Your bottom lip still has a cut on it, albeit, not sensitive to the touch anymore.

Without thinking, his thumb slowly comes up and brushes the bruise left on your cheek.

“These are getting better.” He mumbles, thumb on your cheek but eyes roaming toward your lips.

“Yeah, I’m glad.” You toss a shy smile back at him.

“Oh yeah? I thought you said it made you look tough?”

“Hm. I think I was just saying that. I don’t want to be so tough all the time.”

Spencer pulls his thumb a few inches down, nearing the corner of your mouth. In an act of bravery (mixed with sleep deprivation, heat exhaustion, and lust. Simply.) runs it slowly over the jagged edge of your bottom lip. Wishing to soothe it with his touch almost, wanting to take away all the bruises littered on you.

A small shiver runs down your spine and you do an unconscious jolt that makes Spencer’s thumb stop.

“Yeah. You’re not so tough.” Pulling his thumb down, your eyes reconnect.

Spencer watches the smallest twitch in your eyebrows, a microexpression that flashes behind your eyes, a slight tremble in your lip. Taking one last deep breath he sacrifices himself to the fire he’s kept at bay this whole case.

Lips instinctually meeting the corner of your mouth, a soft kiss placed on the damaged skin of your marked lip. A shuddering sound from your throat pulls him towards the noise. Then, a proper kiss is being placed. 

A minute pull away tilts the world off its axis before you two are grabbing each other, lips melding together at a near brutal pace. The stiff motel mattress lets out a pitiful squeak, seeking a cessation of movement that would not be rewarded tonight. 

Your hands are cupping his jaw, his own hands remain politely in his lap and twitch as he feels your hip finally press up against his. Letting go of his cheek, one of your hands snakes down to take Spencer’s, placing it on the inside of your thigh. 

Spencer grips it too hard at first, causing you to gasp against his mouth. Dial it back, he thinks and makes up for it by rubbing away the pain with his palm up and down.

The first to pull away you whine out, “You’re such a good kisser,” before connecting lips again, pulling him flush against you almost onto his lap.

“I haven’t really… ever-” He gulps, he guesses it’s polite to tell you.

“Oh yeah?” He watches the corners of your mouth falter, a slight twitch upward in a smile that has his brain screaming witch!

“Yeah.”

You chuckle kindly while ghosting your lips over his once more, “That doesn’t matter.”

“It might…” Spencer looks down from your eyes in his confession.

“It won’t.” You finalize like you’re a professional in these matters. Virgins. He blushes and begins kissing you again.

With an act as simple as a swing of a leg, Spencer’s mind muffles. Propped in his lap he wraps his arms around your waist, tight grips indent your skin. Another simple act– a kiss to the jaw. Adolescent, amateur even. Spencer closes his eyes as his head falls back, a quiet hum from you against his jaw and he smiles despite the hurricane in his stomach. 

Bracing his hands firmly on your hips, your lips trail over his pulsepoint, a soothing and sickening kiss is being placed over the sensitive skin (he didn’t know was so sensitive on himself– why does this feel so good?) and Spencer nearly flinches away.

“Does that feel okay?” You pick up on his slight movement.

“It feels really nice, actually.”

A laugh rumbles against that same spot and he could keel over, beg you to do this all night. 

“I can feel your heart beating there.”

Two of your fingers replace where your lips just were, a rapid thud beating against them through his flesh.

“My- my heart is racing, yeah.” 

Your warm palm pressed firmly against Spencer's chest, you usher him flat against the old mattress. Back pressed there, he looks up where you’re still sitting on his lap before bending slowly over him again.

One finger tugs the bottom of his t-shirt up to his chin, messy kisses peppered over top the fragile skin on the left of his chest.

Voice rising an embarrassing octave Spencer talks through an inhale, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Mm. Kissing your heart.”

All the air has seemingly been knocked out of his lungs. Still, through ringing in his ears he whispers, “Why?”

“Well,” kiss, “because I think it’s sweet,” kiss, “and because I think it's kind.” your lips trail up slightly, a small string of saliva follows where you speak against his skin. “Because I like the person it keeps alive.”

Spencer could cry. His dick is hard, and he could cry. A blanketed wave of piety clouds his brain. He feels fucking obsessed, how do all people not succumb to madness when they feel this? If Spencer felt like this for more than 30 minutes he’d stop breathing. Or he’d completely submit to his life calling of reverency.

Propping himself onto his elbows he puts his face into your hair, resting his forehead against you firmly. Taking a deep inhalation of your scent, he commits it to memory before taking a hand to tilt your head up to stare into your eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

A gentle and self-conscious finger routinely checks where your lip is bruised. A signal of your hidden insecurity toward the compliment. Spencer sees the hesitation in your irises as he moves his hand up to the curve of your waist, gesturing you to lay on your back now where he crawls over you.

Still intimidated by your bruising he tries to ease some of his body weight to his forearms and not your torso. He also doesn’t want his hard-on to dig into you right now.

“I think you’re astoundingly beautiful,” Spencer kisses your chin briefly, “you can ignore anything else I say, just believe me there.” 

May be a bit too serious, sappy and vulnerable for knowing you for a week, but Spencer has never felt so on-time and right than he does now.

You exhale sharply through your nose, push your mouths together again with a lazy grin. 

“You’re so warm, it feels surprisingly nice.” You giggle in response, your nails trailing lightly up his arms.

Spencer thinks back to your comment on hot coffee tasting better when it’s hot out, this is definitely the same strange phenomenon you were mentioning. Maybe it’s the counterintuitive notion where a hot beverage can increase sweating, which may help cool you down more efficiently. Maybe it’s the volatile aromatic compounds, which hit your nose and taste buds harder. He feels better to you when it’s hot out because he’s hitting your system harder. As long as he’s hitting your system-

Spencer’s spiralling thoughts get cut off by his own voice punching out a loud moan when you cup him over his pajama pants. The first time he’s feeling someone else's hand on him is so revolutionary that he has no control over his voice or facial expressions.

“Does that feel good?” Your tentative voice breaks him out of his daze. Like it could possibly feel bad with you.

Spencer has to search for the word yes within the vast confines of his brain– that’s how good it feels. Taking a moment he finds it, “Y-esss.”

“When's the last time you did this?” You’re whispering into his neck with a graze of your teeth he’s replying like you have him at gunpoint.

“Ah- y- yesterday-” Spencer manages to gasp out.

“Oh,” you giggle a bit which makes him peel his eyes open to look at you, “I don’t know why- I thought it’d be longer.” your sentence trails off with a string of soft laughs.

“Ah- well. I’m a virgin, n-not…”

“I know! I know… Yesterday, huh?”

Spencer feels his jaw instinctively squeeze shut. Yes, yesterday. He had barely made it to the very corner of his hotel bed back in Houston before shoving a hand under his pants to unsatisfyingly jerk off. A futile attempt to ease the molten hot swoops of horniness he gets while spending time with you.

“Wh- ugh.” Is all he can say.

“How about you show me how you did it yesterday, then?”

He teeters on the idea of white hot humiliation but in the end his hormones win, ultimately calcifying his boyish temperament with blatant animalism as he tugs his pajama pants down. Spencer is aware that you don’t mean exactly how he did it yesterday. All whines while biting down on his fist while the wrist of his other hand gets rubbed raw by the band of his pants that were barely open enough for boner access. 

Spencer scoots himself up so his back is resting against the rickety wooden bedframe, legs spread slightly as he flings his pants to the floor, underwear still on. Through cloudy eyes he watches you crawl over toward him, legs coming to cage in one of his thighs, sitting your weight on it. 

“Should I…” He traces a thumb over the waistband of his underwear.

“Please, yeah.”

Your eyes are attached to his lower stomach, eyes flickering up to his when he speaks to check for any hesitation.

Spencer is nervous, sure, but the sight of the basically egregious tent in his boxers is almost more embarrassing than it would be to just pull himself out of them. With a hook of his thumb, he pulls the band down slowly. First, the head appears, opaque drips of precum coating it lightly. Then the rest is pulled out, smacking his tummy with a sticky thud.

The first thing he hears is a small squeak coming from your throat. A laugh through your nose follows as you grin out, “Jesus.”

Beginning with a severe ego boost, Spencer can jump through the emotional hoops of the humiliation around jerking off in front of you. Jerking off to you, in front of you. He swallows an excess of saliva. 

Before anything else, Spencer has the urge to reach out and touch you, make sure you’re real– solid under his touch. Again he feels your soft cheek under his palm as he swipes a thumb shortly over your cut lip.

Then he grips the base and pulls up to his leaky tip with a tiny moan.

A dazed expression paints over your features, like you’re the one receiving any pleasure as he starts to really put his wrist into the movement. A tingle in his spine forms at the thought of doing this for anyone else. He would genuinely never imagine himself doing this, but the way he’s watching your lips tuck in to conceal a moan is truly a sight for sore eyes.

Spencer could most definitely cum. He probably should not if he doesn’t want to spoil the rest of the night just because for a fleeting moment he couldn’t control himself. Though. God, it would feel really good to just-

A roll of your hips against his thigh makes you and Spencer moan aloud in eerily similar octaves. 

“Can I touch myself?”

Your voice snaps him out of his inner monologue, fingers going lax around himself because if he’s touching his cock and hearing your voice simultaneously it’s going to end way too quick. 

“N-no-”

“Mmf- wh, huh?”

Consciously or not, your hips continue to roll circles onto his exposed thigh, the friction of your shorts with the pressure of his thigh makes you dig your nails harshly into his side.

“I just- no! I mean, let me do it for you. I’ll finish like this anyway.”

Without a reply, you let out a gentle gasp, dropping your head to your chest while you start dragging up and down against his thigh.

Spencer kind of just feels like watching, seeing your shoulders relax after everything this week has brought you is erotic in itself. 

Another squeak from your throat, “fuck, stop me please.”

Moaning the loudest all night at your response Spencer feels lightheaded. You can’t fucking help yourself.

Chest rising and falling rapidly now, Spencer’s hands find your hips, slowing your movements to a halt. You huff out a sigh and bend all the way down to reconnect your lips. In the momentum of slumping down you hit your lip a bit too hard against Spencer’s. A moan erupts out of you from the delicious sting while you integrate your tongue.

The filthy tongue kissing is distracting, but not enough to let slip the plan of Spencer helping you get off. Mind reeling, all the possibilities are tripping over each other in his head. Feeling your walls around his fingers, his lips around your clit. What do you taste like, feel like?

“Okay, okay,” Spencer whispers breathlessly, hoping that this plea reminds you of his aforementioned service towards you.

Dramatically, you roll off Spencer and lay on your back against the pillow next to where you two just were, nails trailing across his chest as you do so. A lazy spread of your thighs is the closest Spencer has felt to falling off a cliff, a silent beckoning that has him laying on his stomach between your legs in an instant.

He’s been in this position before, in fact. Not nearly in the way he is now though. Only previously has he situated himself like this when he was in FBI training. Sniper position. 

Hopefully Spencer will be better at this than the latter.

Soon you’re sitting up and grabbing at his shirt to fling it off onto the floor with his pants. He tries not to think about the grime from the floor all over his pajamas as he looks to you for consent on pulling off these shorts of yours.

“Can I take your shorts off. Um, and panties?”

You send him a sweet smile accompanied by a nod. Soon enough you’re taking off your tanktop too. Like it’s nothing. Like Spencer didn’t need time to prepare himself. Just as his fingers grasp the band of your shorts they’re stopping. Eyes glued and mouth hanging slightly open, Spencer gapes at your exposed breasts.

A dilemma. Should he continue with where he left off? Should he scoot up slowly and take one of your nipples into his mouth-

Before his brain can even finish painting the image he’s moving back up towards your face, giggling happily with you.

“Would you like to touch them?” Your grin is full of content admiration, not one of the smiles you’ve given him before, sly and seductive. This is you playing like real 20-something year olds do. The world outside of this room, the people you are– non-existent. 

What he would have missed.

“Uh-huh.” Spencer grins back, teeth on display. 

It’s almost hard to kiss and lave over your chest with the permanent smile keeping his mouth open. He can’t help it. The giddiness he’s experiencing is as strong as the loneliness he’s felt. Ever-consuming and solidifying, he is feeling himself heal from the inside out in your embrace. 

Like he’s booked a room on fucking prom night he feels so euphorically cliché.

You guide his hand to one nipple, he rolls it between the pads of his fingertips and you gasp, hips jumping up against his. Palming it once before rolling it again Spencer sucks a mark near your collarbone. He wants his lips on something.

 Wants a bruise to form on your skin that makes you feel beautiful– one that has a memory attached you’re not frightened of. 

Once “More…” slips past your lips he’s removing himself from your neck and placing his open and ready mouth on your other nipple, sucking lightly. Spencer fucking loves this. He licks with his tongue broadened before putting the nipple into his lips. Spittle drips between the cleavage of your chest all the while his hand is massaging your other breast.

Pulling away to see his damage, he smiles. Dazedly moves his mouth to your other breast like it’s second nature to him. The spit left on your breast works as a quick lubricant for his fingers to pull and rub at your nipple again. So focused on suckling your tits, Spencer is not aware of your humping against his hip bone. Moans spilling into the empty humid air alongside Spencer’s gentle hums of mania.

“Mmm, Spencer. I- fuck. Never took you for such a fucking tease. Did not expect to be on the brink of begging to cum tonight.”

Gasping for breath, Spencer detaches himself from you. He could have been doing that for five minutes or five hours, he has no clue. Regardless, he was not trying to wring you out– though the thought of you begging him to cum makes his figurative tail wag. Next time!

“Uhh. Sorry. Ha, do you still want me to-”

“Yes.”

“So I’m forgiven-” His smile grows as he positions himself between your legs again.

“Spencer-” A little whine, a furrow of your brow mixed with the small desperate shift of your hips sends him into a frenzy. Typically so tough and stoic around your team, begging him to touch you now.

Taking too long to pull your shorts and underwear down together, your hands push the fabric along with Spencers, the anticipation in your fingertips shocking him. 

Now with your clothes discarded, you and Spencer are both fully naked together. He rubs at the skin of your outer thighs to soothe any nerves you (or him) have, still getting acquainted with the way you like to be touched. He wants to do it so right you can’t think– wants to make you feel so good you can’t even fathom being stressed.

He kisses your inner thigh, stalling or just proving that he can kiss wherever he wants boldly. 

“Do you need- should I help?” You gasp out, remembering the inexperience he has, not wanting to intimidate him in a situation where it’s supposed to be life-altering.

“Mm. What do you like?” He speaks against the skin of your thigh, not wanting to pull away from its warmth yet.

“I just- God. Messy? Suction in your cheeks.. ah, should probably hold my legs down.”

Spencer can’t help the smile at your instructions, he can definitely do that. Moving away from the home he was making on your thigh he positions himself in front of your center. Slightly puffy and wet from the friction of grinding against him, he takes in the need painted all over you.

A small gust of air blows out of his lips onto your clit, your hips wiggle. He kisses it, the first taste of yourself against his lips and he aches for more. Licking up whatever you have dripped out during your rutting and whining, he tastes you fully for the first time moaning against your nerves. 

Messy, he remembers. Pulling away just slightly, he spits out a trail of saliva against your pussy, taking one hand off a leg he rubs it around in sloppy experimental circles. A loud moan from your lips as encouragement. Those same fingers pry your lips open wider so your clit is more exposed to him.

More spit and he’s sucking your bud into his mouth, hallowing his cheeks and running his tongue against you through suctions. His wet strands of hair are being yanked, a dull sting that has him rubbing his hips against the mattress.

“Yeah- good, good. You’re good-” you mumble out quickly. You must’ve remembered you’re his coach of sorts, not expecting the act to be so good you can’t explain it to him anymore.

A pitiful “ughn!” gets punched out of your chest as Spencer slurps up incoming wetness from your core up to his saliva pooling around your clit and swallows like it’s nothing. Spencer finds his favorite is sucking your clit between his lips and pulling away before letting it go back to place. It leaves your taste lingering in his mouth and has your legs spasming around him.

Replacing his tongue with two of his fingers rubbing back and forth against your clit, he wants to talk over the noises of wet friction coming from your bodies,

“You know– even though you’re laying there so pretty for me, your legs shake similarly to how your muscles would when working out. Your heart rate is increasing, adrenaline is spiking which is why you feel tingly. Am I right?”

“Spencer-”

Fingers slipping easily against you, he picks up his pace, “Your muscles are actually contracting in that same way as you would if you were working out. Tensing and releasing in the same manner- I mean. Your brain can’t differentiate the adrenaline either, which is why your body is reacting in this way. Lights up your nervous system like crazy too,”

“S-spencer-”

“Your sympathetic nervous system manages your fight or flight,” he pauses his sentence to switch fingers against your clit, a thumb coming to massage circles now, “triggering those moments of shaking, rapid breathing- crying-”

“Spencer- this. This is going to make me cum.”

You squeeze your eyes shut– shutting down your mind and body after your warning– letting him do whatever he wants with that information.

He decides to pull his fingers away to suction your clit again, wanting to taste you as you cum. 

Moans dissolving, your face twists up before finishing on his face with a long whimper. The aftershocks are so strong you’re rubbing yourself against his flat out tongue as you hiccup through the overstimulation.

It was shocking, to Spencer. Feeling so confident and in his element during this. Quite literally born to stick his tongue out for you to wiggle and hump against till your voice goes quiet. 

Quickly, Spencer moves up to kiss you again, making sure you know how badly he still wants to. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever cum that hard-” you laugh breathlessly, grabbing one of his wrists to bring his fingers that were against you to your mouth.

Leaving Spencer’s brain fuzzy, you place your tongue out before wrapping your lips around the digits, sucking yourself off of his skin. In his excitement he might’ve pushed his fingers down a bit too far, spit collecting at the corner of your mouth as you gag lightly.

Gently but swiftly pulling them out, he looks at you with concern filling his eyes. You just smile a pretty, lazy smile back at him laughing out a, “Fucker-”

‘I-I’m sorry.” He feels his forehead begin to sweat and an embarrassed flush melt his skin.

“Mm. Don’t be, baby.”

Baby. The old walls of the motel room are closing in on him. This is what he has been waiting to hear his whole life. A fucking pet name. Spencer can only give you a light awkward laugh in return.

Just like earlier this evening, you’re pushing one of his sides, silenting guiding him to go wherever it would please you. Spencer could die being your willing follower. This lands him on his back again. 

Looking down at his cock leaking by his belly button and his red skin on his sides from your scratching, he hums happily. You’ve sat yourself on his upper thighs, breasts above where he lays shining with his matted spit and he’s reminded how badly he wants them in his mouth again.

“Spencer, dear, how do you feel about me on top?”

“Uhhuh.”

“Yeah, uhhuh? Or “I don’t care” uhhuh?”

“Yes, please. Uhhuh.”

“So polite,” you coo, bending down to kiss his lips, hand gripping his jaw, “I can’t wait to feel you, fuck.”

Spencer is just trying to analyze the person who he was before this is over. How many times has he cum into his hand or against the mattress and deeply sighed after because it’ll never be a real person? Hyperbolic melodramatics aside, a lot. 

He feels you lift your hips up from his legs to position yourself over top of him, grabbing his base for it to stand upright for you. He groans, wants to continue to manhandle and correct him forever so he can be useful to you in this way. As long as he gets to see your wetness stick and collect against your skin as you open your legs wider.

Placing a palm against his chest you nuzzle his head in between you. Completely silent and focused, the room is merely filled with Spencer's borderline agonizing whines. While trying to fit him inside you, you're lubing him with yourself, slipping the head in for a moment, pulling out to rub against you, putting him back in, one delicious grind against his head– so on and so forth.

He briefly considers how this could get anybody to talk. We should use this in interrogations. Spencer would literally spill any secret for this to continue. 

A final pop signifies his head has fully entered you and the simultaneous gasp you both let out splashes heat into his face, his back arches. 

You make eye contact and give him a shy, reserved smile as you work your hips up and down, trying to take in as much as you can.

Huh? How can you feel shy– Spencer is elated right now.

“S-sorry. Ha, been a while..” You cut yourself off with a high pitched moan as another inch slides into you.

Huh?! You could literally just massage his dick against your clit like you were doing before and Spencer wouldn’t complain about anything for another month. How are you apologizing now?

“I can’t,” he laughs, “I can’t even talk. Right now, I can’t. Don’t say sorry.” Spencer tries his best at reassuring you.

“F-feeling good? I just want your first time to be, ah!-”

His eyes roll back as you take him fully, sat completely on his lap now, two hands gripping into his chest. He can feel the blood rushing in his veins and can count every atom in his body with how they’re vibrating. Yes, he feels good.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” becomes his mantra. Truly, really, he wants to talk to you. He needs you to know that this trumps all other first times ever in the history of the world. Spencer genuinely can’t get it out. So he nods and nods and nods while his heart thumps and saliva collects messily at the corner of his lips.

Grabbing a bit too much, honestly, he pulls you down to kiss him more. Making sure to kiss the cut on your lip before going in fully. Feeling you squeeze around him while pulling yourself up to begin bouncing, he gently licks your slightly parted lips, trying to taste your sweet sighs toppling out of them.

A small suckle against the tip of his tongue tenses his thighs and you pull away to where you were, using his chest as an anchor so you can bounce against him frantically. One of his hands is glued to your waist while the other is pulling at your nipple till you’re letting out uninterrupted groans. 

You throb around him and pause when his hand on your reaches to your other breast, kneading and pulling to match the other. He pushes the cups up with his palm while rubbing your pebbled buds between the side of his thumb and forefinger. The stimulation is delicious, unrelenting, and rough.

“Spencer- h-hold on, please. Gentle.” You gasp with a sigh as you slow down, not being able to focus on the right angle with his hands teasing you so much. He closes his eyes and smiles, hands trail slowly to your stomach, rubbing there.

Teasingly, you bring your fingers to Spencer’s own hardened nipples, rolling them between fingers briefly. Letting out an embarrassingly similar noise to “guh!” Spencer's eyes shoot open and your hands retreat.

Through a fit of giggles, you muster out a “sorry baby, had to!”

He sighs, settles back against the pillow more, “that felt good.”

“Mmhmmmm.” You smile and begin moving again. With Spencer’s hands needing a new place to go he eyes your clit peeking out between your sweaty bodies. Three of his fingers come together to rub circles against you that match your bounces.

“Shittt. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

How could he ever?

Sucking in a breath you slow your movements again, replacing them with a slow and deep grind against him as you take in both sensations simultaneously. Spencer watches your face, completely involved in consuming pleasure, almost a disbelieving shock written in your expression.

More of your slick pools around him, Spencer is acutely aware of it dripping down his very inner thigh to the mattress. You continue moaning softly in staccato, grinding your hips in circles as he plays with your clit. 

And just like that it’s gone. Your eyes open with a gasp as you stutter out, “s-sorry!” and go back to bouncing up and down on his length.

Again he’s confused. Spencer has never seen such a face full of pleasure, why would you stop?

“Wh? What's wrong?” He manages out with a scratchy throat.

“Hn? Ah, nothing. I just know that doesn’t feel that good for you guys-”

Spencer squints his eyes. What douches have you had sex with that have told you that grinding against them is less suitable than the bouncing? Is not watching you use them to get off not the sexiest thing ever? Literally. Ever.

Your back was arching and you could barely talk while your toes curl and you’re worried about him? 

“Noo, no. Angel- do it. Please, you can. Get off, just, yeah, use me to get off.”

Hands gripping your hips to stall them, your head falls back with a whimper. Panting breaths into the ceiling Spencer continues to guide your hips. Dragging them back and forth like how you were earlier.

“Fuck. Feels s’good. You’re like- I can feel you everywhere-” Your voice breaks on the last word, high pitched and frail as the grinding continues.

Allowing yourself to give into pleasure now, you’re moving your hips against him without the aid, leaving Spencer to circle your clit and moan at the sight of you.

Back bending prettily and mewling increasingly with the shaking of your thighs, Spencer senses your second orgasm is approaching.

“Shit. I- I think I’m gonna cum again, baby.” 

Your hand slaps against your mouth as you cum against Spencer, his fingers remain their circles on your clit, hips isolating to grind against you while you cum too hard to do it for yourself.

You gasp and slump your weight against Spencer’s chest, his dick falling out of you while you do so. His hands rub up and down the expanse of your back as you place kiss after kiss against his neck.

“Kay,” you begin rolling to your back, “your turn.”

Spencer looks over at you, grinning ear to ear. He was not expecting to be fashioning himself between your thighs tonight, he can barely contain his excitement as he rolls on top of you. Before he’s inside of you again and completely rendered speechless, he decides to get out all the words he couldn’t tell you before.

“You’re treating me so well,” he rests his head against your fluttering entrance, “I never imagined feeling so good,” he kisses your jaw, “such a good girl.” he finishes whispering against your ear as he slides inside of you.

This angle is different, for sure. Your legs are locked together against his back and having the free reign to control the thrusts and movements is making Spencer feel delightfully overwhelmed with desire.

He finds it’s easier to talk to you this way. So he’s running his mouth in pants beside your ear as you moan gently through overstimulation.

“You feel so wet. I could do this forever. I want to be around you forever. I’m so glad I’m here. You feel so good. I- I’m gonna cum.”

Pausing his rambling, Spencer stills his hips. Totally not wanting this to end and brutally aware that if he finishes right now he’s going to be completely knocked out after. His mind wanders to your cunt. You’ve orgasmed twice, you’re so wet around him that it’s been dripping everywhere for who knows how long. He has to taste you again.

Before he knows it, “Sorry-” is falling from his bitten lips and he’s pulling out of you. Your gasp makes him place a wet kiss against your stomach as he moves down between your parted legs.

This sight before him. Jaw dropping. All over your thighs and cunt is your and Spencer’s mix of fluids. You’re more swollen and open than before– he could still cum like this.

More gently than before he’s licking up everything that's smeared across your sensitive flesh in a dirty display of your feelings for one another. He’s moving his head around rather than his tongue, just maneuvering himself to savor everything you’ve expelled.

Muffled whines and pleads meet his ears doing so. Apparently, it’s “so much” and you “can’t cum again” but gripping his hair against you anyway. He’s never heard you so broken down and vulnerable as you beg him “please, please, please…” for maybe relief or for more. 

Bringing his hand down he slides in two of his fingers to rub at your walls. Certainly not as full as you were being fucked by Spencer, but still enough for you to leak the sticky white fluid you emit when being destroyed particularly well.

“Uh. Uh. Shit. Spencer. Mm. I feel like- I have to-” You babble pitifully as he sucks at your clit gently.

Whatever it is, he’ll take it. Lap it up and swallow it happily like a spoonful of sugar after cough medicine. 

Thighs closing in on his head, you cum again. Small bursts of fluid dribble out of you and pool around his fingers. So that’s what you were trying to say. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god. You’re so beautiful. That was so beautiful. Oh my god.”

Spencer is pulling his (very) wet fingers out of you to kiss all over your embarrassed face. 

“Please- Spencer. Cum in me.” 

Right. His dick is red and begging and drooling and twitching uncomfortably. 

Caging in your head with his forearms, he drops his forehead against yours and fucks himself back into you. Being wrapped around your warm, wet, tight pussy again makes him keen, shaking his head against yours like he can’t take all of it.

Your hands are combing reassuringly through his hair as you praise him, “you’re making me feel so good, nobody has ever made me feel so good. Baby, cum for me please, I need to feel you.”

With a bite of your lip between his teeth after a particularly toothy kiss, Spencer comes inside of you. Shaking like a leaf and whining through gasps he slides in and out, milking his cock for every last second it can survive inside of your heat.

Holding onto each other with a fervor not equipped for the unbearable heat wave outside you drag your lips, give small passing kisses while shuddering together. Hidden in the crook of your neck Spencer whimpers out, “I want to stay here forever.”

“Yeah? I do too.”

“I really don’t want to leave.”

You sigh but are smiling against his hair anyway, confidently hopeful without reason for the first time in your life. 

“We don’t have to.”

𓆱

6am the next morning a thunderous rain patters against the police stations windows, a deep abyss of dark sky wrongly indicating that the comforting blanket of night is still in place instead of the crack of dawn.

Spencer finds you separated from him again, the brutal reminder of you indeed not working on the same team churns his stomach. At the station Spencer builds a geographical profile to find the whereabouts of a certain fired theology professor, Dr. Lucien Harrow. 

Out in the whirling storms of Jefferson, you, Derek, Hotchner, and your unit chief who was particularly nasty to you are driving out to find where he resides, then, you can see if there may be any clues to where the cult is meeting. 

Spencer aches with the idea of you out in the flooded narrow backroads. Tree branches thrashing in the wind, skeletal fingers clawing at the sky in electric stripes. He should be there with you. Making sure nothing happens to you again.

Two sharp rings and Spencer is picking up his phone rapidly to your unsaved number. 

“Dr. Reid?”

“Y-yeah? Yes.”

“What can you tell us about that latin phrase from yesterday?”

“Daemonium Imperium, Fides Aeterna. It has ties to a rare Latin manuscript once banned by the Vatican, moreso a doctrine used by fringe sects of religious extremists, really.”

“So, this cult believes in sacrificial ascension? That death at the hands of a “faithful” leads to eternal peace and communion with the divine?”

“It could be–”

“He- he’s not here. At his house. There’s so much writing. The girls who died were not attacked by the cult or even failed escapees– they were offerings. The five who vanished had never tried to escape. They were elevated within the cult, chosen to carry out the "sacrifice" of their own sisters, believing this would grant them purity. It’s all in… he’s got this diary.”

Spencer's eyebrows shoot up, casting Elle a disturbed glance before he replies.

“Forward anything you found to our technical analyst, see if she can find any private property owned by Harrow. Or just–”

“What?”

“Just please be careful.”

A sigh from your side cuts through his ears, “I’ll try.”

Checking back to the fingerprints found in Harrow’s house, you consult your forensic notes from before in the car. The use of a mess to disguise markings, the complete lack of the unsub’s DNA, and the ritualistic carvings all point to someone not just avoiding detection, but trained to leave no trace.

Your brows furrow, “SSA Hotchner?”

He turns around to you with expectant eyes.

“If he’s so meticulous about cleaning up, most likely the cult grounds are going to be something he knows he has complete control over. Private property of some kind– where he knows he’s not going to be bothered. It’s not going to be open to the public.”

Hotchner nods, already moving toward the car door of the SUV, pulling out the radio from the passenger seat. Rain lashes sideways, but neither of you care.

“We need to cross-reference Harrow’s known associates and past property records, and contact your technical analyst. Anything purchased under shell corporations or family trusts,” you say, flipping through your notes as the others huddle under umbrellas. “Somewhere rural. Isolated. But not abandoned. They’re using this place regularly.”

Derek glances over your shoulder. “You think he’s the owner, or just the shepherd?”

You pause at that. “No. He’s the theologian. The teacher. This isn’t just about murder, this is doctrine. Someone else is in charge of logistics. He just gives the sermons.”

Derek finishes his urgent message to Penelope and within five minutes she’s calling back,

“I just pulled a deed registration from three years ago. Lucien Harrow’s mother passed away, and her will left him a parcel of land in Jefferson County. Sixty acres. No structures reported, but satellite shows some kind of development deep in the forest. Last updated… six months ago.”

The slamming of car doors shock your system as you snap back to reality, rain still coming down like judgment. 

Gravel being assaulted under hard screeching tires overpowers the hard rain as the SUV arrives. A long, low building, windowless, constructed of stone and wood, almost like a monastery. It hums. Not with electricity, with voices.

Whatever's waiting beyond that aged porch, it's not just a killer. It’s a belief system sharpened into a weapon.

Air is sweet and thick with incense and decay. The walls are covered in scripture, various Latin phrases written in blood and soot. Symbols carved into the stone, some fresh, some ancient. A narrow corridor leads deeper underground, illuminated only by flame sconces that flicker like they're breathing.

The infiltration of the compound was surgical and swift. Once the combined teams breached through the basement of the property, they were able to trap the cult members in the underground chamber with nowhere to run.

Those too stunned or resistant were restrained with minimal force, while others dropped to the ground, disoriented and exhausted. Mobile medical units waiting above immediately began triage, administering IV fluids and beginning the long process of deconditioning their minds from Harrow’s indoctrination. 

Once Spencer and Elle arrived on scene they quickly seized the grounds, uncovering journals, recordings, and ritual paraphernalia that provided indisputable evidence of psychological manipulation, religious abuse, and coercive control.

𓆱

“How many times do I have to tell you not to rush in like that, you were almost killed once. We don’t need somebody so liable on this team. We need to be able to count on one another.”

Back at the station, your unit chief growls lowly at you in disbelief, like you didn’t push along the whole case while he sputtered in confusion.

Spencer’s hands tremble slightly underneath the table, eyes locked in on your soaked frame. Prolonged exposure to cold rain increases the likelihood of developing pneumonia by almost 42%, especially when paired with elevated stress levels and lack of rest. 

Before he knows what he’s saying, “You don't get to berate someone for doing the job you failed to do.”

The room goes silent.

Hotch, watching the exchange from across the bullpen, steps in just as you start to gather your breath, taps your shoulder.

“Come with me,” he says, quiet but firm.

At the other side of the room Hotch walks you to a more secluded corner.

“He was out of line,” Hotch says finally. “But so were you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he continues before you can. Who is this guy to offer you any advice?

“However, you think like we do. You’re quick to act and you’re thoughtful. The relentlessness in your pursuit of the truth is not something we see often.” 

“Thanks?”

“We would benefit greatly from a forensic science perspective. The kind of work you’re doing, the casework...but you have to trust the team. You have to trust yourself.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears. Your wet clothes from earlier clinging to you uncomfortably as you feel eyes on you from across the room. 

“Wh-what?”

“You can’t keep pushing yourself to the edge, not without someone to have your back. Your team does not have your back. If you accept, I could request your transfer of units into the BAU in Quantico.”

You can feel the weight of his words settle in the air between you. Eyes comically wide you watch the way this past week has unfolded like a flip book. Never have you felt good enough, the constant ridicule of your all-male team and consistent chiding remarks have ground you down into a fine paste of the person you were on your first day.

You can’t tell if it’s the offer of a lifetime, or the fact that someone finally sees you, sees worth in you, beyond forensic input on a grisly crime scene or the hollow praise in the field after everyone’s gone home. 

You blink. Once. Twice. The room feels suddenly too small, your soaked shirt too tight, your voice caught somewhere between fear and desperate relief. Spencer. A laugh bubbles out of you, watery and raw. You swipe a hand over your face, unsure if it’s to wipe away tears or the sweat beading on your brow. 

“Yes. I accept. Thank you. Yes.”

A fatherly clap on your shoulder, Hotchner turns away winking over at Spencer where he’s still sitting, eyes dry from staring at your conversation so long across the room.

𓆱

Wet trousers stick to the flat area of the sink in the station's bathroom as Spencer opens your mouth against his, hands feeling all over your damp skin. The kisses are never ending. Brutally pushed against your lips or dusted around any skin he can find.

“I can’t. I can’t believe this. I mean, you’re beyond qualified and capable but- I never thought good things like this could happen to me.”

You place your head down and bite his blazer-clad shoulder.

“You’re not getting rid of me. This is insane. You’re going to be so sick of me.”

Two warm palms encircle your cheeks, “That’s not even funny,” Spencer kisses your mouth once, licks a stripe up your neck making you giggle. “You’re… you’re going to see my apartment, the plane… we won’t be doing filing work together you’ll probably be on the side with Garcia, but, but you’re going to help us so much. I can’t believe this. I’m going to be with you every day.”

A strike of uncontrollable happy tears prick your eyes. Looking at Spencer, you wrap your arms around him tightly– enough to break his back even, the total definition of a bear hug. Another kiss is being placed on your chilled skin.

“You worried me earlier. You can really get sick being all wet for this long. Let’s go back and change.”

For a moment it's as if the motel room is your and Spencer’s shared home of domestic bliss. The leaky ring around the ceiling of the bathroom and the draft from the old window harbors the most intricate portrayal of the life you’ve built in a week; obsessive, tender, but strangely whole. 

The scratchy carpet remembers the quiet shuffle of Spencer’s socks, and the chipped headboard knows the heat of his hands. There’s a toothbrush next to yours, the rest of his toiletries not even unpacked yet. It has held the illusion of permanence through your time spent there anticipating when it’ll all end.

But now, it doesn’t have to end. Not really. Not with the move, not with the way everything’s about to shift, closer, steadier. You’ll be in his world now, not just in passing, not just in moans swallowed by motel rooms dressed up as borrowed homes. 

The illusion starts to feel like something more: a prelude.

𓆱𓆱𓆱𓆱𓆱 tags: @luvsvite @rainydayathogwarts @liuralibrar @cel070321

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Hangovers and Hickeys

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: no idea rn lmao probably like 700

A/N: some Spence content before the new year (on the western calendar). Hope you all get to enjoy the day!

“Good morning sunshine.”

You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. “If I could, id shove you off of the roof Derek Morgan.”

“Fun night?”

You snorted and finally lifted your head off of the desk. “You should be a profiler.”

That caused Derek to laugh, which made you wince and close your eyes. The sunglasses perched on your nose were supposed to be helping. They weren’t.

“That’s a nice hickey you got there.”

You grunted in response and tried to adjust your sweater collar so it would cover the hickey you missed this morning when you didn’t look in the mirror. You had basically rolled out of bed, and into your car to make sure you got to work on time.

“Who gave it to you?” “Why don’t you use your super duper profiling skills to deduce it or whatever Sherlock shit you wanna do.”

Derek snorted and shook his head. ”or you could just….tell me.”

“Don’t worry about it Derek.” You grumbled.

When Derek realized he wasn’t going to get any answers out of you about it, he decided he was going to change tactics.

“Moving on from Boy Wonder?” It was no secret that you had a crush on a certain nerdy doctor. And so Derek tried to use this knowledge to his advantage.

You crossed your arms and just raised your eyebrows. “I’m not dignifying that with a response,”

“Pretty sure that was my answer.” He chuckled, sitting down in his chair and swiveling to look at you.

When you decided to just ignore Derek, and face your desk, he piped up again. “Where is he anyways?” “No idea.”

It was like he was waiting for his cue from you. Spencer pushed open the doors to the bull pen and strolled in. He had his purple scarf around his neck, over his new coat that Henry (JJ) had gotten him for Christmas. It was a beautiful grey pea coat that kept him warm during these freezing winter months. Spender was carrying a tray with two coffees on it and what seemed like a bag from McDonalds, which seemed to be for you, since he was headed in your direction.

The smell of the food caused you to groan with joy and smile at the man walking towards you.

“My knight in shining armor.” You muttered as he placed the whole tray in front of you. You placed a kiss on his cheek hasilty, causing him to blush a little.

“I got hashbrowns from both McDonald’s and Dunkin’, a little smorgasbord of grease for your pallet.” He whispered before taking one of the cups out of the tray.

“I’m going to marry you Doctor Spencer Reid.” You muttered, digging into the bag and pulling out one of the McDonald’s hash browns and biting into it. The groan you let out leaned a little on the pornographic side, which made Derek raise his eyebrows at the sound you let out, and then at tinge of pink on Spencer’s cheeks.

You continued eating, clueless about the silent interrogation happening to your left, enjoying every single bite and sip of your hangover cure.

“Derek I can hear you thinking and it’s making my head throb.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back to you, as your figure swiveled in the chair to face him, casually munching on some of the fries, in a completely different mood then from two minutes ago before Spencer had walked in the room.

“Sorry your highness. I’m just curious as to why Boy Genius here is bringing you hangover cures.”

“Well it’s his fault I’m this fucked up so he owes me.” You grumbled, swiveling around in your chair to face your desk. You pulled your lap top out of your canvas bag and started to set up for your work day.

“Wha-how is it his fault.”

That’s when Spencer turned bright red and tried to change the conversation, or at least get out of it. “I—well it’s not…I….hotch is…”

Spencer basically ran across the bullpen and up the stairs to Hotch’s office, avoiding the conversation he almost just had.

“I don’t think you wanna know.” You smirked and bit into the muffin from Dunks that Spencer had got you, not looking at the man behind you.

“I’m starting to think that too.” His eyes narrowed and he looked between where Spencer had run off to, and you.

Something was going on between the two of you, and Derek Morgan was going to figure it out.

[urmum-lovesme]

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P2

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: omg omg part 2! I can't believe so many people actually read the first part that makes me so happy :D. Tensions start to unfold here... featuring Wheezie cause I missed her in the new season. May have snuck in bi!reader again, should I keep that? Thank you so so so much for all the love! and enjoy the next chpt. (pt3 may be in a few days)

warnings: mention of drugs, dismissive mother, Ward (he deserves his own warning)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n grumbled to herself as she pulled her glasses over her face getting into the back of the car seat, the setting sun too bright for her liking, the orange hue now covering Kildare. Head thumping steadily caused a dull pain behind her eyes, she rested her heavy head against the seat letting out a huff. Her parents, sitting at the front, looked back at her through the rear view mirror, her mother speaking up as her father pulled out of their drive, making way towards Tannyhill for the family's monthly dinner with the Cameron's.

“I don’t know why you go around acting like an alcoholic y/n.” She spoke dismissively, as she swiped the dark red lipstick across her lips, puckering her lips together before capping the make-up with a click. “I’m not an alcoholic mom” She groaned back, the woman’s voice irritating her, why hadn’t she listened to Rafe? “Well you act like one. There’s a limit,” the woman scoffed, unimpressed by her daughter's unladylike attitude.

“Drop it Marie.” Her fathers voice rose up from behind the steering wheel speaking to his wife, the consistent clicking of the indicator filling the tension of the car. “Can we just have a peaceful evening hmm? No dramatics in front of the Cameron’s.” He continued, Marie pursed her lips as she looked straight ahead, he gazed over at his daughter through the mirror once again,

“You got that princess?”

“Yep.” She spoke back, popping the ‘p’ as she closed her eyes trying to ignore the throbbing in her head before they got to the household.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe was standing in his room, having just put on a new shirt after he had gotten out of the shower. He ran his fingers through his damp hair as he looked in the mirror, his thoughts filled with the family dinner. He knew y/n hated these dinners, probably not as badly as him but she still hated them. As he finished running his fingers through his hair, he heard a knock on his door, his gaze moving over to the sound. 

“Are you coming down y/n’s going to be here soon” Wheezie asked as she leaned against the doorframe, looking over to the boy impatiently. He rolled his eyes as he glanced over to his younger sister. He was about to respond with some sarcastic comment, before the words registered in his head. 

“Yeah, I am.” He responded, his mind now focusing on the fact that he would have to sit around at dinner and act like he had a stick up his ass for the next few hours. He made the final adjustment to his shirt, making sure he looked presentable, before he spoke to Wheezie once more, “Let’s go down then.” The girl walked behind him down the stairs before she spoke out, “You know dad said you’re not allowed to drink tonight…” cautiously, not sure how he’d react to the information, he was a little- unpredictable after all. Rafe rolled his eyes once again at Wheezie’s words, shooting her a glare as they made their way down the stairs. He was starting to get irritated by the rules that his father had for a simple dinner that happened every. single. month. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He muttered in a dismissive tone as he glanced around once they reached the bottom of the stairs, hoping to catch any sign of y/n's family’s car pulling up. 

Sarah doesn't even need to be here, funny

The car rolled onto the grounds of the Cameron’s residence, gravel crushing under the wheels. Coming to a stop outside the building y/n let out a breath. Knowing tonight was going to be a long one, she prayed that Rafe was going to be in a good mood as she got out of the car, walking a few steps behind both her parents towards the doors. Rafe and Rose waited outside in the front yard as the car pulled up into the long drive way of the Cameron’s house. Rafe watched as he saw the family’s car coming up, he could faintly make out y/n's figure sitting in the backseat through the tinted windows, he chuckled as he watched her put on glasses to shield her eyes from the sun. 

Told her she’d have a hangover  

She followed her parents to the entrance of the home, both of them greeting Rose joyfully, a small ‘hello’, 'how are you' directed to Rafe before they walked off into the home following the blonde woman. Two steps behind them she got to the entrance, eyes looking at Rafe through her sunglasses letting out a huff of air. He chuckled as he watched y/n approach, seeing her in those glasses, grumpy and somewhat dishevelled. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He smirked and held out his hand, “Rough night?”

“Shut up,” She grumbled as she held her hand up to him to stop the boy from his teasing. She took his hand as she walked up the stairs to the entrance, shaking her head she gestured to the doors leading inside. He smiled at her grumpy response and tried his best to hold back his laugh, “You’d only have yourself to blame princess. Told you it was a bad idea.” He spoke out with a teasing grin, as he put his hand on the small of her back, leading her into the home. They walked into the dining room, parents all speaking to each other. She looked over to the side where she noticed Wheezie running up to her happily.

“Y/n!” She exclaimed glad to see the older girl again, arms wrapping around her.

“Hey Wheeze,” she spoke out softly, one hand on the girl's back as her other one reached up, taking her sunglasses off her face. She knew if she didn’t her mother would complain, reminding her about manners. Rafe observed silently as the girl greeted his younger sister, she always looked up to her like a big sister, like Sarah. He leaned against the wall behind them as she spoke, crossing his arms, unable to take his eyes off of her, careful not to make it obvious. His parents sat at the table talking, while Wheezie clung to y/n’s side ranting about something he wasn’t really paying attention to.

“Omg no way what?!” Y/n gasped out invested in the girl’s story as she spoke to her about school gossip. The younger girl nodded her head eagerly before she turned away being called by her stepmother. He smiled as he watched the girl listen to his sister, both of them seemed to be completely immersed in whatever was going on. His eyes followed the young girl’s path as she turned to go sit next to Rose. He looked back at y/n,

“I don’t think she even paused to breathe once during that story.”

“I know right?” She shook her head amused, “I love her.” She spoke tenderly looking over to the girl, head now turning to Rafe, “like my own sister,” she commented. She didn’t have any siblings, and being an only child was an advantage but also a disadvantage when it came to her family. He smiled and met eyes with her, his expression soft as he heard them talk. She looked so sweet and tender as she watched his little sister.

Already like part of the family

 “She really does love you,” he spoke, leaning his head slightly against the wall as he continued to look down at the girl. 

“I’d hope so, I’ve only known her since she was born.” She commented at the boy rolling her eyes sarcastically. He chuckled as she playfully rolled her eyes, “I know, I was there,” he teased. He watched her closely, noticing her tired eyes and faintly dishevelled hair, the effects of the night's drinking, her lip-gloss slightly smudged below her lip. He liked how unkempt she looked in a way, there was something about her usual perfect appearance being messy that attracted him. 

...what? 

“So where’s Sarah?” She questioned. His jaw clenched at the mention of his sister's name, his expression shifted slightly into one of annoyance. “She’s out.” He said, his voice slightly bitter, keeping his answer short.

“Right,” she nodded along. She knew that Sarah was probably out with John B, and the rest of his gang. Not that she had any issue with the pogues, they were actually kind of funny, well when Rafe wasn’t around. Over the years she’s realised that Sarah was the favourite child, the rules applying to the other two siblings always seemed to slip past her. She knew it was because Ward would never criticise his golden child, but it wasn’t her place to say anything anyways. 

“Should we sit?”

He shrugged slightly. He was never super bothered by the fact that Sarah was the favourite, of course sometimes it did bother him, slightly. He knew there was no point crying over it, doesn't mean he didnt think about it.

“Yeah come on.” 

He nodded, grabbing her hand gently and led her over to the table, he pulled out a chair for her, offering it to the girl. She settled into her chair, Rafe sitting down next to her. His knee brushed up against her’s under the table as he pulled his chair in towards the table, they always sat together, it was nothing new. But this felt… different. Maybe it was the silk material of the dress she was wearing? He felt the urge to pull his knee away from her. The room was quickly filled with the sound of cutlery scraping against the porcelain plates, their parent’s discussing the latest news from around Kildare, that this family had done that, and this couple had said this. 

This is pointless… 

Do I still have that joint? 

“So y/n,” Ward spoke up from the other end of the table, breaking the silence between the two teens, “Rafe tells me you’ve been busy with your family business, that right?” 

She looked over to the man at his unexpected question, nodding lightly. “Yes sir,” she said, her parents always urged her to treat him with the utmost respect, considering that he was such a great financial investor in their company. Yet there was nothing more that she wanted but to ignore him and continue eating.

Rafe glanced over at his father when he spoke up. Ward had been asking about y/n a lot lately, his interest in the family business had perked up, being involved with the family for years but recently more than in the past. Rafe knew exactly why, the business had been doing well lately, and his father, being a rich financial investor, wanted to get involved some more to ensure their own success. He looked over at y/n, watching as she responded respectfully to his father, he almost wanted to laugh at how his father’s eyes lit up at the way she treated him.  

“She’s been working very hard.” she nodded her head as the boy spoke up from next to her, wondering what else the man could possibly want to ask her. She was aware that Rafe knew about the family, she told him everything so she wasn’t surprised when he responded for her. 

“Maybe you could learn from y/n hmm Rafe?”

Silence

 Y/n’s eyes flickered over to Rafe, his fork now harshly gripped in his hand. His head whipped around to look at his father as he clenched his jaw in displeasure. He tried to control the annoyance from seeping into his voice but anyone could hear the tension in his tone as he spoke up,

“I do plenty of hard work.”

“Right.” 

Ward responded firmly, clearly unimpressed. Y/n could sense the tension between them, she felt the need to change the conversation to break the uncomfortable atmosphere which formed around the table, everyone else keeping their eyes down from the father son clash which has commenced halfway through dinner, 

“Um Rafe tells me the company is expanding really well…”

Rafe felt his irritation grow as his father continued to belittle his work, in front of everyone, but he tried his best to hold in the anger. He was thankful as he heard y/n speak up, trying to change the subject away from what his father had been pestering him about. Ward seemed to loosen his annoyance and turned back to the girl, 

“Yes, but I must say, I’m quite taken back by what your parents have achieved. It’s very impressive.”

Y/n sat back as her father jumped to the occasion to discuss his work. She let out a quiet breath, shoulders lowering in relief. From the corner of her eye she could see Rafe, body still tense as he aggressively cut into the food on his plate. Her hand reached out under the table, palm lowering gently to rest on his knee in a comforting gesture. He felt the girl’s hand lower down onto his knee, it did comfort him slightly. He let out a small huff of air as her hand gently stroked his knee. He hadn’t noticed how tense he’d become when his father started talking to him, she was the only one who could tell. He let out a sigh, knowing he would have to try and avoid his father for the rest of the night, for both of their sakes.

Her eyes searched for his sending him a small smile, hoping to reassure him. She didn’t like the way his father treated him, never had and never will, she hated it actually. He acted like Rafe was the black sheep of the family, always finding a way to remind him of that. She kept her hand on his knee as her other hand held the silver fork, stabbing at the salad on her plate and lifting it to her mouth. He felt a small sense of relief at the girl’s smile, he’s realised over the years that she often didn’t like the way his family talked to him, especially his father which she wasn’t afraid to tell him about. As he watched her take a bite off her fork, his eyes couldn’t help but notice her soft lips close around the fork. The subtle curve of her mouth lingered on the metal, a delicate, almost teasing motion, his chest felt tight. In that moment he almost forgot the tension from earlier as his mind was occupied by something else now.

Stop

She heard the boy next to her clearing his throat, mumbling out an ‘excuse me’ as the sound of the chair scraping against the floor filled the room, rising and standing up, chucking his napkin onto the chair and walking out the room towards the bathroom. Her brows furrowed slightly, had Ward worked him up that much? He mumbled out his  apology to everyone in the room as he stood up and quickly walked out the room, he shut the bathroom door behind him and let out a frustrated sigh. It was his father, that’s what it was. It was how he talked to him that pissed him off, he hated being made to feel like a complete failure in the eyes of his father, and he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. 

But that wasn’t it though was it? 

… 

It was Angelina. It was the way her hand rested on his knee, that damned smile she’d send him to get him to calm down. Those, those stupid lips which lingered on her fork and wrapped around her straw when she lifted her glass to drink. 

Get yourself together 

She looked over her shoulder wondering if she should follow after the boy, would her parents get mad if she just got up after him. She turned her head back now, Wheezie who was sitting opposite her looked at the girl nodding her head slightly so no one else would notice, shoving a potato into her mouth as she did so. “Um- I’m sorry I’ll be right back.” she spoke out gently, no one paying any attention as they’d fallen back into conversation, she quietly stood up walking in the same direction as him.

Rafe let out another frustrated sigh, hand coming up to pull at his hair as he stared at himself in the mirror. He put his hands on the edge of the sink and let his shoulders drop. He was annoyed but that wasn’t all. Y/n was still on his mind, her hand, her sweet smile, her lips… He never struggled to control himself around her. Fuck. She was his best friend. Yet tonight he couldn’t help it, he was overthinking and over analysing every single action, every single smile, every single touch and it was making him lose his mind slightly. 

Is this a symptom of withdrawals?

 He’d tried to lower his intake of the white powder, he knew she’d asked him to try cause she was getting worried. He felt bad. He’d never want to be the source of her Worries. But this just wasn’t right. The quiet sound of the bathroom door opening pulled him out of his mind and he snapped his head up to see who’d entered. His eyes widened slightly as he saw y/n, he hadn’t expected her to follow him.

“What are you-”

“-are you okay?” 

She whispered out as she quickly walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her quietly hoping no one noticed, lord knows gossip would arise between the workers of the household, she’d caught them talking before. He let out an exasperated exhale. Of course, of course she was checking in on him like she always did. He felt his heart flutter slightly at the thought of her worrying about him,

“I’m fine.”

 He responded quickly. He turned to the sink, turning on the faucet and filling his hands with water, he held them in front of his face, not wanting the girl to see expression.

“Okayyyy.” She drew out as she leaned her back against the door of the bathroom, the cold wood pressing against the exposed back of her dress. Her arms crossed as she looked to him sceptically, “You seem a little…. on edge?”

Yeah you have no idea 

He let out a small scoff as she called him out on how he was acting. He was usually so good at hiding his emotions, but the girl had learnt to read him like an open book, it was almost infuriating how well she understood him.

“Really? What gave it away?” He replied sarcastically, he splashed the cool water on his face, trying to hide his expression from her once again.

“Oh I don’t know” She smiled in amusement as she walked over to where he was standing, heels clicking against the tiled floor. Pushing the toilet seat down the porcelain clinking slightly, she sat on the cover as she looked over to him tapping her manicured nails against the marble faucet counter. “Maybe cause you paraded off like a drama queen?” She teased.

He dismissed her with a dry laugh, his eyes rolling in annoyance as she spoke. He knew that she was only teasing him, and he would usually respond with witty remarks and banter, but he couldn’t focus enough to think of a retort back at her, as she sat so close to him taunting.

“Watch it or I’ll lock you in here.” He responded to her teasing, he was trying his best to sound unbothered but it came out as strained instead. Her eyes softened slightly at the sound of his voice. Standing up she stood next to him, hand coming up to place on his bicep in an offer of sympathy, “C’mon I’m serious… are you okay?”

His body tensed slightly as the girl’s hand rested on his arm. Her touch made his skin burn excitedly and he suddenly became hyper aware of how close her body was to his as he stood with his back to the sink. He couldn’t look up at y/n as her eyes gently searched his face, so he kept his eyes down, his jaw clenched. He felt a pang of guilt at her worry for him, he didn’t like it, and he didn’t like the fact he felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. 

If you really knew what I’m thinking, would you still react the same? 

“Yeah I’m good”

“Mkay.” She breathed out, taking a step back realising he needed his space. Her eyes couldn’t help but get caught on the small water droplets still on his face, clinging to his lashes which covered his troublesome eyes, dropping down and rolling down his cheeks, resting on the cupid bow of his lips. Her gaze lingered on his lips, almost involuntarily as she felt a sudden rush of heat she wasn’t prepared for, it was a startling realization, one that made her heartbeat quicken and her breath catch in her throat. 

Wait what?

The feeling of her hand leaving his arm sent a chill down his spine, he had to resist the urge to grab her hand and keep it on his arm. He closed his eyes shut as she stepped back, he was so confused. Why did the girl being so close to him suddenly make his body feel so weird. He opened his eyes after pulling the towel which he had lifted to wipe the water off his face away, to find y/n staring at him.

 “…you’re staring”

“Right”

She cleared her throat, why had her mouth gotten dry all of a sudden. She took a step back, hands clasped behind her back as she waited for him, looking down at the floor. He kept his eyes on her movement. Her body language seemed off for some reason. 

Is she... nervous? 

But that didn’t make sense, he was the one who was confused. Why was she acting so weird? He took a step forward until he was right in front of her, his eyes looking down at her intently, she still didn’t look up at him. He tilted his head down slightly, trying to get her to meet his gaze.

“Look at me”

Noting his shoes now standing opposite hers. Her eyes fluttered up looking at the boy in-front of her. She met his gaze with a small smile as she swallowed trying to regain her composure. 

Is my ovulation cycle earlier or what? 

He looked at her intently, his eyes searching her own, trying to figure out why she suddenly seemed so nervous. He noticed the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, he saw how her expression seemed to be fighting to stay composed, something was wrong, but he couldn’t work out what it was. His gaze darkened as his eyes continued to scan her face, not breaking contact with the girl’s own eyes,

“Tell me what’s wrong”

He spoke up, his voice low and quiet, in a tone she’d never heard from him before.

“Nothing” 

She spoke out a little too fast. She let out a sigh hand coming up to run over the arch of her brow. “Nothing… I’m just worried about you,” she spoke out, looking at him genuinely. That wasn’t wrong. 

He hummed with a hint of sarcasm, he didn’t believe her. He knew when she was lying, they’ve been friends long enough, and he was certain she was doing it right now. He’d never seen her so nervous, well maybe except for when they were younger and she’d made him meet up with her before her first date with some waitress- or something like that. It was driving him insane. 

“No way, don't lie to me. Something’s wrong. I know it is,” he spoke out firmly.

“If something was wrong I’d tell you,” she arched her brow as she looked up to him crossing her arms speaking out, 

“Would you tell me?”

His eyes bore into y/n’s as she stood in front of him with her arms crossed, her expression determined. 

“Yes I would. I don’t keep secrets from you.”

“Yeah well neither do I.”

 She asserted, looking at him as she tilted her head up. He exhaled loudly in frustration as she stood in front of him with her head held high and her arms crossed stubbornly.

“Bullshit. You obviously are keeping something from me right now. You’re acting weird” He had to put his hand on the counter to ground himself.

“I’m acting weird?” She let out a mocking laugh before pointing her finger towards him, “You’re acting weird!”

He couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his lips as she pointed at him, this was starting to feel more like an argument than a conversation.

“I’m not the one stuttering and staring at the floor” He retorted back harshly gesturing to her as he spoke.

“I’m not the one running away from the table!” she spoke out slightly louder now with wide eyes as her hand gestured out the door back to the table.

His eyes narrowed in response to her remark, this argument was going back and forth, and no one was backing down from their position, he’s been friends with her for too long to know definitely wasn’t going too.

Stubborn brat

Moody asshole

“I didn’t run away” He said, tone now defensive and cold.

“I-” She sighed out, fingers reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, “I didn’t come here to fight Rafe. I just wanted to know if you’re okay.”

He let the tension leave his shoulders as she spoke again, realising he’d projected his own frustrations onto her. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily and exhaled loudly, realising how annoyed he’d become for some reason. 

“Look… I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m alright princess.”

He didn’t like the way y/n still looked at him like she didn’t believe him, but he didn’t want to start another argument. He reached out to her gently, his pinkie finger wrapping around her own, the tradition starting when they were younger. 

“I mean it. I’m fine, I promise, alright?”

He spoke sincerely. He really was fine, he couldn’t say what had come over him before, but he was fine now. 

I think 

She smiled genuinely at his action, as she brought their hands up between them keeping their pinkies intertwined, “Pinkie promise?” She spoke out hushed as though it was a secret, she couldn’t deny it amused her, thinking back to how they used to do it when they were younger, it used to be a sacred oath back then.

His lips curled up in a smile as their pinkies intertwined together. He found the childhood gesture endearing, the thought that they both still did it even after all these years. He couldn’t deny it, it made his heart race in his chest. He chuckled lightly as he nodded his head gently, the sound of the girl’s voice whispering filling his ears.

 “Pinkie promise” He responded, his voice just as quiet as the girl's. He didn’t want anyone to hear them from outside the bathroom, as though it was their very own secret ritual once again. She let go of his finger gently as she took a step back nodding her head, her hand reaching out for the door handle, 

“I’ll wait for you outside?” she questioned as she pushed the cold handle, the metal letting out a tiny squeak at the pressure as she pulled it towards her. He sent her a nod, corners of his lips pulling up into a small smile as he turned back to the mirror, faucet turning on again. She slipped through the door, closing them behind her. She let out a breath, leaning her back against the door, hand coming up to push her hair out of her face. 

What the fuck was that about…?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @evermorx89

[satoruhour]

Just thought of something FREAKY in class… Single father Satoru looking for a babysitter and you’re looking for a side income during semester break and the tension goes crazy!!!! “We should’t be doing this my son will wake up” I���M GONNA SCREAMMMM

BLISS, PURE BLISS

a/n: happy new year LMFAOOO. thank you for all the asks btw i promise ill answer them asap 🥹 / @shotorus @osaemu @shidouryusm @mysugu @hyomagiri ♱

wc: 6.4k

warnings: ‘onee-san’ used but more of just addressing reader as an older figure because saying babysitter is kinda weird lol (kind of like how chinese people use 姐姐 even if they are not related), fem!reader, dilf!gojo, age gap (gojo in his late 30s, reader in mid-20s), angst if u squint, bit of slow burn n tension, making out, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, praise, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, p -> v sex, multiple rounds, consensual filming, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

“no fucking way . .” you mumble mostly to yourself, standing in front of the largest house of the gated community in roppongi, and while you knew the people here were excessively and obnoxiously rich, you’re never quite prepared until you’re getting a key card specifically mailed to your name just so you could enter.

you’re not even shameful when you take a video to send to your best friends, locking your screen almost immediately because you knew you’d never get to the job on time if you replied to them. with calculated steps, you’re walking up the house that’s designed with a modern structure, yet still retaining characteristics of a traditional japanese home. it’s less prominent at the front of the house, though.

“(y/n)-san, was it?” a voice startles you out of your ogling sessions. if the garden was already this nice, what would be in store for you when you went in? you’ll be finding out soon when your employer himself opens the door to you, a man with striking white hair and equally striking blue eyes that seem to look right into you. he’s dressed in a suit, probably no doubt ready to get to work while you’re out here taking your time. you cringe, immediately walking up to the door.

“y-yes! yes, i’m sorry sir, i was just uhm—”

he holds that intimidating stare just for a moment but then he breaks into a smile that mirrors the bright sun that shines down on the porch.

“it’s alright . . it’s not everyday you’re working at some rich guy’s house, right?” he jokes but that strikes a little ick into you — he’s already ticking the boxes of obnoxious and excessively rich, but you hate the effect he’s having on you.

“yeah . . no, i guess,” he hums in reply before sticking a hand out.

“gojo satoru,” he introduces himself, “call me anything but that sir shit, alright, doll?”

you nod obediently, trying not to let the little pet name get to your head because he probably does this to any babysitter who comes through the house, but either way, he’s welcoming you in and it’s like you step into a world unreal. it’s spotless, the floors shining under the sunlight, a large television in the living room, a spacious open concept dining-kitchen area, and this is just the first floor.

gojo takes his time to show you the house — where his kid’s toys were, where the food was, where the bathrooms and bedrooms were, it was never-ending. every step you took made you feel like you were walking the length of the nile, each turn only revealing more rooms and corridors.

and then, finally, his baby boy.

“he’s a cheeky one, takes after his dad,” even with all the cockiness he’s shown to you, you can tell he has a soft spot for his kid. the boy stirs from his father’s voice, gleaming in happiness as he puts out his smaller hands to be picked up. as he settles into his arms, it’s just sinking in how tall your employer is. he makes a toddler look like a baby with how small his son looks wrapped snugly.

“satoshi, hi,” he whispers, bouncing the kid in his arms, “want to say hi to your onee-san?”

you manage a small wave but all he does is turn to hide in his father’s arms, definitely scared from a random stranger suddenly talking to him.

“she’s going to be taking care of you for the next month or so, you know?” he mumbles, brushing a hand through the matching white hair, “be nice to the babysitter, okay?”

all satoshi does is hum into his dad’s neck before he’s giving you a sheepish smile. “he’s like that, don’t worry about him.” and you return the smile, thinking that he wasn’t that obnoxious that you thought and that maybe he’s really a dad trying his hardest for his one kid. you realise he’s taking too much time, though, and so you sought out to remind him.

“oh, uh sir— gojo-san, don’t you have to go to work?”

although he’s mentioned satoshi to be taking after him, the boy goes right back to sleeping when he’s put back into his bed so you follow gojo as he adjusts his cuffs and smoothes out his collar just outside the room and you make the mistake of glancing upon the mirror on the far end of the corridor — it was undeniable that you looked like a high-end couple who’s newly married and raising a kid. you try to shake off the thoughts of adjusting his tie for him.

“it’s not being late if you’re on top.” he smirks and you resist the urge to roll your eyes; at least you weren’t alone in purging the delusional thoughts from your head, he was basically helping you at this point and you struggle between characterising him as conceited and admirable. “but, yeah, i should get going.”

but he stands at the door with backpack slung onto one shoulder while he continues to explain satoshi’s routines to you, his habits and also had to sneak in a few cute photos of the kid while squealing repeatedly and you’re left wondering how this guy could be the CEO of a company.

it’s been like that for as long as you can remember — bidding goodbye to your parents as you tell them that you’re off to your part-time job over the winter break. they’re happy you’re even leaving the house, shoving your lunch into your hands with big smiles that you’re at least doing anything other than sitting in your room. the train ride to the gated residential was nice, too, apart from the very crowded subways for people going to work in roppongi.

gojo greets you every morning when you arrive, reminding you of satoshi’s feeding times and his favourite shows and everything a father should know but don’t have the luxury to experience with aforementioned kid. it’s a little bittersweet, every time you see him kiss satoshi goodbye that turns into remaining in his room, to holding your hand and saying goodbye to daddy from the second floor, to getting carried by you at the front door.

it’s slow but sure progress day after day, from watching his cartoons, feeding him at the kitchen island, playing with his toys, that satoshi feels more and more comfortable with you, learning that while he was a well-behaved boy, he definitely had hints of your employer in him. mannerisms, words, voice, you wonder whether he even got any part of his mother in his genes.

you’d never ask, though, but it was told. unexpectedly.

“i’m home—” the last parts of his word die down into a whisper when he opens the door to see satoshi cuddled up to you, the last bits of home alone playing softly. by now you already know what happens in the movie so you’re texting your friends and laughing softly to yourself, jumping when your boss steps past the doorway. gojo winces when he checks his watch (“fuck. it’s already ten.”), toeing his shoes off and apologising simultaneously.

“oh— man, i’m so sorry, i had a late meeting with the CEO of our neighbouring franchise, i totally forgot about the time—” gojo’s quick to make his way down to the small pit of the house (he likes to call it the conversation pit), settling down on the side where satoshi had his head in your lap as his eyes linger on the movie. instinctively, his hands reach to pat his leg.

“oh, it’s okay, gojo-san, it’s the holidays anyway.”

“yeah?” he turns to you, one arm propped on the back of the sofa, “and why don’t a pretty girl like you have any plans?”

that catches you off-guard, among the many other times he’s called you pretty or sweets like no care in the world. you’re never quite used to it, too, seeking to fluster you. “you shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, gojo-san . .”

“why not?” he’s turned back to the television, now, and you take his place, staring at his side profile as the scenes of the movie move along his face. “i’m a single dad, aren’t i?”

“yeah but . . you could have anyone.”

“what if,” he turns and you chicken out, head snapping back to the front while he watches you and the both of you cannot deny the tiring dance you perform around each other all the time. the clench in his heart when he sees you carry his baby boy at the porch and the small smile he gives you every morning before he leaves for his job. he doesn’t want to go through with it and sighs.

it’s become hard to breathe around you. it’s become hard to hold himself back around you.

“i worked too much.” he suddenly says, facing the TV again. “i was too engrossed and . .”

confusion seeps in at first. yeah, it was no secret he worked his ass off despite being at the very top. your gaze falls to satoshi, curling more into your side like he’s cold and you adjust the blanket. you nod in recognition.

“we fought a lot. i tried— i tried to alter my schedule as much as i could, driving to and fro whenever she needed me, bringing satoshi to work as a baby when we couldn’t come to a compromise, but it was a lot. for her, for satoshi. he could sense whenever we were about to fight, on edge voices, items clattering to the floor . .”

by now, he’s leaned back, back of his hand resting on his forehead, “and he’d cry like he was interrupting us. cheeky, i told you,” and his eyes close, “we hardly reached middle ground. it was either this or that, hire a nanny or we take care of him, my endless job or the joy of life. i’m ashamed that i’ve prioritised my job more, and still do it now.”

“if you didn’t, i wouldn’t be here, would i?”

that draws a chuckle out of him, “correct.”

“she couldn’t take it, not when she was a businesswoman on top of that. she was out doing herself at every aspect in her job, going to greater heights, and while she accused me of putting work first, she isn’t entirely innocent, either. but that’s . .”

“you don’t have to say anything, gojo-san,” you mumble as you watch the reunion of the characters in the movie before the screen cuts the black, no doubt affecting him in some way at the warmth displayed by the movie that contrasts heavily with his situation, “the fact that you even told me is . .”

the heavy atmosphere is disrupted by satoshi gasping, “papa! you’re home.”

you exchange awkward smiles as you watch the boy fight his way out of the blanket to hug gojo, the latter huffing when the boy drops his body weight on him and you take it as a sign to give them a bit of privacy, standing up to clean up the popcorn and cups. laughter and your employer’s voice resonate throughout the place even as they go up the stairs, a rare occasion where gojo is able to get his son ready for bed.

it’s only maybe an hour later when the house falls into silence. mouth burning from the mouthwash, the heater in satoshi’s room turned to a high setting, one bedtime story was read (which, he fell asleep halfway), the boy was out like a light. you felt it inappropriate to leave without at least saying goodbye, but you also didn’t want to cut into their time together; at least, that’s what you told yourself.

so you waited with your things on the kitchen island, getting a risky text just as gojo comes down, still in his suit from work.

[11:02pm, nobara -> you] BITCH GET THAT DICKKKKK!!!!!!! 

and you yelp softly, slamming your phone down onto his marble counter. thankfully, he doesn’t notice, eyes close to shutting from fatigue. 

“oh, shit, you’re still here?”

“i thought it would be, weird, if i didn’t say goodbye,” you get ready to leave, slinging your tote bag on, “but i also didn’t want to intrude on your time with satoshi, limited as it is.” well, you did also wish something would happen, but you had too much pride to admit it to yourself.

“you got a ride home?” he yawns and you feel guilty for extending your stay already. you didn’t even need to worry about the front door, he lived in a gated community for christ’s sake!

“um, not really, but i can always book an uber home.”

“i’ll drive you home, it’s unsafe,” is all he says like he’s trying to convince himself, “let me just get changed and we can go.”

gojo doesn’t leave you any room to protest before he’s up the stairs again and you’re left with a pounding heart and dizzy head, not sure what might ensue. you know him to be honourable; you’ve seen him with his child, you’ve seen him interact with his neighbours, but a late ride with your boss sounds sketchy as it is.

but it doesn’t feel like it when you feel the tokyo wind blowing through your hair, a slight gap in the window bringing you the chills of the night as he silently drives you back home. sitting in your employer’s car most of all felt weird, but even more so when he’s reaching your home faster than the gps system had predicted. his knuckles are white.

“you—”

your head snaps to him, “yes?”

his car headlights are the brightest in the parking lot where every car is silent, quiet, much like his clammy hands and red cheeks. gojo satoru turns to you, feeling that familiar tug in his heart and lump in his throat for the first time in a while, and he can’t speak.

but you lean forward like your life depends on it and you leap inwardly when you see that he does the same. eyes trained forward, your stares boring into the other, waiting to see who’d close their eyes first. you just stop short of an inch, met with the hypnotising swirls of raging oceans in gojo’s eyes and you swallow when his eyes flit down to your lips and back up like he wouldn’t get caught.

with shaking hands, your fingers trace over his lips and you sigh when you feel just how soft they are, just like his skin, just like his eyes when they look at satoshi. your heart skips a beat when he just lightly kisses the pads of your fingers, and that encourages you to cradle his cheek, up his jaw, up his undercut.

“let’s just kiss, yeah?” he was afraid that if he spoke too loud, he’d shatter the glass, snap the string of tension, voice cracking until you swallow it, you stomach his nervousness with a lively, strong kiss from your lips to his, and he just melts.

gojo hums into the kiss, leaning forward over the stick shift and into the passenger seat before you counter it with your own movements: hand on his shoulders and pushing until you’re on his space of the driver’s seat and playing the game of tug that’s been going on for the past few weeks. you win.

“god, you’re so . .” gojo whines out when you climb onto him, whispering into your mouth while you get comfortable in your straddling position, cutting him off with a second, rougher kiss and you both moan softly, passion taking over in the evident way your arms scramble to wrap around him while he pulls you flush against his front.

the car is filled with sounds of your kissing, something that definitely shouldn’t be done in his home and yet you risk it all in your home’s parking lot. you break the kiss and hide in his neck, already starting the makings of a hickey there while your pelvis selfishly grinds into his front and he kneads your ass. in the mingling of breaths and moans, he’s left to stop the two of you when there’s a muffled ringtone coming from your bag and you swallow at the insanity of the situation.

“i’ll see you, monday, right?” gojo breathlessly says later, bulge still showing through his sweats while you hang outside the driver’s side, not wanting to leave. he takes your hand, planting a peck on it and then brings you in for another harmless kiss.

“yeah, gojo-san . . monday.”

you lose count of how many times you’ve swallowed throughout the night, but he says something to lift the mood just a bit.

“we just made out and you’re still calling me by my last name?”

you laugh lightly, “monday, satoru. i’ll be there, same time, on monday.”

gojo leaves a farewell kiss to the inside of your wrist, “attagirl.”

 but if you’re not careful, it might just happen in satoru’s house.

the remainder of your employment at his house is tiring. it’s so hard not to kiss him before he leaves for work, so difficult not to long for him while you take care of satoshi, so entirely harrowing not to claim him as yours as you watch him play after his work. at this point, you’re hoping school will just start soon and the rush of assignments and readings will take your mind off of it, but you cannot deny the excitement every time you leave your house.

“you’ll bring food and cook every monday, wednesday, friday, and i’ll order food for the both of you every tuesday and thursday, how’s that?” gojo thinks it’s time to introduce him to larger pieces of food, but it’s gone past that by now and to your meal arrangements.

“i’m okay with cooking, though!” you assure him, and plus, you loved your parents’ home cooked bentos that they give you everyday, “do we gotta?”

“sorting out meals is tiring, (y/n),” gojo takes the place beside you, leaning against the counter just like you before drinking out of his cup, “i want to at least help at little.”

“you already are.” you smile, “i can see you making the effort.”

“it’s not enough, though, i could be doing better.”

gojo hates how this scene sets up — like two parents just figuring out the best for their kid — it’s a callback to the memory in the same exact kitchen. at least all you do is kiss and make out, because he wouldn’t know what to do if you moan out his name in that same intimate way that threatens his walls to come down again. he loved sex, he loved the bedroom, but he’s riding a thin line the way he’s doing with you.

“you are,” is everything that you say, and you leap forward to kiss him. you do it so hard that he has to put down the glass to fully embrace you, walking you backwards to the conversation pit and he carries you so effortlessly because he doesn’t want you walking backwards down some stairs.

he hates how you bring him into your lips, he hates how gently he lays you down, and he hates how you accept the kisses down your neck and body. you, on the other hand, aren’t doing so well, either — it’s either a hit or miss with a broken man like gojo satoru, and you’re stepping on glass shards hoping you don’t say anything wrong with him because he’s trying his best but he just can’t see it.

“are you okay with this?” he asks halfway down your torso and he gets lightheaded from how well his hands cover your waist. “tell me to stop, and i’ll stop.”

“n-no . . keep going, satoru.”

he exhales shakily at that, fingers tugging your top up and his hands are so cold you resist shivering, but you do anyway from the sheer fucking craziness that gojo drives you into. one pop of your button, and you’re already lifting your hips off the couch for him to remove your pants but movement on the stairs make you halt.

“papa?” satoshi calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes and pouting. you can see it, almost, with how much time you’ve spent with the kid, and you hope he can’t see you. “i . . i had a nightmare and i just— i wanna sleep with you.”

he’s started sniffling and you feel your heart break that he knows his papa well enough to know he would never sleep in his room. his job always has him sleeping out in the living room.

go. you mouth, kissing your fingers and pressing it to his lips before he puts on a show — yawning, stretching his arms, already making satoshi feel at ease with his theatrics before he’s stopping at the foot of the stairs to look back at you. you already know gojo satoru has redeemed himself a hundred times over. i’ll see you tomorrow. 

funnily, satoshi somehow does have some intervention powers, because each time the both of you attempt to go down on each other, he’s either saying he threw up, or he needs to use the toilet, or that he’s hungry. while you both love him to death, it’s also becoming difficult to hold back each time you see each other. his car in your parking lot is all he has and you dare not to go to his workplace where rumours would spark.

so after a tiring night of getting a hyper satoshi to sleep, you’d at least try. at this point, you know not to expect too much out of it, starting always with some talking. it was easy to talk to your boss, and when you phrase it like that, it did come off a little strange, but it was far from that when your boss in his late 30s looked just like he did ten years ago and that he had crazy blue eyes and insane white hair and was hot.

“thank you for taking care of him for the past month and a half,” gojo thanked you, leaning over to give you a peck to the temple, “it means a lot.”

“he’s a sweet boy, plus, i do need the money,” you giggle, nudging him, “and it did let me get to know you . .”

“certainly,” he mumbles. drunk off your scent, he leans in again, kissing you fully on the lips now. you hum softly, going on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around his shoulder. swiftly, he props you on the kitchen counter and you yelp in surprise, unable to help the throb of your pussy when he slots himself in between your legs.

jokingly, he puts his hand to his ear. “no satoshi interruption tonight?”

you smack his shoulder, “don’t jinx it.”

he laughs, a proper laugh before he sighs shakily, fingers thumbing your sides gently. “you know . . we shouldn’t be doing this,” you feel your heart sink a little, but he quells it with hovering lips over yours, “he could hear and wake up.”

“then why have you been accepting all my kisses, gojo satoru?” your eyes challenge him, but you know one touch from him would have you submitting to him. his breath fans over your lips, and you can feel his pulse speed up when your fingers go over his neck, to his nape, to his undercut. you run your fingertips through it.

“you have too much power over me, simple.” that sentence has your eyes fluttering close. it’s too much for you and yet you welcome it with open arms, “it’s become so bad that you’re all i think about.”

“is that so?” you pull lightly on his hair.

he nods, foreheads touching now and he’s trying to hold himself back, but, “i’ve been holding back, entirely too much, baby, and i don’t think i can, anymore.”

“yeah?” you whisper, bringing him in with your legs, “show me, then.”

gojo satoru decides that maybe taking the leap isn’t so bad, so he fully gives himself to you, tugging your lips to his in a clashing kiss that has you groaning in pain just a bit. he giggles and apologises and tries again, and this time, it’s got your hips moving against him, whimpering into his mouth. gojo’s hard just from kissing, something that he’s desperate to relieve himself off so — he’s whispering for you to hang on while he slots his hands under your ass and lifts you.

satoru knows his house well, walking up with you in tow and lips still on yours, right into his room. you giggle when he plops you down and he’s already looking forward to ravishing you, but —

“let me check on satoshi for a sec.”

you laugh silently, “of course, satoru, go.”

and once your boss’ made sure his son is out cold in slumber, he’s all over you again and definitely showing you how much he’s been holding himself back. you’re the pure focus of the night, making you chase for more when he pulls away and kissing down your body. he worships it, tongue circling a nipple while his hand plays with the other, eyes staring holes into yours from how intense the blue was.

“s-satoru . .”

“yes, sweets, what is it?”

“feels good—” you whine, back arching into his hold once he leaves your tits and continues down your body. each kiss is like hellfire against your cold skin, and he pops a button and listens out again, both of you sighing in relief and giggling to each other when you don’t hear a knock on the door.

“does it? good.” it’s tantalisingly slow, the pace at which gojo peels your clothes off, but when your pants are finally off, he marvels at your beauty as he brings your legs apart. you’re shy, hiding yourself behind your arms and resisting his hands.

“aht, no, c’mon, show yourself, baby.” he only moans when he sees the dark patch at the centre of your underwear, pressing a finger into your clit and you’re ashamed at how intensely you react to it. gojo continues his torture, thumbing your bud just to watch your face contort into pleasure, “so, so pretty.”

you preen at the praise, even more so when he pulls your panties to the side and sucks slowly on your clit. it’s slow, again, and you’re clutching the sheets so tight when he lays his tongue flat against your pussy. satoru takes his time, savouring each bit of your cunt to make up for lost time, filling the room with the lewdest noises of your sopping cunt on his tongue.

“taste so fuckin’ sweet, pussy’s s’good,” he practically moans into your core, arms wrapping around your thighs to bring you closer while you try to keep your noises down to a minimum. little pants and mewls leave your lips, eyes never leaving the head of hair.

but he’s unpredictable, as gojo always is, so when he’s hovering over you just to give you a little innocent kiss, you think nothing of it, until he’s back in front of your pussy and starts eating you out like a starved man. you let out a loud moan, dragging it out until you’re gulping down your next sounds. it doesn’t help much, though, cause gojo’s slurping at your pussy like it’s the end of the world.

“s-satoru—! too much—” you moan but your hips grind into his mouth, your hands now finding purchase in his hair, “t-too loud.”

“mmf— don’t care,” he mumbles into your cunt, making sure he gets every drop of your arousal on his tongue while he abuses your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking hard and you think it’s the best head you’ve ever gotten.

“not when your cunt’s so perfect,” you only press his head deeper into you like it would stop his muffled sentences, but that only spurs him to suck harder before he just shifts down a little to plunge his tongue into your hole. you choke out a moan as his nose nudges your clit, clenching around his muscle.

“relax— mmhh, you gotta relax, baby,” he’s massaging your thighs but if anything it does the exact opposite, closing your thighs around his head in sensitivity.

“it’s— h-hard to,” you moan out, already feeling the coil in your tummy that’s approaching oh, so quickly when gojo eats you out like this. he shifts his attention back to your puffy clit, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours and you shrivel under his intense stare, “w-when you’re making me feel s’good—!”

you feel him smile into your cunt but he says nothing, taking note of the drop of your jaw, the scrunch of your eyes, the contractions of your stomach. your legs like to straighten out and shake when you’re close, he memorises. when you start to tighten your grip on his hair, he ingrains it in his mind.

“cumming— i’m c-close,” but it’s like satoru doesn’t even need it when his eyes digest the way he sends you over the edge with just his tongue.

“g— god! satoru!” your mouth falls into a silent scream after, head dipping so much into the pillow while you grind your cunt into his face, gushing all over his face with a renewed spirit and regret for all those times that men have rubbed your left lip thinking it was your clit.

“let it go, yeess . . that’s it,” satoru doesn’t hesitate to get sloppy, sucking up all your cum, gasping for air once he’s done with his meal, “pretty girl just came all over my face.”

you struggle to your elbows despite the words he utters, propped up just to catch a glimpse of him and the soaked bottom of his face that stretches into a smile.

“was that better than all the uni boys who’ve never felt the touch of a woman?” you laugh at that, making quick work of grabbing his chin and bringing him back to your lips.

“much, much better.” and you take the opportunity to flip the tables, trembling, shaking legs trying their best to wrap around his torso to straddle him —  but once you’re over, you’re not quite sure what to do apart from letting your hands roam all over the expanse of his shoulders and chest.

“and can she do it again all over my cock?” the obscene words sound almost taboo falling from his mouth that your mouth drops open in initial shock, but it subsides into anticipation soon enough.

wordlessly, you take matters into your own hands, fingers making quick work of his trousers while he removes his top impatiently. the scowl on your face is prominent when you struggle to work his belt out and he chuckles with helping hands, the burn on your face deepening.

“there,” gojo giggles and he pulls you in with a peck-filled apology, “don’t worry, we have all the time in the world.”

you hum, “not when your son could knock any time soon.”

that prompts a giggle that fades off into a loud moan once your warm hand wraps around him, something that he’d never tell you how many times he’s fantasised about. slowly, you stroke his cock, excruciatingly slow just like how he’s done to your cunt earlier.

you’re hovering over him, now, dragging his tip along your pussy and whining softly at the pre-cum that mixes together with your juices. you need him into you as soon as possible, and apart from your soon burning thighs, you’ve been wanting this for as long as you’ve stepped foot into his house from the very first day.

inch by inch, you sink down onto gojo’s weeping cock, getting the luxury of feeling his sensitive twitches with the plunge into your cunt. you’re glad at least he had offered to stretch you out just a tad bit earlier, the intrusion of his fingers already having you panting for his dick; and now, when you have the real thing, it drives your mind insane.

“’t-toru— haah . .” your body curls up from the painful stretch, lips muttering the nickname unknowingly as you grasp onto his shoulders for support, and while he helps you on, he never stops saying the most filthy things, grinning each time you clench around him.

“never thought i’d be here, fuckin’ the babysitter, but here we are,” your oh my god is whispered only for the other to hear, body burning up from the words before he grinds his pelvis into yours and you slump forward in pleasure. your words are a bunch of nothingness, a string of incoherence, “and her pussy’s just so fucking— tight!”

giving you one or two breaths of rest, satoru coos in your face, cradling it and littering kisses all over it before he’s moving his hips and you’re breaking the kiss to whine out, moving your hips to meet his as well. you move sooner or later, bouncing on his cock once you’re more used to him in you and the position only hits all your spots just right.

“f-fuck— you’re so big—!” you roll your hips into him, eyes stuck on how there’s just a small bump in your tummy each time you bottom out. your boss from across you is equally ruined, eyes struggling to keep open with wet hair stuck to his forehead. “feel so so g-good . .”

“yeah?” he breathlessly mumbles, hand squeezing and kneading your ass and trying to help you, but the warmth of your cunt around his length just feels too good. “bounce on that dick, baby.”

and you do, planting your feet into the bed and fingers creating bruises along his shoulders as you impale yourself on his fat cock, switching to relaxing in his embrace and letting your hips do the work when your legs start hurting. there, you indulge in gojo’s lips as you hump him, the delicious friction of your clit against his pubes sending you reeling.

“you’re going to be soaking my sheets from how much you’re leaking,” gojo jests, letting your moans take over his mind while his lips trace down your neck, eyes just peeking over to see your ass ripple from the force. “not that i mind. how’s she doin’?”

“she’s getting,” a choked whine interrupts you, “a little tired.”

and that draws a laugh out of gojo who does nothing but tease you, something he likes to do even in makeout sessions, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach over to his bedsie table to grab his phone, leaning back to bask in your glory. here, your body just looks heavenly as you try your best to move on his lap.

“hang on a little more for me, princess,” with one hand, his larger hand leave chills all over your body and the other points his phone at you, not before making sure you were okay with it, “and smile for the camera.”

you try your best even when his hand make his way to your mouth, pulling it open with his fingers to slot it in. you’re sure you look like a whore right now, but the camera pointed your way only turn you on more, like it’s beckoning you to put on a show. and you loved the attention, so you close your lips around his fingers and start sucking, grinding even harsher on his cock that has gojo stuttering.

“y—yeah, attagirl . .” he grins at the video he takes, “show the camera how much of a cockslut you are.”

you whine, bringing the hand to your clit while you shove two hands onto his torso to really work your thighs out, feeling that familiar curl in your stomach once he starts rubbing his saliva-filed fingers along you bundle of nerves. 

“r-right there, satoru—!” you swear under your breath, giving hooded eyes to the camera while you chase your high drunkenly, all sort of coherent thought banished from your head. “love your cock, love it, love it—!”

satoru swears he wants to cum from just watching you use him, and even holding himself back is proving difficult when you clamp and tighten around him until his fingers press particularly deep into your clit and you’re cumming with a loud cry of his name, body convulsing all over the video.

“tha’s a good girl . . cream my cock, yeeaaahh . .” gojo watches, hypnotised, as you lose control over your body, but the pleasure-filled whimper that you merge his name with is just too good, that he spills unexpectedly in you. the video is far from stable, so he only slaps the phone down to relish in his orgasm. gojo pushes his hips up and you gasp at the feeling, back arching when you feel his cum seep into you.

you’ve never even given much thought to pregnancy, but the feeling of his cum dribbling into you fogs your mind that you only want more after a mental note to buy the morning after pill tomorrow.

“n-need more,” you beg, fondling at his cheeks and undercut, “w-want more cum in me, satoru . .”

and it’s like a flip switches in him, because he’s flipping you over right after — he has to see his cum leave your pussy first though, taking the still ongoing video and putting it right up to your pussy, using his tip to smear your mixed juices all around.

“who knew i’d hired such a dirty girl?” he addresses the camera more than you, but he catches your flustered glance with a wink and after poorly setting up the camera on his bedside table (he just was too intoxicated on your cunt), he’s pushing back into you with a loud groan, not even caring for the consequences any more. his cum is just so much, too, spilling out the sides.

“only f’r you,” you mumble, grabbing at his forearms needily. your eyes flutter close as he bottoms out, your legs pushed right up to your chest as he folds you whichever way he wants to. at this point, if he wanted to own you, you wouldn’t object one bit, not when gojo satoru’s cock stretches your pretty pussy so nicely. “a cumslut only for you.”

“yeah?” he starts moving his hips and your arch into his hold, “i wonder how i got so — fuck — lucky.” everything is sloppy and wet and disgusting and you love every moment of it, even after he’s cummed in you the second, third, fourth time, you’re happy to be pumped full of his cum, giving him a tired, glistening grin that he returns.

“think i should be transferring over my life savings for a cunt this sweet,” you giggle at the compliment, but don’t protest when he’s pulling up the app to gift you with a hefty amount; both your salary and bonus, all from making gojo satoru fall helplessly just from your touch — something to brag about indeed.

[one-sunny]

Favorites

Sanji x F!Reader

Summary: Following a comment from Sanji, you and the other girls begin to wonder which one of you is Sanji’s favorite girl. Mentions of blood (nosebleeds), a bet and kinda toxic behaviors, teasing Sanji, angst!!!

Masterlist

“Alright, ladies, here we are.” Sanji holds a tray of snacks and drinks in hand. He passes out the brightly colored drinks to each of you and turns to grab the snacks that he brought along. With a sweet smile, he offers you the plate, “For my favorite girl.” You stall for a moment in the grab, Sanji clearing his throat as he grabs the other plates. “For my other favorite.” He offers Nami the plate. “And for my other favorite.” Robin takes the plate from him as you look to each other in confusion.

The snacks and drinks were usual, even the cheesy nicknames, but this was the first time he referred to any of you as his ‘favorite’. As Sanji scurried away, your mind begins to wander. You glance to Nami and Robin who are indulging in their treats already.

You sit forwards in your sun lounger, “Who do you guys think is Sanji’s favorite?”

They both stall for a moment in thought.

“I vote Robin.” Nami shrug, sipping at her orange and pink drink.

You shake your head, “Nah, i think it’s you Nami.”

“It’s Y/N.” Robin declares.

Nami looks around for a moment, a bright smile pulling to her lips. “I bet it’s Robin.” She looks between you both with a mischievous smile.

“Nami.” You speak her name as a warning but that cheshire grin doesn’t falter. She quirks her brows up and glances between you and Robin. You let out a resigned sigh, “How on earth do you even plan to test it?”

“It’s Sanji.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t be all that hard to figure out.”

“Fine,” You laugh. “I bet it’s Nami.”

Robin raises a skeptical brow, “It’s definitely Y/N.”

Leaning forwards in her seat, Nami eyes Robin closely. “Believe it enough to bet on it?”

Robins mouth opens, she pauses, before a smile finally pulls to her lips. “Absolutely.”

And so the bet was settled.

Nami proposed a more subtle approach, knowing that Sanji would short circuit if the three of you confronted him about this. You are all special to him, you were almost certain he would blabber on about and blush.

As Zoro announces the approach of land, the mischievous grin reappears on Nami’s face. The group gathers and everyone begins to chatter in excitement to explore the island. As always, Nami planned to scope out any shops near by to help in completely filling every inch of her closet. With no responsibilities, you and Robin have no choice but joining her on such a quest.

“Sanji,” Nami grins at the man. “Will you join us?” With her unspoken role as the straw hat treasurer, she was well aware of how well stocked the kitchen was for the time being. Leaving the man free to explore as he pleased, or in this case, follow his crew mates ventures.

“Of course, Nami-swan.” He offers a big grin and the four of you are off.

Through countless stores and even more outfit try ons, Sanji follows close behind you all, holding bags and gushing compliments. An equal amount of compliments, Nami notes dejectedly.

The final store of the day was nearly empty, likely due to the hour of day and high price tags. This left the back area near the changing rooms near empty and Nami took the chance to spring into action.

Sanji was seated on one of the cushions before the two changing rooms doors, you and Robin at his sides, and various layers of dresses crowded in between. Nami is in one of the dressing rooms and asked for you all to give your opinions on a dress she wasn’t sure about. The door is soon thrown open and your jaw nearly drops.

Nami steps out in the dress that barely makes it past her butt, Sanji’s eyes blowing wide as she turns to the floor length mirror near by. “I’m not so sure about it.” She declares, offering a small twirl.

The man beside of you fidgets nervously with cheeks flushing a deep color. “You, uh, you look good.” He chokes out.

“You guys don’t think it’s too short?” Her arms lift up with the question, the fabric dragging up her thighs, proving that it was definitely far too short for the pirate life. But you know that she was already aware of such a thing.

Sanji raises a hand to his nose, trying to subtly wipe it against his black suit jacket, shoulders slumping.

Nami eyes him close through the mirror, before offering a simple shrug. “I don’t think i’ll get it.” She waltzes over to grab two different outfits. She offers one to you and one to Robin, before ushering the other women into the dressing room due to the… complicated straps involved on the dress.

You step into the other room to eye the short dress she had collected for you. Despite the competition sparking in the woman’s eyes, it was just your size and a color that would compliment your skin tone well. Stepping out of your clothes, you pull on the sleeved dress, adjusting the position of the cutout at the chest, before attempting to tug up the zipper. However, the awkward positioning of it, coupled with the snug fabric, it wasn’t working out.

“Nami?” You call out.

“Little busy.”

With a small sigh, you hold the front of the fabric to your skin and open the changing room door.

Sanji’s eyes immediately meet yours as you offer him a sheepish smile. “Uh, do you mind lending a hand?” He looks at you with wide eyes. “The, uh, zipper. I can’t reach.” You attempt to explain and he is soon scrambling to his feet.

“Of course, my dear.” He smiles.

You can practically hear the gulp as Sanji steps closer to you. He delicately takes the zipper between his fingers to drag it up your back, fingers brushing hair from its path and sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He lets out a shaky breath that fans over your skin, “Done.” There’s that love sick tone to his voice that you were all very familiar with, but it was laced with something else that you couldn’t quite place.

The dressing room door suddenly flies open and Robin steps out in her new outfit. Sanji takes an abrupt step away as Nami follows her out to urge her in front of the mirror. When you turn, you notice the gush of blood he is wiping as he seems to look away from Robin.

Nami shoots you a smug look.

Your lips purse as Sanji excuses himself from the three of you, muttering something about needing a cigarette, and an uncomfortable heat seems to settle deep within your chest. A hand presses into your sternum as you stare back at yourself in the mirror. At the sight of your frown, Nami waltzes over, looking at your reflection over your shoulder.

“The colors pretty on you, but I don’t think I like it either.” She simply shrugs.

After changing back into your own clothes, the three of you drift out of the store without making a single purchase, much to the shopkeepers dismay. There, you find Sanji leaning against the wall and puffing what you assume is his third cigarette since leaving you. He offers a sweet smile, collecting the bags from off the ground, and waving off any offers of help.

The walk back to the sunny goes by quick and you’re met with Luffy’s beaming smile as he fills the cook in on a local restaurant that he heard about. Sanji relents and Luffy is nearly vibrating in excitement at the prospect of food.

But Zoro snorts his protest, “Saw that place on the way back to the Sunny. It’s all high brow, suit and tie.” His nose wrinkles at the idea.

“That restaurant is on the other side of the island.” Chopper tips his head in confusion as he remembers the map he had found of the island. Zoro simply waves the comment off.

“Who cares! I heard they have this special squid dish that sounds really yummy.” Luffy practically salivates at the idea.

“They probably have some fancy booze.” Nami points out and the green haired man relents. “Plus, it gives us a chance to wear out our nice outfits that we can’t wear out at seas.” She beams at the idea of getting dressed up opposed to the usual itinerary of battle. Then, a mischievous grin pulls to her lips, “Sanji, you should wear that green button up you have.”

“Oh, uh,” He gapes, cigarette nearly falling from his mouth in shock.

“Or the purple, but I may be biased.” Robin simply shrugs.

You grin, playing into the mischief. “I think you look good in blue.” You state, ignoring the implications as you further the compliment. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Yeah, true. Blue is his color.” Nami’s head tips to the side in thought, her love for fashion outweighing everything else.

Sanji flushes a bright red as he inhales a deep puff of smoke. “Right, uh, i’ll do that.” He mutters to himself, unable to meet your eye. The reaction makes your heart flutter- face nearly going pale at that realization.

“We, uh, we should go get ready.” You clear your throat in effort to stamp down anything trying to rise up inside of you. Nami seems none the wiser, but Robins eyes linger on you a beat too long as you all head to the girls quarters.

The next bit is a flurry of fabric and products as you all enthusiastically get ready for the fancy meal. Shoes were the next big speculation. It was never certain if this would become a dine and dash situation, or if a fight would break out for what ever reason. That was the uncertainty of the straw hats.

You all finally emerged to the rather impatient group of men, some dressed far nicer than others. Regardless, the group followed whatever ridiculous dress code and would be granted the way in.

Eyes fall to Sanji and a heat fills your being at the light blue button up he adorned, the silk fabric perfectly complementing his eyes, just as you had said. He offers a bright smile and the usual spiel of compliments for the three of you.

“Doesn’t the new dress look really good on Robin, Sanji?” Nami prompts, batting her lashes at him. The man simply smiles and echoes the compliment.

As the push and pull goes on, all the way to the restaurant, your shoulders sag a little bit more. A strange nausea settles in your stomach despite how hungry you had been moments ago. As Nami peers back at you with her teasing grin, you can only force a smile.

The group is met with a rather exasperated waiter as Luffy continues to be his rowdy self despite the places atmosphere. Menus are offered and drinks delivered. Yet you can’t even bring yourself to focus on the matter as Nami and Robin continue their challenging chatter.

“Hey,” Sanji’s voice is soft from your side. “You okay?” His warm gaze settles on you and that feeling in your stomach becomes overwhelming. The tips of your ears heat up and you have to force your eyes back to the menu.

“Yeah, i’m all good.” You mutter, drawing in a shaky breath. “Just, uh, can’t decide.”

Sanji hums in thought for a moment, before tipping his menu toward you to point something out. “You should get this, sounds like something you would like.” The sweet sincerity. The simple act of knowing. It makes your heart flutter and you realize you could easily get lost in the blue of his eyes. And suddenly you really do want to throw up.

Because how long has he made you feel like this?

“Yeah.” Your voice cracks. “I’ll do that.”

The meal is delightful, but you can’t bring yourself to swallow more than a few bites. Sanji asks quiet questions throughout the night to ensure you were okay and undoubtedly adding mental notes to what ever list he kept up there. At the meals end, when Luffy has consumed all of his food and your left overs, the crew head back to the Sunny with smiles on their face.

But your shoulders are tense.

Upon your arrival, you call Nami and Robin into your shared room to demand the bet be stopped. To not push any further. It was all none of your business, truly, and you didn’t want the man who regarded you all so highly to somehow get hurt.

“We need to call it off.”

Nami’s laugh is breezy, “Why would we do that?”

“I don’t know, I just kind of feel bad about it all.” You awkwardly rub the back of your neck, silently pleading the women to give in without digging too deep. “Feel like we’re just messing with his emotions.”

“But we aren’t. It’s not like we’re messing with his head, i just want him to finally admit Robins his favorite.” Nami frowns at the implication that you all were hurting him in any way.

“Perhaps she’s right.” Robin settles on her bed in deep thought.

“Come on, it’s Sanji.” Nami attempts to wave it off. “He flirts with women, especially us, all the time. He can handle just a little bit of push back.” She looks between you both. “At least until we know who wins.”

“Let’s just say you win.” You sigh. “You’re right, Robins the favorite.”

“But we don’t know that for sure.” Nami huffs out. “If you both want to end this so bad, fine, but I think we should just ask him. I want an answer.”

“Let’s just leave it.”

“Robin, you agree right? I think we’re entitled to knowing.” Nami turns to focus on the raven haired woman. Her head tips to the side in thought, as if weighing out the options, and Nami takes that as a sign of silent agreement. “Then it’s settled. Let’s go ask.” And with that, she is off.

“Nami!” You call after her in protest.

Robin lets out a deep sigh as the two of you follow after her. She ends up in the kitchen, where Sanji is leaning over his log book for the kitchen supplies. He looks up, surprise evident on his face, as Nami leans directly on the counter in front of him.

“Sanji,” She begins and you groan at the gnawing feeling in your stomach. “We’ve been trying to figure it out all day but we can’t. So who is your favorite? Me, y/n, or Robin?”

Sanji watches her for a long moment, drawing in a deep breath of smoke, and slowly blowing it out away from Nami’s face. “You’ve been trying to figure out all day?” He glances over Nami’s shoulder at Robin. His eyes then lock on you, his face reads of betrayal and hurt, his lips turning down in a frown that he covers up with a cigarette. “So you’ve all just been messing with me today?” He nods slowly, as if playing back the whole day in his mind.

You step forward to speak your protest, “Sanji-“

“No. No it’s okay.” He waves a hand at you with a forced smile. “I love you ladies equally, I don’t have a favorite.” With that, he excuses himself from his own kitchen, leaving you all standing in defeat.

“We took it too far, didn’t we?” Nami frowns.

“That we did.” Robin confirms.

Her shoulders sag and she worries a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, I should have listened.” She huffs out with guilt weighing heavy. “We’re terrible people.”

But it falls on deaf ears as you waltz out the door and after the man.

It takes a moment to find him. You have to search nearly the entire ship before finally spotting him sitting among some cargo crates, knees to his chest, eyes turned up to the night sky. Watching him for a moment, your heart completely shatters as a shaky hand plucks the cigarette from his mouth.

“Sanji.” You hesitate stepping forwards. His head snaps over and he forces a smile that looks closer to a grimace. With a deep sigh, you move to sit beside of him. “You can tell me to go away if you want, but I just wanted to apologize.” He remains silent. “We made this stupid bet and, ugh, i don’t know. We got wrapped up in trying to prove our own points that we didn’t stop to think about how stupid we were being!”

“You’re not stupid.” He simply states.

But you shake your head, “Yes. Yes I am.”

His head finally tilts to look at you and you note the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. “You’re not stupid-“

“Sanji, i’m an idiot.” You interrupt, voice breathy as you look into pretty blue eyes. “Because I hurt an amazing guy like you. You’re so good to all of us and we just, ugh.” Scoffing at yourself, you notice the ghost of a smile in his expression. “I’m sorry, Sanji. I just, I need you to know that. I’ll leave you alone now but-“

“Can I be honest?” Sanji prompts, hands twisting together. You give a small nod as you prepare yourself for a blow that Sanji would likely never even offer. “You’re my favorite.” His voice is small, nervous, and he can’t even meet your eye.

“What?” The question is all you can force out.

“I, uh, said you’re my favorite girl. Favorite person ever, really.” He shakes his head, stamping out the butt of the cigarette on one of the crates beside him. “Always have been.”

“Oh.” You swallow hard as all the emotions that have been festering inside of you, the ones you have tried to shove down deep, rise right back up to the surface. Heat fills your cheeks and you’re suddenly trying to scrape together a rational thought. “Uh, can I be honest?”

Sanji nods with a tense smile, preparing for his own blow of rejection.

“I, uh, never really paid attention to it until now,” Your head tips to the side as you attempt to meet his eye. “You’re my favorite guy. Favorite person to be around, like, ever.”

“Ma cherie, my dear, my love, please.” His voice is weak and his head drops. “Don’t mess with me like that I can’t take it.” Hair blankets over both eyes now.

“Sanji,” You lean in hesitantly, hand finding his chin while the other brushes his bangs from his face. “I’m not messing with you. I’ll never do something like that again, I-“ Words catch in your throat but his expression pleads for more. So you take in a deep breath, preparing to speak words unspoken, the very thing that you have been trying to suppress. “I like you, Sanji, a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” You let out a breathy laugh as his pretty blue eyes light up and a smile breaks out across his face. The heat is evident against your palms as a blush covers his cheeks.

His eyes flicker away for a brief moment, “Can I- Can I kiss you?” Your gaze softens at the bashful expression on his face and you offer a firm nod. Sanji scoots closer, bringing you into his embrace, and gazing at you with a love sick expression.

And while you have seen that look before, it held a new weight.

His lips hesitantly brush over yours, as if still expecting the rejection. When you don’t pull away, he pushes forwards, lips pressing firmly against your own. Your hands move from his cheeks to wrap around his neck and pull him in more closely.

Sanji smiles against your lips at the action.

Lost in the embrace, neither of you seem to notice as Nami and Robin approach, fully ready to apologize. Instead, Nami’s jaw drops and Robin hides a laugh behind her hand.

“I can’t believe I lost!” Nami pouts.

Robin laughs to herself as the two turn to walk away, a silent agreement that they could come back to apologize when Sanji was a little more… available. “Did you really think I would take a losing bet?”

[sematarygirls]

can you do rafe and reader matching Halloween costumes?

🎃 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── you make rafe do a couple's costume !

   "This is the stupidest fuckin' idea you've ever had," Rafe grumbled begrudgingly as he stood in the bathroom, looking at his reflection in the mirror to aid him in tying his tie.

"We look so cute!" you beamed, ignoring your grumpy boyfriend's dramatics. You had the bright idea that since it was your first Halloween together, it would be so cute to do a couple's costume. Of course, Rafe vehemently protested this idea because he thought he was too cool for Halloween and that dressing up was stupid and childish. The only part he liked of the season was the copious parties with scantily clad women in their sexy-fied costumes and free booze.

It took a great deal of begging and pleading (and a promise of lots of sex to make up for his trouble and lost street cred) for him to finally agree to dress up with you, but when he did, you were over the moon.

You had tons of different ideas. Rafe insisted on the whole cop and prisoner costume, but you shut him down, knowing he had ulterior motives. He just wanted an excuse to put you in handcuffs and have you at his side the entire night. You also considered Ghostface and Sidney Prescott, but you pocketed that idea for another time when finally, you thought of Morticia and Gomez Addams.

You knew Rafe would be more inclined since the costume mainly just consisted of a suit, which meant he wouldn't be dressing up as much as the other costumes demanded. Plus, you knew he'd never pass up the chance to see you in a black dress that hugged you in all the right places—he was a man after all.

His gaze flickered over to your reflection in the mirror, roaming your figure appreciatively. That dress was working for you, and the makeup you'd done to complete the look just made you look all the more sexy. "Why don't we just stay home, yeah?" He proposed. As good as the costume looked on you, he knew it would look better on his bedroom floor.

You rolled your eyes at his entirely predictable suggestion. "I did not get all dressed up just to stay inside all night," you told him, pulling at his arm to turn him toward you, so you could fix his tie. "Besides," you glanced up at him, a smile tugging at your lipstick coated lips. "I want to show all your friends how whipped I've got you."

"I'll take this shit off right now," he threatened, but you knew he wouldn't dare, not when he was betting on you putting out tonight.

"Oh, cmon, don't be like that," you grinned, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. He tried to pull you closer and deepen the kiss, but you pulled away. "Ah ah ah," you scolded, using your thumb to swipe away some lipstick that had transferred onto his lips. "You're gonna mess up my makeup."

"You just wait till tonight. I'm gonna mess up your makeup alright," he smirked, his eyes glinting with promise as his hands went to your hips, tugging you closer.

"Mhm," you giggled, planting your hand on his chest and pushing him away. "Keep it in your pants, pretty boy," you told him, turning back to the mirror to fix your smudged lipstick. He crossed his arms watching you intently, thinking of all the things he was going to do to you when you two got back from the Halloween party.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

It’s so sad how mullet Stan lacks content of him 😭😭I wish there would be more fics of him so that’s why im gently asking you to give us more mullet Stan crumbs, it can be anything, headcanons or fic 😔 I will eat everything you’ll serve

⤿❝ Mullet!Stanley x reader headcanons (sfw & nsfw)⭑

a/n: agree i agree just yeah 10000% ! traumatised guys with mullet, bad habits and abandonment, daddy and mental issues are my weak spot

sfw

ᯓ★ he’s terrified of commitment but more terrified of being alone. he’ll push you away just to see if you’ll stay. he wants to trust you, but he doesn’t trust himself

ᯓ★ when he finally realizes you’re not leaving, he clings hard. like, once he’s in? he’s all in. but the idea of starting a family? he wants it so bad but so scared of it. he doesn’t want to turn into his father. he’s aware of his emotional instability and the last thing he wants is to pass that onto a kid. he doesn’t even trust himself to be a good partner, let alone a parent

ᯓ★ despite everything, still has a soft spot for kids but refuses to admit it. will grumble and complain but the second a little kid looks up at him with big, teary eyes, he’s sighing and handing over the last piece of his candy bar

ᯓ★ he is a literal stray, a stray dog that growls when you first bring him home but now follows you everywhere. you don’t date mullet!Stanley, you accidentally adopt him. this man has no home, no direction, no plan. he crashes on your couch “just for a few days, toots, promise” and then six months later he’s still there, wearing your robe, drinking straight from the juice carton

ᯓ★ acts like he doesn’t care but is secretly the most doting boyfriend. will fix your car, carry your groceries, give you his jacket when you're cold, all without asking. he just does it

ᯓ★ he doesn’t take care of himself. showers once every few days, drinks too much, smokes too much, eats like shit. if you ever cook for him it breaks him, he just stares at the plate because it’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever done to him, “you made this? for me?”

ᯓ★ road trip king. you wanna run away? hop in, sweetheart, we’ll figure it out on the way. the kind of guy who drives with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. he’s got half a pack of smokes, a cassette of shitty rock ballads and a mouth full of sweet-talking bullshit

ᯓ★ as i said, he acts like he doesn’t give a fuck but actually gives too many fucks. will pretend he doesn’t care when you get mad at him, but the second you turn away, he’s overthinking. “fuck what did i say? shit, why am i such an asshole?”

ᯓ★ if you tell him you love him, he always hesitates before saying it back. not because he doesn’t feel it, but because he doesn’t think he deserves it

ᯓ★ literally stunned when you take care of him. like, someone is doing something NICE for him??? with no ulterior motive???

ᯓ★ absolutely a ‘leaning’ boyfriend. leans against walls, leans against doorframes, leans against you. big strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind, head dropping onto your shoulder with a sigh

ᯓ★ survives off diner food, gas station snacks, and whatever you make him

ᯓ★ gets nervous when you’re nice to him. he’s been kicked down so many times, he doesn’t know how to handle kindness. the first time you tell him he looks good, he scoffs, says something self-deprecating, but then stares at himself in the mirror later, touching his face trying to see what you even saw in him

ᯓ★ secretly loves being babied. if you push his messy hair back, clean his cuts when he gets into a fight or tuck yourself into his side when he's sitting down, he fucking melts. “psh, ya don’t gotta do all that,” but his ears are bright red

ᯓ★ will steal anything for you. “ya like that necklace, sweetheart? consider it yours.” he’s a walking, talking, petty thief boyfriend who just wants to see you smile

ᯓ★ lets you play with his mullet when he’s feeling lazy. sits between your thighs while you brush it and if you’re gentle enough, he’ll doze off right there, resting his head against your stomach

ᯓ★ loves his car more than he should. will drag you to the garage to show you how he’s fixing up some old junker, but he looks so proud, you can’t even complain. bonus: he makes you sit in it for a “test drive” (he drives too fast just to see you scream and laugh)

ᯓ★ hands always busy. even when you’re just sitting together, his hands are moving, tinkering with something, rubbing circles on your thigh, tapping on table. he's anxious stressed guy

ᯓ★ he falls asleep anywhere instantly. he’s had years of shitty, uncomfortable sleep, so at this point he can knock out in two seconds flat. the first time you see it happen, you’re stunned. “Stan, are you seriously asleep right now—?” he is. sometimes, he falls asleep sitting up, mouth slightly open, arms crossed. if you try to move him, he’ll grunt, shift slightly and keep sleeping

ᯓ★ he’s a sucker for physical affection but doesn’t know how to ask for it. please, just hold him. run your fingers through his hair, rub his back, let him rest his head on your chest or stomach. sometimes, he’ll just stand behind you and wait until you notice and pull him into a hug. he won’t ask, but he needs it

ᯓ★ this man does not know how to handle being desired

nsfw

ᯓ★ he’s big. everywhere. broad chest, thick arms, a cock that barely fits. “c’mon, baby, you can take it. just a little more, there we go.”

ᯓ★ he’s a messy kisser. tongue, teeth, biting, groaning, he devours you. Stanley makes out like he’s trying to fuck you with just his mouth. his hands are always gripping your face, your neck, your hair, he’s desperate

ᯓ★ he loves fucking in places he shouldn’t. against the car, in an alley, in the backseat, behind a bar, on some random motel dresser, doesn’t matter. the risk of getting caught gets him off. zero patience. too horny to wait, too desperate to care where you are

ᯓ★ if you ever scratch his back? he fucking loses it. he wants you clawing at him, gripping his arms, pulling his hair. especially loves it when you bite his shoulder

ᯓ★ fucks like a guy who doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance again. so overwhelmed by how good you feel

ᯓ★ he groans and grunts. loud, unashamed. you know exactly how much he’s enjoying it because he never shuts the fuck up. if you try to shut him up, he just moans louder out of spite

ᯓ★ this man talks during sex. a LOT. filthy, filthy, filthy mouth

ᯓ★ but if you try to stifle your moans, oh, he won’t have that. “uh-uh, lemme hear ya, baby. don’t go all shy on me now.”

ᯓ★ he has an oral fixation, always has something in his mouth. a cigarette, a toothpick, his own damn fingers. pussy? oh, he’ll eat for hours if you let him. he’s enjoying it more than you are. his nose is pressed right against your clit, his tongue is buried deep inside you, his big hands are holding your thighs open so you can’t squirm away

ᯓ★ but what he REALLY loves? your fingers. if you put your fingers in his mouth, he’ll groan and suck on them absentmindedly. don't try to pull away, you’re not going anywhere. he’ll grab your wrist, keep your fingers between his lips and just look at you with those dark, needy eyes

ᯓ★ loves when you pull his hair so make sure to always grab and yank his mullet while he’s between your legs and he’ll groan into your pussy like he’s getting off on it

ᯓ★ the kind of man who will fuck you dumb just to make sure you don’t even remember anyone else’s name

ᯓ★ absolute menace with that tongue + so so messy. will spread your legs, settle between them and go to fucking work. licking, sucking, slurping, spitting on your clit, growling against your folds. doesn’t stop until you’re begging. “c’mon, sweetie, one more for me”

ᯓ★ absolutely gets off on how loud you are. doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night or the middle of the day, he’ll fuck you so good you’re screaming his name, he prefers it “Stanley” tho, not just Stan

ᯓ★ smokes like a chimney, including during sex. he’s the type to take a long drag of his cigarette while you’re riding him, exhaling the smoke lazily as he watches you bounce on his cock. “fuck, baby, keep goin’. look so pretty takin’ me like that.” then puts it out against the nightstand right before flipping you over and fucking you senseless

ᯓ★ smoking during foreplay too, pulls cigarette out of his mouth and presses it into the ashtray, muttering, “gonna put this out and focus on you, sweetie.”

ᯓ★ if you complain about him smoking too much, he’ll smirk, tilt your chin up, and say something like, “well, maybe if you keep me busy enough, i won’t need to smoke, huh?” such a brat tbh

ᯓ★ grabs whatever’s closest to tie you up. belt? works just fine. an old rag? perfect. (also wants to be tied up too)

ᯓ★ a tipsy Stan gets handsy, real handsy. he’s already got no shame sober, but when he’s had a couple of drinks, he can’t keep his hands to himself, your thighs, your waist, your ass

ᯓ★ praise him in the most filthiest way possible, call him big, tell him he’s stretching you out, tell him you’ve never had anyone fuck you like this. tell him how much you love his cock, how deep he is. he thrives on that shit, loves being told how good he feels. “fuck, baby, keep talkin’ like that and i might not last.” but he also LOVES teasing you. “poor thing, already dumb from my cock?”, “look at you, makin’ a mess all over me. filthy little thing.”

ᯓ★ i 100% believe that mullet!Stanley is a bratty switch who acts tough but turns into a desperate, whiny mess the second you take control. i think it needs its own post but ok

[entitled-fangirl]

Breakfast is ready.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: The reader feels sick, but Felix is going to make sure she eats breakfast.

Words: 968

Warnings: sickness, cursing

Author's note: This is kind of from an ask but I made it just about breakfast!

Masterlist

................................................................

She woke up to the blinds being opened by the maid, "Breakfast is ready."

She let out a soft groan, sitting up and stretching her arms out. Her hair was a mess, her clothes frumpeld. She looked over to see that Felix's side of the bed was empty and quite cold. He had been out for a while, and she couldn't possibly guess why he would leave her.

She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, standing onto her feet. Her head hurt, perhaps her body becoming ill, but there was no skipping breakfast. Her legs shivered, her now realizing she is only in Felix's shirt and her underwear. 

Running to the dresser, she pulls a pair of slacks. Pulling them on quickly, she throws a jumper over Felix's shirt. She tames her hair just enough to look presentable. But she takes an extra minute in the mirror, looking at the bags under her eyes. How late had they stayed up?

Throwing on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm, she quickly goes downstairs to breakfast.

Entering the dining room, she's greeted with quiet, "Morning"s. Her eyes immediately scan the table, seeing Felix look up at her too. A bright smile comes across his face at the sight of her sleepy form.

She quickly moves to sit next to him. As she sits down, she feels Felix's hand rest on her back, "You alright, angel?" He asks in a low tone.

"I… yeah. I just don't know why you didn't wake me up this morning." Her hand reaches up to her head as the headache comes back.

He lets out a soft laugh, whispering in her ear, "Well, I figured you deserve as much beauty sleep as I could give you. Seemed to work. I mean, look at you this morning. Taking my fuckin breathe away."

A smile graced her face as her cheek turned a shade of pink.

Duncan entered, "Goodmorning. How would you like your eggs?"

She grimaced, her voice coming out still quiet and hoarse from her sleep, "I'm fine, Duncan. I'm not that hung-"

"-She'll have them over easy. Thanks."

Duncan leaves with a nod.

She turned to Felix, "Why did you do that?"

He shrugs, his arm going over the back of her chair, "You need to eat."

She gives a slight pout, "I can't… my head hurts too bad."

His eyebrows furrow, "Did you sleep alright?"

She nods, "I slept fine, Lex."

He doesn't take that for an answer.

"Listen, angel. You think you're getting sick?"

"No. No. I'm alright."

He nods, deciding not to fight about it at the table. A silence ensues for a while before he decides to break it again. "Oh, angel. We were talking about the Shelley biography."

Venetia jumped in, "yeah. Do you know the story about Shelley's doppelgänger?"

She shook her head, stopping once she remembered the headache.

Felix got up from the table, going to the side table.

Venetia continued, "Shelley's housekeeper was cleaning one of the rooms when Shelley walked past the window and waved at her. So, she waved back before she realized that Shelley was in Italy…"

Felix had returned to the table, gently setting the now made plate in front of his angel for her to eat. She looked at him with a slightly disagreeing look, but knew not to fight about it at the table. 

"…And she was on the top floor of the house…"

Felix grimaced at Venetia's story, his hands moving over his girl's ears to keep her from hearing it. If it would freak him out, he knew she shouldn't hear it, "Oh, Vee. Stop, stop, stop. I won't sleep."

But she continued, "…a few hours later, he drowned."

Elspeth gasped, "oh. Oh, that's just given me goosebumps."

Felix took his hands back, considering it safe for his girl to listen again.

Farleigh stared at the paper in front of him, his voice strong and uncaring, "I heard he fucked his sister."

Sir James finally spoke up, "Oh, for God's sake!"

Felix turned, "Jesus, Farleigh…"

Oliver quipped up, "I think that was Byron."

The table went quiet, as if everyone had forgotten that Oliver was there. That quickly turned to small chatter between the adults.

Farleigh looked disgusted but Felix held an amused smile on his face, turning to her to see she had a matching one. He then pointed at her plate, as if telling her to eat it. About that time, Duncan brought out her eggs, setting it next to her other full plate. She let out a sigh, staring at the food. 

Elspeth was brought out of her talk hearing the girl's sigh. "Oh, darling. Is everything alright?"

Her eyes snapped up, her mouth opening to answer, but Felix beat her to it, "she's not feeling well, that's all."

The mother nodded, "Oh, I see. Nasty sickness going around this time of year. Take your time today, darling."

She nodded gratefully, turning back to her plate. The chattering continued and she continued to stare at the plate. Eventually, Felix brushed her arm lightly with his, his voice soft again, "Is something wrong, angel? You really must eat."

She simply stared at the eggs, feeling herself get sick just staring at them. Felix noticed it, immediately moving the plate away, "Duncan. Could I actually get some eggs just… scrambled?"

"Felix, stop."

"No. I want you to be able to eat what's in front of you. Duncan?"

Duncan nodded, taking the plate away quickly. 

She turns to see everyone staring at them. She mutters a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Felix sighs, "Don't be, angel." He kissed the top of her head as she stared at the table in embarrassment. 

Breakfast continued, Felix's arm around the back of her chair the entire time.

...................................................................

[the-horse-plushie]

Sol x reader

Wearing costumes associated with each other to the halloween party

You're head is down on your desk, infront of you is Crowe "I just don't know what I'm going to do about the party" you grown as you punch the desk that's under you, Crowe softy smiles at you, you pause as you look up at him, his gaze soft and welcoming "why don't I help you figure it out" he tilts his head to the side with a smile on his face as he spoke "I mean it's only in two more days, and Sol's coming, right?" He asks, you nod in response.

Now you're here at some halloween themed store (Totally not spirt halloween) you're following behind Crowe browsing the Iles

"what are you being?" You ask him, Crowe cracks a smile in response to your question

"I'm going as a plague doctor" he beams his bright, welcoming, gentle smile, he turns away awkwardly scratching the back of his head "though...I did consider going as a crow" you smile in response placing your hands behind your back and standing up straight

"Considered picking something that fit the name?" She teased leaning in towards him

"Yeah" he whispers happily.

Something finally managed to catch your eye.

Crowe's voice from behind you made you flinch "you're going to be a vampire?" He asks

you quickly turn around to face him "no" you say firmly standing up straight with your head up high "that's unoriginal, I'm going to be!" You slam your foot down on a sensor triggering a monster to pop out at Crowe, he moves back in response in an attempt to continue looking at you.

"I'm going to be a vampire's victim" you overdramaticly place the back of your hand on your forehead.

Crowe chuckles slightly "a Vampire's victim?" You nod enthusiastically

Crowe stares at you "wouldn't you just be wearing normal clothing?"

You fold your arms staring back at him "I'll manage" you smile.

You're at home lying on your couch on your phone, your phone vibrates, phone already in hand you look to see who texted you

Hyugo

He texted you

"I heard you're going to some halloween party, what are you going as?"

You: "a vampire's victim, how did you know I was going?"

"Sol said you invited him"

You:"I did 😅 he still going?"

"With him right now, he's being grumpy cuz I dragged him to this detective movie 🙄"

"This dude has to figure out why all these kids have been going missing, turns out this one girl had this stalker-"

Hyugo continued ranting to you about the movie, all you could do was smile down at your phone.

Day of the party

You're at the front door Crowe is greeting you and you head inside while texting Sol that you are inside, you quickly run and check a close by mirror to make sure you're makeup is okay, you have a very detailed bite mark on your neck with blood running down it all the way to the top of your chest. Your phone vibrates

"Here"

You quickly move to the door opening it and Sol walks inside, the two of you make it to a corner out of people's way, Sol turns to look down on you.

You finally see the details in his costume "you're a Vampire" you mumble with surprise.

I wasn't sure how to continue this, so if you want a part 2 please give me some ideas T.T

[marauder-misprint]

A walk

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff

Once again, you are pacing your dorm before a date with Sirius. You had gone back to your dorm to drop off your things and change. And you pace. You can’t figure out why you’re so nervous for a walk. At least last time, it was dread holding you back. It also doesn’t help that you don’t have a Dorcas waiting for you to get your act together and just go. 

“He’s just a guy,” you tell yourself as you stop in front of the mirror. “Just a guy.” 

Just a guy who you recently fell in love with… You take a deep breath, staring at your reflection. You look good. Yes. You are as physically ready for the walk as you’ll ever be. It’s just your brain that’s preventing you from walking out of that door and meeting Sirius outside the bell tower. 

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You pass Regulus in the common room. His eyes follow you and he smirks. He doesn’t know for sure that you’re going to meet his brother, but he does know that most of your friends are in the library and you wouldn’t bother changing out of your uniform to study. You don’t make eye contact with Regulus so he doesn’t say anything. In fact, you don’t acknowledge anyone on your way out. Your tunnel vision blocks all other people out of your mind. 

You can’t help but smile when you see Sirius waiting for you. He’s not leaning against the wall or talking to anyone, just idly standing and gazing up at the sky. 

“Guess you’ll always be waiting on me,” you say as you approach him.

He smiles widely at you. 

“Better than you waiting on me.”

“Why’s that?” you ask as you start walking down one of the paths around the grounds of Hogwarts. 

“Besides that it’s never good to keep a lady waiting?” he asks with a chuckle. “It might make you think I don’t value your time or you. And I do. I don’t want to waste a moment with you.”

“Hmm. Sounds pretty sappy to me.” 

“Maybe so, but that’s what happens when I grow fond of someone.”

“Awww,” you say teasingly. “The great Sirius Black is fond of me?”

“Yes, and it’s good of you to finally acknowledge how amazing I am!” 

“Too bad great isn’t always a positive thing,” you say slyly, giving Sirius a sideways glance and a smirk.

His face shows the offense he’s taken.

“I’m kidding, Sirius,” you tell him with a laugh. “You really think I’d be here if I didn’t like you on some level?” 

“Then what’s so great about me?” 

“You want me to list them off?” 

“Just one thing then.”

“You smell nice.” 

Sirius’ grin just keeps widening with every step you take. He would be bragging to the boys later that you thought he smelled nice, serves them right for making fun of him for his expensive taste in cologne. 

Unlike your walk to Hogsmeade, Sirius doesn’t have his arm around you. You aren’t touching in any way, just walking side-by-side. You both had your hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. You slightly regret suggesting a walk in late December, but at least it guaranteed you privacy. You suppose that someone could technically be watching from an upper window somewhere inside the castle, but your conversations were private. 

“Oh, look! Jobberknolls!” you say, pointing toward the edge of Hogwarts' grounds. “I don’t think they usually come this close to the castle.”

You give Sirius a bright smile.

“Wait here,” you tell him firmly.

Then you slowly walk toward the flock of birds. If you were able to get close enough and acted carefully, you might be able to get some feathers. You stop walking when one turns to look at you. It doesn’t fly away. It chirps and a few more look at you. After a moment, you take another step. They still don’t fly away and that makes your heart soar. Once you decide you are close enough, you adjust your position so you can sit down. All of your motions are in slow motion to not spook the birds. They give you curious looks, only their heads twisting. You know Sirius is watching you but you don’t care. You haven’t interacted with a jobberknoll personally since you learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures. 

To your delight, one hops toward you and you outstretch your hand. It jumps into the side of your hand, which you take as permission to pet it. A few more start to hop toward you as well. Before you know it, you’re surrounded by most of the flock. You don’t pluck any feathers out, partially out of fear they might attack you if you harm them, but feathers that seem to have fallen out are free game. 

You realize you’ve taken a while to get a handful of feathers. You clear your throat and gently push the birds away from you so you can stand up. Putting the feathers in your pockets, you return to Sirius.

“Sorry. I got excited.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s nice seeing you live up to your Animal Person title,” he says, throwing his arm around your shoulder to pull you to his side. 

You don’t mind it. If anything, you appreciate it. This way you can smell his cologne and grow more comfortable under his arm. Your mind has definitely warmed up to the idea that this was a good place to be. 

As you start walking again, you explain all of the uses for Jobberknoll feathers that you know of and everything you remembered about them from that lesson a year or so ago. You start talking about different animals and Sirius tells you about some of the legends he’s heard about them; apparently mooncalves were involved in the resurgence of golden snidgets. Snidgets brings the conversation to quidditch and James and Regulus and all of your friends. 

It’s getting dark as you return to the castle. You haven’t missed dinner so you figure that you’ll skip out on visiting the kitchens. Maybe another time, you thought. 

“You know, Black, if you promise you’ll respond, I think I will write you over break,” you say as he opens the door to let you in.

His face lights up and you feel yourself smiling at him. Gods, how can someone be this attractive?

“You will?” 

“If you promise you’ll respond,” you repeat yourself. 

“Yes, of course, love. It’ll be the highlight of my day!”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheeks as if to suppress your urge to laugh at his eagerness.

“You know, you really are something else, love,” Sirius says.

“Isn’t that why you like me?”

“I mean, I fell for you while trying to get you to like me.”

“Fell for me?”

“Oh, darling, can’t you tell?”

You laugh. “Maybe I want to hear you say it. Fully.”

“I’m doomed. So beyond doomed.”

“Say it, Black,” you tease.

“I’ve fallen in love with you. You’ve made getting you here a challenge but now that you are, Merlin… I really, really want you to stay.”

“You want me to stay, huh,” you repeat with a lilting voice. 

He scoffs but his smile doesn’t dim. “I give a confession of my affection and this, this!, is the response I get.” 

You tsk him. “You’re confession was missing one vital question though.”

He cocks his head at you in confusion. 

“What question?”

“Well, it would just sound silly coming from me since it was your confession.”

“But if you were to ask the question. What, erm, what would it be?”

“Coming from me,” you start to say as you look away from Sirius for a moment. “Sirius, would you do the honors of letting me be your girlfriend?”

He stops walking, staring at you with a dumbfounded look on his face. That question. And you had been the one to ask it. Despite having said he was in love with you, Sirius thought it was too soon to ask. He thought you’d need more time, more dates, something more substantial from him before putting a label on it. 

“You… You want to be my girlfriend?” 

“Sirius,” you groan. “I’m not asking again.” 

“So we’re dating then.”

You nod, once again biting the inside of your cheeks. He sure was an idiot at times, but he made it work. 

“Oh! And just so you know, the offer still stands.”

You give him a confused look. You hadn’t discussed any offers on your walk.

“To visit the Potters over break. To see Padfoot, or me,” he explains. “You could floo in. Or they’ve got a muggle car. We can come get you. Or meet you somewhere.”

“Oh… My parents can be kind of strict about how much I go out… But I’ll see what I can do to convince them.”

As you walk into dinner, you debate if you should tell Regulus about this new development or keep him out of the loop for now. You laugh to yourself as you imagine his reaction if he found out from a Ravenclaw or Mulciber or, really, anyone but you.

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine, @ravisinghs-wife, @azure-drag0ness, @sunowee, @mysteriouslyperfecttiger

The next chapter will be that last official chapter for this series. I might do additional content later on if inspiration strikes. Again, thank you for all the love you have shown this series :)

[kaiyunsim]

skit —

pairing : idol!riwoo x non-idol!reader

summary : riwoo decides to practice his choreo but you decide to interrupt which totally throws off his flow. some banter and talk happens before you get a private dance lesson from the one and only

warnings : fluff, comfort, angst if you REALLY look for it but not really,

a/n : i love riwoo, can you tell.

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 6.9k — not proof read ! —

you don’t really have a reason to be here.

that’s what you think as you push open the slightly heavy practice room door, peeking inside cautiously. the room is dimly lit except for the bright, overhead lights reflecting off the mirrored walls. the soft squeak of sneakers against the smooth floor fills the space, along with the sound of a song you vaguely recognize playing from the speakers.

and in the middle of it all is riwoo.

he doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on the music and his own movement. his body moves in perfect rhythm, each step sharp but fluid, like he isn’t even thinking about it, just feeling it. you’ve always known riwoo was a great dancer, but seeing him like this, completely lost in his own world, is something else.

you hesitate in the doorway, feeling like you’ve just stepped into a place you’re not supposed to be. maybe you should leave before he—

“you just gonna stand there?”

his voice startles you, cutting through the music as he suddenly turns to face you. his expression is unreadable at first, but then the corners of his lips twitch, and you can tell he’s holding back a grin.

busted.

“i—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way heat rushes to your face. “i didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“you didn’t,” he says, walking over to the speaker to pause the music. the silence that follows makes you even more aware of how awkward you probably look standing there. “just didn’t expect to see you here.”

“yeah, uh…” you shift on your feet, realizing you don’t actually have a good excuse for being here. “i was… around?”

riwoo raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “oh? just happened to wander into my practice room by accident?”

“something like that.”

he laughs, finally letting his amusement show. “wow, i didn’t know i was so lucky to have you randomly stumble into my life like this.”

you roll your eyes, but the playful tint in his voice makes it hard to be annoyed. riwoo has always had a way of making you feel at ease, even when he’s teasing you.

he tilts his head toward the empty space next to him. “since you’re already here, you might as well stay.”

you hesitate for a moment, but then nod, stepping fully into the room and letting the door close behind you. as you do, riwoo watches you with a curious expression, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“seriously, though,” he says, stretching his arms over his head before shaking out his limbs. “what made you come?”

you shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “just wanted to see you dance.”

there’s a brief pause, and when you finally glance at him, you find him smirking.

“oh? you wanted to see me?”

“i didn’t say it like that.”

“no, no, you totally did.” he crosses his arms, looking way too pleased with himself. “should i be flattered?”

“i take it back. i didn’t want to see you.”

riwoo places a hand over his chest, pretending to be hurt. “wow. cold.”

you shake your head, sighing. “i can leave if you want—”

“nah,” he interrupts, grinning. “you’re already here. might as well make yourself comfortable.”

you exhale, finally allowing yourself to relax a little. moving to the side of the room, you lean against the wall, watching as riwoo walks back to the center of the floor. he picks up a water bottle from the ground, taking a quick sip before stretching again.

“so?” he says, glancing at you. “ready to be amazed?”

“you really think highly of yourself, huh?”

“i mean, you did come all the way here just to watch me, so…”

you groan, covering your face with your hands. “please just dance.”

he laughs but doesn’t tease you any further, turning back toward the mirror as he restarts the music. and just like that, he’s in his element again.

you watch as he moves effortlessly, each step calculated yet natural. the way his body flows with the beat is mesmerizing, like he was born to do this. you’ve always admired his passion, the way he lights up when he’s doing something he loves. seeing it up close like this makes you understand even more why dance means so much to him.

when the song ends, riwoo turns back to you, slightly out of breath. “so?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “impressed?”

you pretend to think about it for a second, just to mess with him. “hmm. i’ve seen better.”

his jaw drops. “excuse me?”

you laugh, and he narrows his eyes at you. “oh, you’re lucky i’m tired, or i’d make you prove you can do better.”

“bold of you to assume i’d even try.”

“exactly.” he smirks. “you’d lose.”

you shake your head, unable to hide your smile. the playful back-and-forth is so natural, so easy, and you feel yourself fully relaxing in his presence.

riwoo takes another sip of water before plopping down on the floor, patting the space next to him. “sit.”

you raise an eyebrow. “demanding much?”

“just sit.”

rolling your eyes, you drop down beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you. for a moment, neither of you say anything. the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the speaker and the distant sound of people passing by in the hallway.

“you really weren’t expecting me to come, huh?” you say after a beat.

riwoo shakes his head. “nope.”

“were you… happy to see me?”

he turns his head slightly, eyes meeting yours. there’s something softer in his expression now, something unreadable. for a second, you think he might actually say something sincere.

but then—

“hmm,” he hums, pretending to think. “i mean, it was a little annoying.”

you nudge him with your shoulder. “you suck.”

he laughs, nudging you back. “yeah, yeah. but you still came to see me.”

you don’t reply, just rolling your eyes again as he grins. and maybe he’s right. maybe you did come just to see him.

but you’re not going to admit that out loud. not yet, anyway.

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor with riwoo, but neither of you seem in a rush to move.

he’s still slightly out of breath from dancing, but he doesn’t seem tired, just relaxed. you watch as he leans back on his palms, stretching his legs out in front of him. his hoodie is slightly damp from sweat, hair a little messy, but he looks completely at ease.

"so," he starts, turning his head toward you, "you really just came all the way here with no plan?"

you hum, pretending to think. "pretty much."

he shakes his head, amused. "you’re lucky i’m nice, otherwise i’d kick you out for interrupting my practice."

"nice? you?" you snort. "that’s funny."

riwoo gasps dramatically, hand over his chest. "wow. first, you insult my dancing skills, and now you’re attacking my character? unbelievable."

"i never insulted your dancing. i just said i’ve seen better."

"that’s the same thing."

"nope. but if you feel insecure about it, i won’t judge."

he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. instead of responding, he suddenly leans forward, grabbing his bag from the side of the room and unzipping it. you watch as he pulls out a small plastic bag filled with snacks, shaking it slightly.

"i was gonna eat these alone," he says, opening the bag. "but since you’re here, i guess i can share."

"wow, how generous of you," you say, voice dripping with sarcasm, but you still accept the snack when he hands it to you.

you pop it into your mouth, chewing slowly, and riwoo watches you with a curious expression. "good, right?"

you shrug. "it’s alright."

"you’re so ungrateful," he sighs, shaking his head. "this is why i don’t share."

"you literally just said you were gonna eat these alone."

"and?"

you roll your eyes but take another anyway, and he smirks, clearly pleased. the conversation drifts into nothing for a moment, just the sound of snacks crunching and the occasional shuffle of fabric as you both adjust your positions.

then, riwoo speaks again.

"you ever think about what it’s like?"

you glance at him. "what?"

he gestures vaguely. "this. the whole… being an idol thing."

you pause, considering his words. it’s not like you’ve never thought about it before, but hearing riwoo bring it up so casually makes you more aware of just how much it actually means to him.

"i guess," you say after a moment. "but it’s probably not the same as actually experiencing it."

"yeah." he leans back, letting his head rest against the mirror. "it’s weird, sometimes. like, i always knew this was what i wanted, but now that i’m here, it still doesn’t feel real, you know?"

you study him for a moment. his expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his voice that feels heavier than usual.

"does it ever get overwhelming?" you ask.

he laughs, but it’s softer this time. "of course. all the time."

"but you love it?"

he nods. "yeah. i really do."

you can tell by the way he says it that he means it. there’s a kind of quiet certainty in his voice, the kind that only comes from doing something you truly care about.

"what’s the best part?" you ask.

he tilts his head, thinking. "probably performing. there’s something about being on stage that makes everything feel worth it. like, no matter how exhausted i am, the second i step in front of a crowd, it just… disappears."

"like adrenaline?"

"yeah, but more than that." he exhales, staring at the ceiling. "it’s hard to explain. it’s like… in that moment, nothing else matters. it’s just me, the music, and the people watching."

you try to imagine it. standing on stage, lights shining down, thousands of people watching, cheering, singing along. it’s a world so different from your own, but the way riwoo talks about it makes it sound almost magical.

"and the worst part?" you ask quietly.

he hesitates for a second before sighing. "probably how little time i have for anything else."

you blink. "anything else?"

"like…" he gestures vaguely again. "normal stuff. being able to just go out without thinking about who might recognize me. spending time with people without feeling guilty about not practicing. not having to constantly worry about what comes next."

"but you always seem so laid-back," you point out.

he grins. "yeah, well. cameras only capture the good things."

there’s something about the way he says it that makes your chest feel strangely heavy. you’ve always known that being an idol isn’t easy, but hearing riwoo talk about it like this makes it feel more real, more complicated.

"do you ever regret it?" you ask.

he shakes his head immediately. "never."

you raise an eyebrow. "not even a little?"

"not even a little." he turns his head to look at you, and there’s something steady in his gaze. "it’s hard, yeah. but i don’t think i’d ever want to do anything else."

you hold his gaze for a moment before nodding. "that’s cool."

he snorts. "that’s all you have to say?"

"what do you want me to say? ‘wow, riwoo, you’re so inspirational’?"

he grins. "i wouldn’t mind."

you roll your eyes. "you’re impossible."

"and yet, you’re still here, listening to me ramble."

"because i have nothing better to do."

"ouch," he says, but he’s still smiling.

the room falls into silence again, but it’s not awkward. it’s the kind of quiet that feels comfortable, like neither of you need to fill the space with words.

then, riwoo exhales and stretches his arms over his head. "anyway," he says, shaking off the heavier atmosphere, "you should be honored, you know."

you glance at him. "why?"

"because i don’t usually open up like this," he says dramatically. "you’re one of the lucky few who gets to hear my deep, emotional thoughts."

"oh wow," you deadpan. "i feel so special."

"you should!" he nudges you with his knee. "i could be spending this break eating my snacks in peace, but instead, i’m here having an emotional heart-to-heart with you."

"right. so selfless of you."

"i know, right?"

you shake your head, laughing. "whatever you say, riwoo."

he grins, leaning back on his palms again. "you should come by more often."

you glance at him, surprised by the casual way he says it. "oh?"

"yeah," he shrugs. "it’s nice, having someone to talk to between practices. plus, you keep me entertained."

"so i’m basically your personal comedian?"

"exactly."

you scoff. "you’re the worst."

"but you’ll still come, right?"

you don’t know why, but the question makes your chest feel warm.

you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your lips. "yeah, yeah. i’ll think about it."

riwoo just smirks, like he already knows your answer.

"alright, break time’s over," riwoo announces, pushing himself up from the floor.

you groan, still comfortably seated on the mat. "that was barely a break."

"you’ve been sitting there doing nothing," he says, rolling his eyes. "you don’t need a break."

"mentally, i do."

he huffs a laugh, then stretches his arms above his head. he looks over at you, then smirks. "actually, since you’ve been here for so long, why don’t you try dancing?"

you blink, caught off guard. "huh?"

"yeah, you’re just sitting there watching. might as well join in."

"no thanks," you reply quickly.

"why not?" he presses, stepping closer to you. "it’s not like i’m asking you to perform. just a couple moves."

"riwoo," you say, shaking your head. "i don’t dance."

"so?"

"so, i’m not about to make a fool of myself."

he smirks, not at all deterred. "sounds like an excuse to me."

"it is," you admit, feeling no shame about it.

he laughs lightly. "whatever, you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try." without waiting for a response, he reaches down and grabs your wrist, tugging you to your feet.

"come on," he says, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"this is such a bad idea," you mutter, trying to resist, but he’s annoyingly strong.

"it’ll be fun," he says, grinning. "trust me."

you have no choice but to follow as he leads you to the center of the practice room. he steps back a little, putting a little distance between the two of you, and nods.

"alright, watch closely. i’ll teach you something simple."

"define simple," you murmur under your breath.

he gives you a side-eye. "simple as in, you can totally do this."

"we’ll see about that."

he just chuckles. "don’t overthink it. just feel the beat, okay?"

he moves, easily sliding into a smooth groove that matches the rhythm of the music playing in the background. it’s nothing crazy, just a few steps, but the way he moves, the way his body naturally flows with the beat. it’s effortless.

you watch him for a moment, trying to process how easy he makes it look.

"alright, your turn," he says, nodding at you.

you hesitate, unsure of yourself. you glance at him nervously. "i’m not so sure about this…"

"don’t worry about it," he says easily. "just follow what i do. we’ll go slow."

you take a deep breath and try. you start to mimic his movements, but almost immediately, you realize how awkward you feel. your body’s not moving the way you want it to, and you can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous you must look.

riwoo watches you, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"you’re way too stiff," he says, though there’s no mockery in his tone.

"i know," you mutter, stopping mid-move.

he sighs lightly and steps closer. "don’t think so hard. just move."

"i am moving," you argue, but it’s not with any real bite.

"you look like a robot," he teases, then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you back into position.

your heart skips a beat as his fingers lightly press into your skin, and for a second, you freeze. you’ve never been so aware of someone’s touch before, especially not in a situation like this.

"relax," he says, his voice low and patient. "i’m just adjusting you. don’t be so tense."

"i’m not tense," you protest, even though you can feel yourself stiffening under his touch.

"yes, you are," he says with a quiet laugh. "just let go a little."

there’s something about his voice that makes it hard to resist. his hands are still on your shoulders, and the warmth of his touch lingers as he gently moves you, shifting your stance, adjusting your arms.

when he steps back, he gives you space again, and you take a deep breath.

"try it again," he encourages, his tone gentle but confident. "but this time, just let it flow."

you give it another go, and it’s still awkward, but somehow, it feels a little better. less forced. less stiff. you move, more in sync with the rhythm than you thought you could.

"that’s it," riwoo says, nodding approvingly. "see? you just needed to relax."

you glance at him, then shrug as nonchalantly as you can. "yeah, well, don’t get used to it."

he smirks. "we’ll see about that."

just as you start to get a little more comfortable with the movements, he steps back, an idea apparently lighting up his eyes.

"hey," he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "why don’t we take this up a notch?"

you raise an eyebrow, unsure. "what do you mean?"

"i’ll teach you a choreo," he says, not waiting for you to respond. "it’s not that hard. i promise."

"riwoo…" you start to protest, but he’s already moving into position, signaling you to follow him.

"just trust me," he says, his voice suddenly much softer. "i’ll guide you."

before you can say anything else, he steps closer again. this time, he places his hands lightly on your sides, guiding your posture, adjusting your movements as you try to follow his steps.

"don’t overthink it," he murmurs, his voice quiet but reassuring. "just go with the flow."

when he moves, you move, and somehow, you start to sync up with him. the movements aren’t perfect, but they’re less awkward, more fluid. you don’t even care how bad you probably look, because right now, everything feels oddly right.

finally, after a few more steps, he takes a step back, letting you try the combo on your own.

you glance over at him, a little unsure.

"not bad," he says with a satisfied grin. "you’re getting the hang of it."

"yeah, don’t expect me to start performing on stage anytime soon," you joke, trying to hide the way your heart is still pounding from the close contact.

he laughs, clearly not bothered by your comment. "maybe one day."

you both catch your breath for a moment, but then riwoo steps toward you again, grinning.

"hey, want to try dancing with me to this one?"

you blink. "what?"

"just follow my lead," he says, grinning wider now.

"you’re really not gonna let me off easy, huh?"

"nope," he replies, then extends his hand to you, an invitation you find yourself unable to refuse.

you almost fall as you try to copy his choreo. it’s not bad, if anything it’s fun, and you’re getting the hang of it.

"see?" he says softly, his eyes meeting yours for a second before he looks back at the floor. "it’s not so bad when you don’t think too hard."

you nod, still feeling a little breathless. "yeah. not bad at all."

there’s a quiet, unspoken understanding between you two as you dance, and in that moment, nothing else seems to matter.

the music shifts, a little more upbeat now, and riwoo adjusts his pace, pulling you along with him. you try to follow, but this time, the steps are quicker, and you're struggling to keep up. he notices immediately, and with a knowing grin, he slows down for you to copy.

"hey, take it easy," he says, his voice gentle. "you don’t have to rush. just feel it."

you nod, focusing more on your movements than trying to impress him. you don’t have the pressure of keeping up with him anymore. this isn't a performance, it's just... dancing. and for the first time, you start to enjoy it. you stop thinking about how you might look or how clumsy you might be and just let your body move with the beat.

"see? you’re doing fine," riwoo says, breaking the moment of silence. he looks at you with that relaxed smile of his, his eyes bright with encouragement. "you're getting the hang of it. just like i thought you would."

you smile, the tension in your shoulders easing. "yeah, i guess it’s not too bad," you admit, a little out of breath from the dance, but also from something else. you can't quite place it.

"not bad? c’mon, that’s a compliment coming from you," he teases, his smile widening. he moves again, picking up the pace just a little, and this time you follow more easily, matching his energy.

you chuckle, trying to hide the way your heart speeds up at the contact. "i didn’t realize i was that bad."

"not at all," he says, his hands still resting on your arms, his touch reassuring, like he's genuinely trying to make sure you’re okay. "you’re doing great. you just have to trust yourself more."

it’s easy to forget that he’s an idol. the way he speaks to you, the way he moves with such ease, makes him feel like just another person, not someone who's constantly in the spotlight. you’ve never seen him in that world, on stage, surrounded by cameras, fans, and the pressure of expectations. but somehow, when he’s here with you, there’s none of that. it’s just him. and right now, that’s all you need.

"you make it look so easy," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "like you were born to do this."

he pauses, a playful glint in his eyes. "well, that’s because i was just as bad as you." his grin widens as he teases you again, but there’s a flicker of something softer behind his expression.

you raise an eyebrow, not quite sure if he's joking. "really?"

"yeah," he says, his voice shifting slightly, more thoughtful now. "i’ve been dancing since i was a kid. it wasn’t always this easy, but when you do something enough, you kind of just get used to it, you know?"

you nod, trying to imagine him as a little kid, practicing in front of a mirror, perfecting every move. it’s hard to picture, but there’s a certain kind of passion behind his words that makes you believe it.

"i guess it’s like that with anything," you murmur, meeting his gaze. "you just have to keep trying."

"exactly," he says, his tone warm and encouraging. "it’s about consistency. and patience."

you stay quiet for a moment, reflecting on his words. you’ve always thought of dancing as something for other people as something you could never do, something you’d just watch from the sidelines. but now, in this moment, with riwoo guiding you, it feels different. you can do this. you just need to keep trying.

the song changes again, and this time, it’s slower. you take a breath and step into the new rhythm, the fluidity of the moves matching the soft beat. riwoo matches your pace, his eyes focused, but there’s still that easy smile on his lips.

you find yourself getting lost in the movement again, your body moving naturally now, following his choreo without overthinking it. the steps aren’t perfect, but they feel more natural this time. the accidental touches between the two of you aren’t awkward, they’re just part of the flow of the dance, part of being in sync.

for a while, you don’t think about anything else. it’s just you, riwoo, and the music. it’s peaceful. free. the world outside of this room doesn’t exist. it’s just you two, moving together.

you lose track of time, and eventually, the song comes to an end. you’re both breathing a little harder, sweat beading at your temples, but there’s a quiet sense of satisfaction between you.

riwoo steps back, still smiling. "not bad, huh?"

you laugh, a little out of breath. "yeah, not bad." you try to act cool, but there’s something about the way your heart is racing that gives away how much you’ve enjoyed this. how much you’ve enjoyed being so close to him.

he offers you a drink of water, and you take it, gulping it down eagerly.

"i think you could be a great dancer if you wanted to," he says casually, sitting down on the edge of the mat to catch his breath. "you just need more practice. maybe one day we’ll get you on stage."

you shake your head, laughing nervously. "i don’t think i’m cut out for that. i’d probably trip over my own feet."

"i don’t know," he says thoughtfully, eyes glinting with that mischievous spark. "you’ve got potential. i’ve seen worse dancers than you."

"is that supposed to be a compliment?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

he grins, flashing a quick wink. "definitely."

you chuckle, shaking your head. "i’m not falling for that." but there's a warmth to his teasing that makes it hard to keep up the act. it’s the same warmth that’s been there since the moment you walked into the room. the same warmth that’s made dancing with him feel less like a lesson and more like... something else.

and in that moment, you realize that maybe this whole thing, the dancing, the closeness, the way riwoo has been teaching you, it’s not about dancing at all. it’s about being with him. it’s about how easy it feels to be near him, to follow his lead, to let yourself be vulnerable without worrying about messing up.

you look at him, trying to hide the soft smile tugging at your lips, but he catches it. "you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle, like he can see right through you.

you nod, keeping the smile hidden behind a sip of water. "yeah. just... thinking."

"about what?" he tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes.

"about how i never expected to end up here," you admit, lowering the bottle. "with you. dancing."

"well, you’re doing fine," he says, offering you that grin again. "keep it up, and you might just get better than me." he winks.

you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the way your heart skips at his words. "i think you’re getting ahead of yourself."

but his smile doesn’t fade. "maybe. but you never know. anything’s possible."

and for the first time in a while, you start to believe it.

the studio is quiet now, the music turned off, the lights dimmed just enough to make the room feel less like a space for rehearsals and more like a place for something personal. something shared. you and riwoo are sitting on the floor, your backs resting against the cool wall, your legs stretched out in front of you. it’s late, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and your soft breaths after the intense practice.

you both haven’t said much since finishing the last dance. there’s a comfortable silence, the kind that feels easy between you two, like it doesn’t need to be filled with words all the time. but still, there’s this lingering feeling, like there's something more you want to say, something that needs to be said.

"you know," riwoo says, breaking the silence, his voice soft but not too quiet. "i didn’t think we’d end up here. you and me, talking after practice. i figured you’d be, like, too cool for me."

you chuckle, glancing at him sideways. "too cool? really?"

"yeah," he says with a grin, "you have that vibe. like you’re the type to just dip out as soon as the practice ends, no time for anyone else."

you laugh, a little louder than you meant to, but it feels good. "i’m not that bad. i swear."

"uh-huh," he teases, nudging you with his foot. "you’re full of surprises."

you tilt your head, not sure if he’s joking or if he’s being serious. "what kind of surprises?"

"i don’t know," he shrugs, looking over at you, his eyes reflecting a flicker of something deeper. "just... the way you are. you don’t show it, but you’re different from what i expected."

you stare at him, trying to read his expression. there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel seen. like he’s looking at you, really looking at you, and he’s not just seeing the surface but something else. something real.

"what did you expect?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

he thinks for a second before responding, his tone thoughtful. "i don’t know. i thought you might be a little standoffish. or maybe too serious. but you’re not. you’re easy to talk to, not all caught up in your own world."

you’re surprised by his answer, but you don’t let it show. you just smile, a little unsure of how to respond. "maybe i’ve just been good at pretending."

he raises an eyebrow. "pretending? what do you mean?"

you shrug, feeling a little more vulnerable than you want to. "i don’t know. i guess i’ve always been the quiet one. the one who doesn’t stand out. so i just... act like i don’t care, even when i do."

he looks at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you think he might say something else, something that digs a little deeper. but instead, he just leans back against the wall, his hands resting behind him, and sighs.

"i get that," he says, his voice quieter now. "i think... i think a lot of us pretend, in some way. we try to fit into a mold, be what other people expect us to be, even if it’s not who we really are."

you turn your head to look at him, intrigued. "really? you too?"

he chuckles lightly, his eyes closing as he tilts his head back. "yeah. being an idol, it’s all about the image, you know? how you’re supposed to look, how you’re supposed to act. sometimes, it’s hard to figure out where you end and the image begins."

you nod slowly, understanding what he means. you’ve never been in the spotlight like him, but you can imagine the pressure of always being watched, always having to be something more than just yourself. it must be exhausting.

"do you ever get tired of it?" you ask, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

riwoo’s eyes flicker to you, and for a second, you see something different in his gaze. something almost... vulnerable. but it’s gone before you can really pinpoint it.

"yeah," he admits, his voice a little rough. "sometimes. but it’s part of the job. and i love what i do, so i can’t complain too much."

you nod again, not sure what else to say. it’s a strange feeling, knowing that even someone like riwoo, with all his talent and confidence, has doubts and struggles. it makes him feel more real, more human. like he’s just a person trying to find his way, just like you are.

you sit in silence for a while, the hum of the air conditioning filling the space between you. it’s not uncomfortable. it’s just... peaceful. you don’t need to fill the silence with words. not with him.

"i have a question," he says suddenly, breaking the quiet. you look over at him, waiting for him to continue. "what’s your dream?"

you blink, taken aback by the question. you hadn’t expected him to ask something so personal. "my dream?" you repeat, trying to think of an answer. "i don’t really know. i guess... i guess i want to do something that makes me feel like i matter, you know? something that makes me feel like i’m not just... another face in the crowd."

he nods, his expression thoughtful. "i get that. it’s hard to feel like you’re seen sometimes, like what you’re doing matters."

you bite your lip, feeling a little exposed. you never really thought about it that way, but it’s true. you’ve spent so much of your life trying to blend in, trying to avoid standing out. and maybe that’s why it’s always felt so empty.

"what about you?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. "what’s your dream?"

he pauses for a long time, his gaze distant, like he’s searching for the right words. "honestly?" he finally says, his voice softer. "i think my dream is to be happy. to do what i love and not feel like i’m losing myself along the way."

you’re surprised by his answer, not because it’s not a good one, but because it’s so... real. it’s simple, but it’s also deep. it makes you think that maybe, deep down, all any of us really want is to be content, to feel like we’re living for ourselves and not for others.

"i think that’s a good dream," you say, your voice quiet but sincere.

the night has stretched on, but it still feels like time is bending in your favor. you and riwoo have settled into a quiet rhythm, the hum of the studio a backdrop to your words, as if the world outside has paused, just for a moment. you’re still sitting side by side, legs stretched in front of you, the cool air swirling around the room, but there’s a different energy now. it’s more... comfortable. like you’ve crossed some invisible line, and now, there’s no going back.

riwoo stretches his arms over his head, his body lithe and graceful, and you watch him for a moment, the way he moves, how natural it looks. it’s mesmerizing, like the dance never stops, even when the music’s off. you can’t help but think about how many times he must’ve practiced, how many hours he’s put in, to make it all look so effortless. it’s no wonder he’s so good at what he does.

"you know," he says, breaking your thoughts, his voice casual but his eyes a little more serious, "you should come by more often. watch me practice, I mean."

you blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. you’ve been so wrapped up in the conversation and everything that’s been happening that you hadn’t really thought about coming back here. but the idea of seeing him dance again, of being here, feels... right. it feels like something you might want to do.

"yeah?" you ask, a little unsure. "you wouldn’t mind?"

he shrugs, his expression softening into something more playful. "nah, I wouldn’t mind at all. I actually kind of like having you here. keeps things interesting."

you smile at that, the warmth in your chest spreading. it’s funny, how a simple statement, a small suggestion, can make you feel like this. like maybe you’re more than just a casual acquaintance to him, more than just a person watching from the sidelines. like you matter, in a way that’s both unexpected and comforting.

"i’ll think about it," you say, your voice light, but there’s something in the way you say it that makes you realize you’re not just saying that to brush him off. you actually want to come back. you want to be here, in this space, with him.

he grins, that mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat. "you better. it wouldn’t be the same without you now."

you laugh, nudging him with your shoulder, trying to hide the way your heart is racing, but he notices. of course he does. he always notices.

"you’re such a show-off," you tease, trying to keep the conversation light, but you can’t help the way your thoughts are starting to drift. does he really want me here? it feels like he does, but maybe it’s just the way he jokes around. maybe it’s just his personality. but you can’t help but wonder, as he looks at you with that easy smile, if there’s something more underneath all the teasing.

"maybe," he says, leaning back against the wall, his arms folding behind his head. his eyes are on the ceiling now, but he doesn’t seem distant. he’s still there with you, still here. "but you’re the one who’s been hanging around, you know. i’m just saying, it’d be nice if you came back."

you stare at him for a second, feeling a mix of emotions. confusion, excitement, maybe even a little nervousness. you try to keep your voice steady when you reply, but it cracks just a little. "i’ll come back."

he doesn’t respond right away, just turns his head to look at you, his gaze quiet and soft. there’s something unspoken between you two now, something that lingers in the air like the scent of something sweet, something that’s just out of reach, but you can almost taste it if you try hard enough. he’s not just asking you to come back to watch him dance. he’s asking for something more. and you’re not sure what that something is yet, but it feels... important.

"promise?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of his words is more than just the request. there’s something in his tone, something gentle but earnest, and for a moment, everything else falls away. the studio, the night, the world, it all feels distant, like it doesn’t matter.

you pause, your heart beating a little faster, before you nod, a small but sincere smile tugging at your lips. "promise."

it’s funny, how something as simple as a promise can feel like it means so much more than it really does. but in this moment, it does. you feel it in your bones, the way your words settle into the space between you two, the way they’re not just words. they’re a promise to show up, to be there, to see what happens next.

he smiles then, the kind of smile that lights up his entire face, and you can’t help but return it, your chest warm with something that feels like anticipation. you don’t know what will come of this, what will happen the next time you come back to watch him practice, but you know one thing for sure, you’ll be there. you’ll be here, with him.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s all you need to know for now.

"good," he says, his voice light again, that playful tone returning. "because i’m not going to let you get away that easily."

you laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, laughing together, your promise hanging in the air between you, unspoken but understood.

and somehow, it feels like the beginning of something new. something unexpected. something you can’t quite name yet, but that feels right, all the same.

as you stand up to leave, you glance at him one last time, catching his eye. there’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, a softness that wasn’t there before, and for a second, you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are.

"see you soon," you say, your voice steady but your heart racing just a little.

"yeah," he replies, his voice low but sure. "i’ll be here."

and with that, you step out of the studio, the door clicking shut behind you, leaving only the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway. but even as you leave, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed. something has shifted. and you know, deep down, you’ll be back. you’ll be back to see him, to see where this goes, to see what you both can become.

and that thought is enough to make your heart flutter just a little bit faster.

— ty for reading ! —

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist @s0shroe

[bananayuyu]

just friends (2) - back to the beginning

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 12.6k

warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral, cum eating

a/n: i have become completely obsessed with these two. I've mapped out 10 parts for this series (help me), please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the rest <33 new parts won't be coming out on any certain schedule as I have many other writing projects I'm working on, but I will for sure finish his series within the year. I'm too obsessed not to. also the argument at the end of this part is pretty nasty so please proceed with caution <3

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One Year Ago

"Titi, it's 4:15, get your ass up!" you called from her desk, squinting at your eyes in the mirror as you put the finishing touches on your dark, heavy face of makeup.

"I know, sorry," she grumbled from her bed, slowly pushing off her comforter. "Winter makes me so sleepy," she yawned, stretching as long as she couch reach, her feet falling off the side of her mattress.

"You just love being late, I think," you joked, slapping closed the lid of your highlighter, putting the brush you used back into the drawer it came from.

"You'd think I do, with how often I am," she laughed, another yawn escaping her lips, her palms rubbing circles over her eyes.

"I'm leaving without you if you're running late, just so you know," you responded, stepping up off her desk chair and over to your trusty bag, double checking you had your costume for tonight, your phone, your keys, wallet, and makeup bag.

"I'm coming, just give me a second," she muttered, pushing herself up dramatically, a deep sigh wracking through her. "I didn't get to sleep till like ten in the morning."

"What were y'all doing?" you asked, chuckling, zipping closed your bag with a satisfying sound, everything packed just right for the day ahead.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she laughed, waggling her eyebrows at you.

"You're a couple of fucking rabbits, you two," you shot back, staring at the disheveled state of your best friend. She tipped her head back, laughing hard, that bright full smile showing across her beautiful face. She'd been smiling a lot like that lately, ever since her and her girlfriend had made things official, ever since they'd decided to move in together.

"I'm sorry, I won't talk about it so much if it's annoying," she said, finally standing herself up and shlepping off her pajamas.

"Don't stop, it's very adorable," you responded. "Why would it be annoying?"

"Just cause, you know, your last situation was such a disappointment. I don't want it to feel like I'm rubbing it in," she said, grabbing for a pair of black leggings and pink sweater in the pile of clothes on the floor.

"My last, what, three situations, actually?" you said, trying to remember each of the ridiculous members of the cast of dates you'd been on last year.

"Dating sucks," she said, pulling her leggings on, stumbling a bit.

"Not for you, it doesn't," you responded, crossing your arms.

"Well, not now, but it did for my whole life up until this point," she said.

"Ah, turned twenty-two and now you have it figured out?" you joked, rolling your eyes.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me missy," she pouted, pulling the sweater over her head.

"Sorry, you know I just like arguing for no reason," you sighed, chuckling a bit.

"I need to find you someone who likes it just as much as you do," she joked back, grabbing her phone off it's charger.

"But who's not actually an asshole?" you said.

"Yeah, exactly," she laughed, shooting off a quick text. "Shit, 4:20," she said, stuffing her phone into her own huge bag, not bothering to check it's contents like you just did.

"Okay, we're going now," you said, walking out into her living room, heading straight for the front door.

"Wait, just let me make a cup of coffee!" she called to you, stumbling behind.

"They have coffee where we work, you know," you remarked, looking back at her over your shoulder.

"Oh my god, you love saying shit like that," she rolled her eyes, following close behind you.

"I'm not wrong," you said as you opened the front door, stepping out into the hall.

"I just wanted my pretty mug," she sighed, stepping out after you.

"Then go grab it," you said, holding the door open.

"I can do that? Make coffee into a mug I've brought in?" she asked.

"I don't see why not," you responded, shrugging your shoulders.

"Okay, if I get in trouble I'm blaming you," she said, running back in to grab her favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink.

"Fine, fine," you shook your head, closing the door once she'd come out again.

As soon as you exited the building you realized you'd worn too much; it might be January still, but it was hardly cold at all, this dense desert city holding all the heat the rest of the world must be craving.

"Can we slow down?" Tina asked from beside you, your shoulders bumping as you stepped around a huge group standing on the sidewalk outside of an Italian restaurant, chatter filling the air.

"I don't wanna be late," you answered, keeping your pace as it was.

"Dude, you're so wound up," she said, snaking her hand through your upper arm, genuinely worried you'll start sprinting off if she didn't ground you somehow.

"Sorry, I know," you said, linking your arm around her's. "I'm good, I swear. Just stressed about my manuscript submission," you said, flashing her a wary smile.

"They said they'd get back to you by next week, right?" she asked, gently pulling on you to help you avoid a dark spot of something sticky on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, next week," you sighed, letting out a disgruntled noise.

"Okay, so, you just gotta wait. You did all that work last year finishing that play, you should let yourself have some fun for a few weeks. We should all go out after work today, we haven't done that in forever," she said, the two of you snaking around a line of people standing outside the old movie theater that sat just a block from your place of work.

"Doesn't Maya work Sunday mornings?" you asked, pulling up at the corner to wait for the light to change.

"Usually, but not this week. She's on a later shift today so they gave her tomorrow off," she answered you, eyes darting around at the cacophony of sounds streaming through the streets from every direction.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, and Tina started laughing, squeezing onto your arm. "Shit sorry, did that sound sarcastic?"

"It's so funny when your tone goes all flat like that," she said beside you, a genuine smile on her face. "Seriously though, there probably won't be a Saturday night where she can come out with us for a very long time. We should do it. Maybe we can even convince Sasha and Bibi to come too."

"I'll think about it," you said as the light changed, the two of you stepping down onto the asphalt in front of you. A car honked loudly from your left, wanting to turn down the street you were walking across, and you both shot the driver identical looks of confusion over your shoulders. Only another minute and you were pushing through the side door of the bar, stepping right into the back of the kitchen and waving hi to the cooks on the line. The hallway to the dressing room was already uncomfortably hot; your light layers were far too much now, so you stripped them off quickly, shoving everything into your locker and checking your phone. You weren't late, after all. Thankfully, because you were on early tonight, second in the program, and you only had time to change into your costume and warm up a bit before Ilya was calling your name and pushing you down to the left wing of the stage.

It was a fairly normal night, by all accounts. You'd been working at the bar for nearly two years by then, one of the longer standing performers. There was high turnover in the staff, as was typical in a bar, but especially amongst the performers, who'd often find sudden success in movies or TV, or decide that pursuing this was just not for them anymore. Ages varied wildly; your boss Julie was not one to obsess over youth, or any other conventional markers of beauty. All she cared about was talent; she wanted to create the most interesting, jaw dropping, entertaining show this whole city had to offer, and there was no doubt she had succeeded. Every kind of person could be found working here; sometimes servers would take on a performing shift or two, and sometimes the opposite. It wasn't rare for you to be asked to take drinks to a certain table, your costume still on, sometimes staying in character as you placed them down in front of wonder-filled eyes. You all were expected to help each other out; once or twice you'd even been requested in the kitchen or behind the bar, when there'd been one too many sudden call outs.

It was a classy establishment. Doors opened at 4:30, the show promptly starting at 5pm; it ended at midnight sharp, the bar closing only half an hour later. It was the earliest place to close on the block, only open four days a week, Wednesday night through Saturday night. It was a place people went to pregame, to start their evening with a bang, or a place people went to see a great show before heading back home at a reasonable hour. There was a drinks limit; you all could deny a customer another if they were acting unruly, your security team inconspicuous under the dark shadowy light inside, but always watching. The food served was regular bar fare: tacos, wings, pizza, burgers, but it was high quality, so good that some people came frequently just for their favorite menu item. The place was known for its drinks, too, having hoards of non alcohol options that put every other bar's mocktail lists to shame. It was known for its organized and sparkly atmosphere, known as a reliable place to have a good ass night. The patronage was a mixed bag, but the place wasn't cheap; it tended to skew a bit older, a bit more mature. You didn't hate that; it meant the behavior was generally predictable, even if you didn't exactly fit in amongst the crowd cheering you on.

Halfway through the night you plopped down on your stool in the dressing room, scrubbing free the bits of eyeliner that had smudged below your eye during your first two solo performances of the night.

"Hey girl, sorry to bug, do you have any lashes I could borrow?" Sasha came running in, a slightly panicked look on her face.

"I should, let me see what I have," you said, setting your makeup wipe on your bare thigh and zipping open your bag.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but I literally don't have any with me," she sighed, coming to sit beside you. "My right one fell off on stage and I couldn't find it for the life of me. I was trying to look for it without making it obvious," she said, a nervy chuckle escaping her.

"No worries, here, look through there. Take whatever you need," you said, handing her the small box you kept your old and new lashes in.

"Oh darling, you're a lifesaver," she sighed, snapping it open and rifling through, finding the size she needed. She still had some of that newbie air about her, not six weeks into working with you. But already she had established herself as irreplaceable; by then she emceed almost every night she worked, and thank god for that, as none of the rest of you had any talent or desire for it. Julie tended to do it, if no one else was available, but having a beautiful drag queen host the evening, one who also performed in the show, was a much better choice in every way.

"A group of businessmen just walked in and took table four, I'm hoping one of them is interesting in all this," she said, leaning forward to place the replacement lash on her right eyelid.

"I'm sure one will be, Sash, you're fucking gorgeous," you said, wiping the last of the smudged makeup from your face and giggling.

"Oh sweetheart, you flatter me," she drawled, looking over her face in the mirror. "Do you think those straight-" she lifted her hands, making air quotes, "men can tell I'm not a woman in all the typical ways?"

"Girl, I wasn't even sure the first time I saw you. Your makeup skills are unmatched," you said, chuckling at her.

"Oh stop it," she joked, shaking her head at you. "I hope my hosting skills are half as good," she sighed, finally placing the lash on her eye just right and batting her hand in front of her face in a desperate attempt to get the glue to dry quickly.

"Sasha, are you kidding? You put the rest of us to shame. You should have seen me the one night Julie made my try it out," you laughed, tossing your used makeup wipe in the waste basket beside you.

"I'm sure it was just fine, you little genius," she responded, blinking her eye open and closed a few times. "Sorry to cut this short, but I should probably get out there again."

"Go get 'em, girl," you responded, shooting a playful wink her way.

"Thank you again, darling," she said as she walked past, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You squeezed it briefly; "of course," you said. Then her heels were clacking past you, and soon the room filled with noise as nearly every performer on your cast came in to start their makeup, all of you preparing for the big group number of the evening.

You'd discovered the song, randomly, a few months back. The title, Kalyna, and the album art had intrigued you; after your first listen you were imaging the choreography immediately, turning on your phone to record the sudden ideas flooding your brain. You'd never choreographed a number for the bar, but you knew Julie would be open to it if you pitched it correctly. Three weeks later and you were teaching your coworkers the choreography, chaotic short lessons between everyone's normal performances, all of them picking it up lightning quick. It was an instant hit with your audiences, the night it debuted, and had been kept in the rotation longer than most of the other numbers ever were.

That night the air was buzzing in the dressing room; everyone looked sharp and stunning in their body suits, hair slicked back and pulled tight into buns. The makeup was angular; this number was meant to evoke a bit of tension, maybe even some fear in the audience. But it also showed the strength of the team, the strength of community, and the physical strength of each of you. It was your absolute favorite number that winter; you looked forward to it every night you worked, proud to know you'd created something that stuck so fondly in the minds of the people who watched.

As you hit the stage, you saw immediately what Sasha had just mentioned. Table four, which sat just off the right side of the stage, was cramped full of men in suits, every single one sharp and fitted and so obviously expensive. There was every type of man you could imagine at the table; you spotted immediately the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, Sasha's dream come to life. And when she led the first eight counts towards the front of the stage, you saw his eyes take in everything, her long legs, her face, her deep rich eyes he seemed lost in. You nearly broke character; so rare was is that people in here flirted with the performers, oddly enough, and normally you were very thankful for that. It was all a part of the classy environment your boss had curated, and it meant you felt safe. But you couldn't deny how giddy it made you to see this playing out in front of you, mere feet from where you danced.

You danced the rest of the number focused, determined not to drop your professionalism for too long, the crowd erupting in cheer as you all finished. Clasping hands down the line, you took one giant bow, spinning and running off stage as the number ended.

"Lina needs help y'all!" Ilya called as you ran through the wings, and immediately you headed down the short hallway to the back of the bar, bursting through to find her. Stacked along the bar were multiple trays of drinks; a line was forming, and your head bartender looked the tiniest bit stressed. Sweat dripped form her brow, and she wiped it away quickly with her hand, punching something into the computer before whipping around to take another order.

"Oh, good, please take those out!" she said when she saw you and Tina, pointing to the trays of drinks in front of you. "The beers are for table four, the cocktails table seven!"

In an instant you grabbed the tray in front of you, sliding past Tina as carefully and quickly as possible. This was sometimes your favorite moments of the evening, when in the adrenaline of post-performance you had to run out drinks to an excited table, who'd marvel over your performance and ask you every question they could think of. As you started weaving through the room, several iterations of 'great job!' and 'amazing, just amazing!' were thrown your way, making your smile so wide it nearly stretched off your face. You barely payed attention to the drinks in your hand, only to make sure they didn't spill, as you nodded in thanks to the compliments, smiling at the half-lit faces around you.

It wasn't until you stopped, stood close to the wall to let another server past, that you realized which tray you'd grabbed. Both table four and seven sat on the far side of the room opposite the bar, and in the chaos of the moment you'd just headed this way, not bothering to actually take note. Now, you did; eight beers sat on the tray balanced on your hand, all identical dark ales. You shot a look to your side at Tina's tray, littered with pink and blue and clear cocktails, fun decorations sticking out the top of them all. Your's was meant for table four, for those businessmen Sasha had spotted, the one's you'd just performed mere feet from.

It shouldn't have worried you, but you couldn't help remembering it now. The only time you'd felt uncomfortable at work had been when serving a giant table full of just men, when one of them had said things severely over the line with you, just to make his friends laugh. It'd only ever happened that once, but the feeling was humiliating enough to have stuck with you, your mind whirring a bit as you made you way towards the crowded table. You decided you'd set the tray down by the man eyeing Sasha; maybe you could subtly hint at her interest, though you had no idea what you'd say. But as soon as you entered their proximity and reached between two of them to set down the tray, a man across the table spoke to you.

"I love that song!" he said, and you looked up to find a sweet, bright smile and deep dimples staring back at you.

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, giving him a genuine smile back, your mind immediately put at ease. You started placing the beers around, one in front of each man, careful to avoid the plates of food already littering the table.

"Do you know the significance of the Kalyna plant in Ukraine?" the same man asked, and your head snapped to him, eyes slightly wide.

"Yeah, that's why I chose to make that number," you said before you could think, so shocked that someone here knew anything about the song you'd spent long hours researching months ago.

"You choreographed that?" he asked, his eyes going wide a bit too.

"Oh, yeah," you said, slightly embarrassed that you'd just openly admitted that. It wasn't something you tended to do, when making light chatter with customers. You grabbed the last beer, which was for him, and made your way around the table to set it down in front of him. "It's just such a great song, easy to choreograph to," you added, trying to make yourself sound less conceited, less interested in talking about yourself.

"It is great, haven't heard it in years," he responded, taking the beer from your hand as you moved to set it down.

"You've heard it before?" you asked, genuine shock in your tone. The band was not one very popular here; not a single person you knew had heard of them, and no one in the months you'd been performing it had mentioned knowing anything about the song.

"Yeah, my freshman roommate in college was from Ukraine and he played a lot of their music. He's a drag queen, I would go to his shows a lot. He actually did a routine to that song, too, for a while," he responded, turning in his seat a bit to better face you. By this point the rest of the table had fallen into another conversation; it seemed none of the rest of them had heard of the song before, or cared to learn much about it. Kind of made them seem like shitty friends, to you. But you were thankful for it, because all of the sudden it felt like you and this gorgeous man were all alone, your back against the west wall of the seating area, Sasha's voice booming through the speakers around you.

"Next time he's visiting I'll be sure to take him here, he'd love it," he added, taking a swig of his beer.

"Well we might not be performing that number anymore, depending on when he's coming. Our numbers are put on a rotation, and this one's overstayed it's welcome already. Though it's still quite popular, we might be able to perform it a while longer," you said, words coming easily, the normal walls you kept high when talking to customers nowhere to be found.

"That's too bad, I hope you get to keep it for a while. It's fucking great, you're a real genius," he said, looking up at you again with those perfect dimples.

"Thanks," you said, blushing, the smirk he was sending your way bringing sudden heat to your face. You'd had time now to take him in; his hair was black, short at the sides and longer on top, his suit black to match it. His skin was honey, smooth as can be, and his face was pure perfection, pouty lips and a perfect nose, a strong jaw, strong eyebrows. He was very masculine, but very pretty too, so stunning you couldn't believe your eyes. And his wire framed glasses held his look together perfectly; he looked sharp, smart, and confident. He looked the way you were pretty sure every man wished he looked in a suit.

"I don't usually say stuff like this, but, when are you free tonight? We're all headed to a huge party up in the East Heights after this, if you'd like to come. There's gonna be an open bar, a pool, it's supposed to be pretty crazy," he said, taking another quick sip of his beer, his face pure and calm as he said it.

'I don't usually say stuff like this' my ass, you thought. The words had flown off his tongue too easily for that to be believable. But it was working on you, his confidence. You'd experienced too many instances of vague flirting, of indirectness, of shaky voices and shakier hands. You'd dreamt of a moment like this, when someone saw you and liked what they saw, liked it enough to ask you out then and there with no hesitation.

"Uh, I get off at 12:30, when the bar closes," you answered him, words falling out of your mouth without intention. "I- uh- I'll need to think about it though. I wouldn't be comfortable coming by myself, would I be able to bring some friends?"

"Yeah, bring whoever you'd like. It's a big event, a few extra bodies should be no big deal," he responded, smirk turning to a full on smile. His teeth were perfect, god he was perfect, and you got lost in his face for a few seconds, resting your hip against the wall behind you, your lower lip grasped between your teeth.

"I'm San, by the way," he said, reaching out his free hand in your direction.

"Oh, yeah, I'm y/n," you replied, placing your hand in his. His handshake was strong, hand warm around yours, your fingers nearly disappearing in his palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, holding onto your hand for a second longer than needed, gently releasing it and looking you straight in the eyes.

"Nice to meet you too," you said awkwardly, eyes darting around the room. "I should probably get back to work, it was nice chatting with you," you said, finally walking around the table to grab the tray and bring it back to the bar.

"We'll be here till closing, so just let me know then if you'd like to come," he said, nodding in your direction as you started to turn.

"Okay, thanks," you said, smiling over your shoulder, before walking off hurriedly between tables, suddenly worried sick that you'd be in trouble for talking to him for too long.

"Titi, you still wanna go out tonight?" you asked as you rushed back into the locker room, two slices of sweet bread you stole from the kitchen in your hands.

"Yeah, you actually wanna?" she said excitedly, reaching forward to grab one of them from you.

"I just got invited to a party in the Easy Heights," you said, a bewildered look gracing your features.

"Hello? What?" she responded, her mouth open in a comical O.

"I don't even know, but yeah, apparently some big party is happening at a house up there? He said it will have an open bar and pool?" you said, shaking your head in disbelief at the words coming out of you.

"Who said this?" she asked, mouth full as she chowed down.

"He said his name is San, he's in that group at table four," you responded.

"Oh my god, Sasha was just telling me she was making eyes at one of those men," Tina laughed, a hand coming to your shoulder.

"Yeah, I saw that while we were performing Kalyna," you said, giggling too.

"You sure you wanna go to an East Heights party? There's definitely gonna be like coke and shit, probably worse. It might be crazy," she said, head tilting to the side.

"If it's awful we can just leave, but I kinda feel like going. I doubt we'll ever be invited to one of those again," you laughed, giving her an assured smile. "I kind of want to see what tomfoolery those rich assholes get up to."

"So this isn't about hanging out with that man?" she asked.

"He seems cool, but I think he might be gay," you said to her, crossing your arms.

"Um, why?"

"He said his roommate in college was a drag queen, and that he went to his shows a lot. And he talked to me way too confidently to be into me. If he's not gay, then he's definitely not interested," you said, shrugging.

"Babe, he invited you to a party with him, barely knowing you. He definitely finds you attractive," she said, giving you that look she does when she thinks you're being just a bit dumb.

"Okay, but, well-" you cut yourself off, holding your hands out in a gesture of pity. You were dumb when it came to this relationship stuff, downright stupid. You knew that, as frustrating as it was. You wanted to be confident in your suspicion he was into you, but you'd been wrong enough times when you were younger about this sort of thing to assume it now. You'd been made fun of countlessly in high school, person after person laughing at the mere thought that they'd be into you. You were always baffled; you'd been told by some other person that this person had a crush on you, and were only asking them about it because of that information. They were pranks, and it took you embarrassingly long to figure that out. You understood that now, you recognized it had just been childish bullying; but still, even years later, you doubted any instance of even a suggestion that someone found you attractive.

You were different back then; you'd changed so much in the few years you'd lived away from home. But still, you doubted yourself. Maybe you had a complex about being undesirable, but who didn't? And frankly, when you looked around the world, it seemed like more of the "ugly" people had partners than not. It must be more about personality, you reasoned, which made your undesirability all the more painful. A silly, sick side of you began to feel attached to being single, began to feel better than other people for it, even your ride or die perfect friend standing in front of you. You didn't need romantic love like everyone else did, you decided; you had your art to give you passion, your friends to give you companionship. And you could physically satisfy yourself just fine. It was all projection; it was how you coped. How else could you deal with the pain of never being loved, lusted after, wanted the way all of your friends had since puberty?

But even as attached to your single identity as you were, you'd perused the apps last year, a tiny buried part of you wishing and hoping that there was someone out there for you, perfect in every way. It had been a bust, as expected. You felt like a fool for even trying. You had hoped that it would give you at least a little self-esteem, even if no relationship came of it. But it had only driven that painful truth of your undesirable personality deeper into your heart, cracking it further.

"I don't even want a relationship right now, Ti, I've said that for like the past three months," you said, pulling your hands back to your chest. You felt your heart thumping there, trying desperately to come alive despite the year of terror you'd put it through.

"It doesn't have to be a relationship, you could just hook up with him, you know, have a little fun," she answered you, grabbing your hands in hers. "Let's go, let's have some fun. Just relax, spend the evening enjoying ourselves." You hadn't seen her so excited all winter; her moods were severely affected by this season, and it always felt like a part of her left you for the cold months. It made a complex mix of sadness and excitement swirl through you, staring back at her perfect face. There was no way you'd be saying no to her now, despite anything.

"Okay, fine," you sighed, pulling her into a tight hug.

It took little convincing for Sasha and Bibi to join you, and soon the four of you plus Maya were standing on the sidewalk outside, stuck like a barnacle to the side of San's huge group. You were all waiting on two limos, according to him; when he's said this the five of you looked between yourselves with huge wide eyes, grabbing each other's arms and trying desperately not to laugh.

"You realize none of us have ever been to the East Heights, right?" you said to him, the soft arm of his suit jacket brushing up against the exposed skin of your own upper arm.

"That's fine, I've only been once. It's nothing that crazy, the houses are just big," he said, looking down at you, his shoulders intimidatingly broad now that he was standing beside you.

"I thought you said this party is gonna be crazy though," you replied, squinting your eyes playfully.

"Well, it's possible. I don't really know," he responded.

"So you just said that to say it earlier?" you questioned him, head cocked to the side.

"I was trying to make my offer sound enticing," he replied, looking you up and down, that smirk back on his face.

"So you lied to me?" you shot back.

"Hey, like I said, I don't know much about this thing, it could very well be crazy," he responded, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Wow, what have I gotten us into," you said, turning to the group, all of whom were suppressing their laughter at the interaction unfolding in front of them.

"The best night of your life," he answered, nudging your shoulder in a way that almost could have been accidental, making your eyes snap back to his again.

"I hope that wasn't a lie," you said, eyeing him sharply.

"I'll make sure of it," he shot back, one eyebrow raised slightly.

A titter sounded behind you, Tina unable to keep her composure at the ridiculous bickering unfurling between you. Your eyes were locked on each other, faces closer than either of you realized. It was so damn obvious to all of your friends, then, what was about to happen. The two of you couldn't hide it for a second, how affect you were. You were still locked in eye contact when the first limo pulled up, the rest of San's group filing in, waving him goodbye.

"You can go with your friends if you'd like," you said as he closed the door, stepping back.

"Oh they're not really my friends, just guys I know through work. This whole thing tonight is a networking opportunity, what fun," he joked sarcastically, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Oh wow," you said, eyes glued to the limo as it pulled away. "People network at one in the morning?"

"Us tech bros do I guess, we just love it," he said, laughing sarcastically again. "I don't really like this stuff, but my manager is making me go. He gave me Monday off, so, I can't really complain."

"Wow, you have like a normal job," you said, laughing.

"And you don't?" he asked.

"I just mean, you work Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, right?" He nodded. "Yeah, I literally don't know a single other person who does. My mom is a doula, and my twin sister is a nurse, and my dad has early-onset Parkinson's so he's been on disability almost my whole life. And the rest of my friends work here, or work at other bars or restaurants around here. Even my best friend from high school works in a library at her university, but she works weekends and nights."

It all came stumbling out of you so fast, your hand shot up to your mouth.

"Sorry, that was crazy. Just forget all that shit about my dad..." you trailed off, eyes wide with worry as they met his.

"What shit about your dad?" he answered, and your expression immediately changed to one of relief, one of laughter. Just then the second limo pulled up to the curb, and the five of you excitedly gathered by the door, San opening it for you.

"Ladies," he said, bowing his head slightly and beckoning you all to step inside.

"None of us have ever been in a limo either," you told him, chuckling as your friends excitedly squealed while carefully entering the sleek black car.

"Uh, I have, speak for yourself miss thing," Bibi said as she crouched down, shooting you a look over her shoulder.

"Well damn, I guess one of us has," you said to San as you finally stepped inside, his body following quickly after you, rich laughter ringing in your ear.

San, it turned out, was most definitely not gay. Which of course, deep down, you'd already known. You'd known it from the moment he asked you to go to that party with him, from the moment he smirked and your body sizzled under his glare. But he was so different from anyone you'd dated before; too kind, too upfront, too knowledgeable about musicals and theater and all the things you loved so very much. It almost pained you to find out he'd been studying theater in college before switching to computer science. That was why he'd been paired with his freshman roommate; at the time, they'd had the same major. That roommate, Antin, became one of his best friends; the two bonded over coming from overseas, the pressure their parents put on them even thousands of miles away. It was so sweet, so charming, and in the two hours you spent at that raucous party, you learned what seemed like all there was to know about him.

He was too perfect; it was too easy to say yes when he'd asked if you wanted to see his apartment, too easy to bid your friends goodnight as your Uber pulled up in front of their places. You thought of nothing but the hunk beside you, about what he'd look like with that suit strewn on the ground. You tried not to jump his bones the second you were alone, but damn was it hard; as soon as you arrived he'd taken your purse, and placed it in the front closet of his apartment. His apartment was huge, his front closet bigger than the bathroom you shared with three other roommates; it was fancy too, well kept, stacks of books and DVDs in the living room, only two dirty dishes in the bottom of his kitchen sink.

It was all simply too good to be true, and in that moment nothing felt real. You were present, sure, but you felt like you'd been knocked into an alternative timeline, getting to live out the life of someone far better than you, who deserved all this.

"Aren't you hot in that suit?" you asked him, your loose minidress hanging free, your body unburdened with extra fabric. You always kept a few random clothes at work in case you needed to change suddenly, and even though it was the last day of January, this tiny dress had been a great option. Outside you'd thrown a large old flannel of your dad's over it, but at the party you'd tied it around your waist, the mass of bodies creating more heat than you could bear.

"Yeah, I was sweating all night," he laughed, slowly and methodically pulling off his suit jacket, finally revealing the shape of his shoulders to you. Under his white button-up they bulged; you did all you could to stop yourself from just staring, especially as he loosened his tie and finally pulled from his head, setting it down on the small table just inside his front door.

"You can put your shoes in there, if you'd like. Oh and your shirt, here, let me hang it up," he said, reaching for the flannel still tied around your waist. His touch was electric as soon as his hands made contact; even through the material of your dress you felt the spark, your body shivering. It only lasted a second, his nature too respectful to make anything more of a moment like that, especially after what you'd said at the party to him not twenty minutes ago. You wished you could have frozen time, wished every little detail of this night could be burned into your memory forever. It would be hard to believe then that you'd forget a lot of it in just a year, that somehow so much would happen that this one night would come to feel almost insignificant.

"Can I make you some hot cocoa, or tea, coffee?" he asked as he walked towards his kitchen, pouring you both glasses of water.

"Some herbal tea sounds nice, if you have any," you answered, and he opened his pantry to reveal a small collection. You picked out the lavender mix that sounded refreshing, placing the purple tea bag in a black mug he'd set down on the counter. As he set his tea kettle to boil, you hopped up on the counter beside him, bare feet swinging in air.

"So, you think that was the best night of my life?" you quipped, looking sideways at him as he set the kettle to temperature.

"Night's not over," he responded, eyebrows flicking up in amusement.

You were squirming under his gaze, your face now level with his. His shirt and pants fit him immaculately; you were so obviously ogling him, your thighs rubbing together as you did, your eyelids heavy with lust. He could feel it pouring off of you, but he kept replaying what you'd said, and kept trying to keep his composure, because he really wasn't that guy. He wasn't the guy who slept with the girl right away; he had known too many of those guys at college, seen too many of them back home too, when he visited his brother in the fall. He found the hookup culture he was surrounded by almost unnerving. He'd been raised with integrity, with respect; and being here in a new country had challenged his beliefs, for sure, but not when it came to sex or romance.

But you were determined. Your body had a mind of its own, and this whole night had felt surreal for hours now. Your own, already loose morals were thrown out the window, and you didn't give a fuck. You wanted him now, forget whatever the hell you'd said earlier; you didn't even remember it anymore, too filled with arousal to think straight.

You grabbed onto his arm closest to you, pulling him in.

"Hey, I thought you said-"

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling his face towards yours, leaning back slightly to arch into him. It was feverish as your lips met, mouths open, your legs already shaking as you wrapped them around his waist. It didn't take long for his hands to find your hips, your waist; he dug in, feeling the softness of you, softness he wanted to be wrapped in forever. He'd kept his composure the whole way here, not putting a hand on your thigh in the Uber, not a hand on your back as you walked through his front door. But now, it had left him; just five seconds of you in his grasp, and he knew he could never let go. His tongue swiped into your mouth, sucking hard on your lower lip, and without thinking he was reaching under your dress, feeling over the bare expanse of skin.

You hadn't worn a bra or panties tonight. He could tell about the bra, from the way your dress caught on your chest, but the panties were a surprise, making his head fuzzy as he reached down to your ass and found it bare for him. Your hands now were desperately grabbing at his over-shirt, trying in vain to undo each pesky button as you kept kissing him, your hands stumbling and failing over and over. Finally, he reached up and just ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling onto the floor in a soft rattle. He flung it off his arms, his tight under shirt leaving nothing anymore to your imagination. His abs rippled underneath it; you'd never seen abs like that in person before, weren't sure that they even existed. Especially not on a man who worked in tech, whose face was prettier than a porcelain doll's.

He came back to you, breathing hard; you grabbed at his abdomen, his shoulders, his chest, desperate to feel all of the perfection in front of you. You could smell the sweat on him now, musky and rich notes hitting your nose and making your body heat even more. He moved his mouth to your neck, your ear, making you whine and squirm with pleasure, sharp sparklers of energy running down the entirety of your body. You were pulling at him, desperately, forgetting any sense of where you were, or what you'd planned for tonight. As he licked a stripe up your collar bone you squealed loudly, the feeling ticklish and pleasurable all the same, and you jerked away from him momentarily, falling into a fit of giggles.

Suddenly there was a crash; the mug next to you was sent flying to the floor by your hip, and now it's pieces spread out across the grey tile, littering it in shards.

"Fuck, sorry," you gasped, your hands flying up to cover your open mouth. You were expecting maybe a light chuckle, maybe a shocked noise, for San to want to clean this up right away before you two got to whatever you were doing; instead he laughed deeply, his bright, wide smile back on his face, dimples staring you in the face for the probably thousandth time that night. He looked down to each side of his feet, sighing ever so slightly, before moving his gaze back up to you, his eyes thoughtful.

"Fuck it," he laughed with a shake of his head, grabbing you again, his hand on the back of your neck, soft lips wrapped around your own. You giggled into his mouth, so overcome by the chaotic set of events; but it only took a moment of his lips on yours again for you to melt, your legs around him, your breathing hot and heavy as he grabbed at your dress, pulling it up at the front to reveal your bare crotch to the room, running two of his fingers down your slit to see how wet you were.

"Fuck, San," you gasped, feeling how easily his slippery fingers moved, his movement unexpected.

"You want this, right?" he asked you, voice husky and deep. His eyes were boring into yours, and his look was dark and intense. It made you shiver to look back at him, and a part of you wanted to look away, to not feel the complex string of emotions tumbling through you. It almost felt like dread; dread laced with beauty, laced with desire and sweetness and everything addictive, and you just couldn't bring the rest of yourself to look away.

"Yes, please," you responded, pushing your hips down onto his hand, grinding onto his fingers. "Please fuck me, San."

You'd never said anything like this in your life; you'd only imagined it, or read it. As cheesy as it could feel on the page, in that moment it felt consumingly empowering, downright sexy. You pulled at his belt in front of you, your mouths meeting again, his teeth scraping over your upper lip as he nearly devoured you. Once again, you struggled with undoing his clothing; he moved his hands away from you to unclasp it himself, pulling it hard and tossing it to the ground when he had. Your hands were around his chin, holding his face to you as you messily kept kissing, his hands now working on the button and zipper of his pants. In a matter of moments he'd pulled his hard cock out and held it in his hand, hungrily eyeing your flushed cunt in front of him.

"Let me get a condom," he huffed, clearly having to work at pulling his eyes away from you.

"No, I have an implant," you said, pointing to your left arm. You saw his eyes twitch to side for a moment, like his brain was struggling to process what you'd just said. "It's fine, I can't get pregnant," you added, in case he didn't know what the hell you were trying to say. It took another few moments for him to accept it; but once he did he moved his cock closer to your aching entrance, and rubbed it along your slit where his fingers had been just seconds ago.

"Fuck," you sighed, head hitting his shoulder as he leaned into you, as he spread your wetness over his tip. Your closed eyes cloaked you in almost darkness, only the soft light in the kitchen illuminating the room, and all you could feel was your throbbing cunt and San's movements, already whimpering and moaning in his ear. He lined himself up carefully, pulling your hips to the very edge of the counter to give him room, and slowly sank halfway down.

"Oh my god," you squeaked, the stretch not at all what you expected. He was far bigger than any man you'd ever been with; it almost hurt, and you'd never experienced this before, so you had no idea if this was a hurt that would subside, or a hurt that would grow and fester. You clung to his shoulders for dear life as he slowly pulled out of you again, thrusting back in just slightly deeper, his movements slow and controlled.

"Ahhh, shit," you whined again, grip on his shoulders even tighter.

"I need you to relax for me," he said in your ear, the vibrations of his voice sending tremors of pleasure through you.

"I'm trying," you squeaked out, face stuck in his neck as you tried to breath slowly.

"Need me to stop?" he asked, stilling his movements completely, holding onto your lower back for support.

"No, please don't stop," you whispered, finally finding some control of your breath. "Just give me a second."

San obliged, kissing the top of your head as he ran a comforting hand down your back. You continued to breathe deep, continued to take in his scent, and in a few short moments you felt the walls of your cunt finally release a bit, allowing you to rock yourself against him without pain.

"Okay, I'm ready," you said, bracing yourself, and a moment later you felt him push himself in further, finally bottoming out. You both let out a guttural groan; it felt like you'd discovered new parts of yourselves in that moment, like your bodies were made for each other, made to pleasure each other just the way you needed.

"Fuck, y/n," San moaned your name, your walls tight around him as he pulled back again, thrusting short and soft at first. Hearing your name roll of his tongue made your chest swell; it was far to intense, all of these emotions you were having, for you to utter a thing. Soon he was thrusting faster, setting a steady pace as he held firm onto your hips, his mouth on your neck leaving bruising bites that you'd have to deal with tomorrow. You were breathing ragged, an eruption of feelings so perfect coming from your core that you couldn't quite believe it.

Then it happened; he picked you up by your hips, holding you dead in the air, still thrusting into you. If anything his thrusts were harder, deeper now; the position had given him space, and he used every bit of it, his thrusts becoming longer, harder, his cock nearly falling out of you when he pulled out. Your moans turned to screams; you were no longer aware at all of what sounds you were making, so overcome with the severe intensity of the feelings in your core.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you started babbling, breathing desperately, your hands again grasping at his shoulders.

"What?" he asked between grunts, a chuckle following.

"I didn't- fuck- think this was po-ossible," you stuttered, his thrusts not letting up, the feeling so intense it almost was zapping you back into the moment again, reversing the drifting that your mind had started to do. This felt real; felt too real, too intense. You swore you could feel every vein in his shaft, feel the exact shape of his head. Your orgasm was building, fast, and you'd never come just from penetration.

"Now you know, baby," he chuckled again, not letting up. Soon you were clenching hard, the rippling feelings of your climax building to their peak, your legs around his hips, squeezing him.

"Fuck, fuck," you screamed, biting down on the top of his shoulder, shaking hard.

"Did you come?" he asked, still thrusting hard, wanting you to ride it out as much as you could.

"Yes," you almost sobbed, drool dripping down onto his bare skin. "Slow down," you whined, and he did, gradually slowing his movements until he'd stopped, placing a quick kiss on your neck and making you squeal again.

After that, the night was a blur. He took you again, on the couch, and you came so many times you couldn't keep track. He was flipping you around, holding up your legs; he seemed to know every perfect angle to make your cunt feel even better, and you gladly accepted every movement from him. When he finally came he dropped down between your legs, eating you out as his cum dropped out of you, his face a flushed mess when he looked up to take a breath. You came again; finally, you begged him to stop. Your body was spent, you couldn't take anymore. When you looked at your phone it was nearly six in the morning, and when you ventured a look over to his kitchen window you recognized the first signs of winter dawn, the sky not as dark as it had been.

He made you stay put, cleaning you up in a fluffy towel, picking you up to carry you to his bedroom. He helped you out of your dress; then his own clothes came off entirely, and you ogled him all over again, as he scolded you and told you to get some much needed sleep. Wrapped around him your cunt seemed to stay permanently wet; you thought there was no way you'd fall asleep, but it was late, even for you. Soon you were both out cold, San's blackout curtains tricking your bodies. It wasn't until nearly three that afternoon that you woke.

"You stay, I'll go make us some food," San yawned, kissing your forehead, your face smushed in his chest.

"Are you sure?" you pouted, looking up at him. Even with his curtains open the sky outside was dark; what time it was now, you had no idea. After you awoke and showered, the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. Another slew of hours had flown by, and your pussy was aching, begging you to give her a break. You couldn't help how fucking good it felt, though. You wanted it to never end. You were sure you could be satisfied with your life if all you ever did from now on was fuck him.

"Oh god, don't give me that look," he groaned, turning his head away. You laughed, tugging yourself on top of him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. "I thought you said you were hungry," he said, arms around you too.

"I am," you answered, snuggling into him.

"Well I can't make you food if you're laying on top of me," he responded, squeezing the tops of your thighs.

"I think you're definitely strong enough to carry me around," you said, giggling.

"Oh, is that what you want? You done with walking?" he joked, pinching your thigh.

"Ah, hey!" you squealed, jerking off of him, trying to reach for his ribs to tickle him in retaliation. But just then your stomach rumbled, so loud you both could hear.

"Come on, let me make food. What do you want?" he asked, sitting himself up.

"Do you have eggs?" you said, and he nodded. "Can you make just some toast and scrambled eggs?"

"Of course, anything else?" he responded, standing up off the bed. The naked form of him in front of you was so distracting, especially in the hazy light coming in from outside, the evening street lights shining in through San's huge window. You took a mental screenshot; no one else could ever look this good, you thought, in such low light. It accentuated every nook and cranny of his body; he was so perfectly built, every little part. It was hard not to stare at the curve of his ass as he threw on some sweats, or the muscles of his back as he stretched his arms.

"No, I just have that for breakfast every day. I like simple food," you said, yawning again and sitting yourself up.

"Me too," he smiled, looking back at you for a moment before exiting the room, clinks sounding from the kitchen as he started preparing.

It took you some time to finally get yourself up; your body was wracked with exhaustion, but you'd never felt better. You felt on a permanent high around him; you grabbed your crumpled dress from the floor and slipped it over yourself, finally walking out to the living room to check your phone, which was probably dead. As you came out you saw San on the floor cleaning, the remnants of that poor mug swept into a pile at the corner of his kitchen.

"Oh shit, let me help you with that," you said, making your way over, but San stopped you.

"No, don't walk over here, you'll cut your feet. I'll take care of it, it's no biggie." You stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, but already this dynamic felt comfortable. If he really was fine with it, then you were fine letting him deal with the mess you'd made. You turned on your heel and walked over the couch, grabbing your phone off the coffee table, checking the time.

|6:14 pm|

You saw a slew of texts, but your battery was at ten percent, so you ran to your purse to grab your charging cable, plugging it in.

{Titi}

|3:43pm| how was your night bestie?? |5:58pm| please tell me you didn't get kidnapped |6:14pm| fuck sorry, I hadn't looked at my phone till now |6:14pm| I am alive and well

|6:15pm| oh thank god, we were worried |6:15pm| nothing to be worried about 😌 |6:16pm| so how'd it go?? |6:16pm| girl, we fucked for like three hours last night 😭 |6:16pm| HELLO |6:16pm| are you okay??? 😭 |6:17pm| Maya just said you're putting us lesbians to shame 💀 |6:17pm| 💀💀 |6:17pm| we fucked for like three hours this morning too |6:17pm| GIRL |6:17pm| RIP to your vagina |6:18pm| she's never been happier 😭

|6:18pm| this is so crazy |6:18pm| you home now? |6:18pm| I KNOW |6:18pm| no I'm still here, he's making some food for us

|6:18pm| wow |6:18pm| just wow, idk what else to say 😭 |6:19pm| girl same |6:19pm| you busy tomorrow? |6:19pm| no, why? |6:19pm| I'll bring over some dinner at seven, I have so much to tell you |6:19pm| I can't wait 💕

Present

It was nearly noon, when you woke. Slowly your consciousness came back to you; at first you only felt the warmth of the sheets beneath you, and you knew for sure you weren't in your bed, nor on your friend's couch like you'd planned. You were in the place you'd ended up so many times this month; maybe close to twenty of the nights of January you'd spent here. Thinking of it pulled at you. You knew this was a mistake, ending up here, knew something terrible would come of this. But you hadn't had the will this morning to stop it. You woke grumpy, worried, with the events of the morning spiraling through your head, especially Tina's flushed face of agony and the guttural sounds she made as she threw up.

You were worried, as much as she told you not to be. You'd never seen her like this in the five years you'd known her. As soon as your eyes melted open you were reaching for your phone on the night stand, finding it plugged in to San's charger, a glass of water there too.

You shot off a quick text to your group chat with Tina and Maya. How are y'all feeling? You didn't want to smother them with your worry, so you kept it as casual as you could, sipping at the water beside you and scrolling mindlessly through the other notifications littering your screen. There would be no convincing Tina to go get checked out; you had to accept it, had to welcome the fact that it'd be you and Maya keeping her well. She mistrusted doctors, on top of the unneeded expense, and you completely understood why; with the experiences she'd had, there would be no reason to give them a second chance. But she'd always had a stomach of steel; to see her so unwell was unnerving you, tremendously.

Finally you pushed yourself up; your stomach was rumbling, your head still aching with exhaustion, but the feeling was duller than this morning. The sleep you'd just woken from had been helpful, no doubt, but you wished you felt a little more normal today, instead of sleep deprived and emotionally unsteady. You had important work to do; you needed to head home fast, needed to not get distracted by San like you always did. You couldn't afford to spend the rest of the afternoon here eating and watching a musical, forcing him to recreate it with you. You had a musical of your own to edit.

"Hey," he said when you poked your head out of his room, walking gingerly over to him in the kitchen. He was preparing some lunch for himself; a block of tofu lay resting on the counter, as San chopped peppers and onions and broccoli. The smells of ginger and garlic already wafted from the pan, and San stood shirtless, in just grey sweat pants as he cooked, looking like someone out of any person's dreams.

"Hey," you responded, sighing. His body was alight with energy; he must have hit the gym while you were sleeping, which always left him feeling perky and bright. It was wafting off of him, this positive energy, and it couldn't have conflicted more with the heavy stress coursing through you. It was abundant in your tone; you'd gotten less and less good at hiding it from him, how you felt. Especially this last month.

"You want some breakfast?" he asked you, tossing the onions and peppers into his pan before stirring them with a spatula.

"I can make it," you mumbled, crossing past him to the refrigerator and grabbing the carton of eggs from the bottom shelf.

"Let me do it, I know you're exhausted," he said, coming over to you to grab the carton from your hands.

"No, I want to," you sighed, holding it to your side and out of his reach, a grumpy frown on your face.

"Okay, if you insist," he responded, palms up. Your terrible mood was worrying him deeply, but he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine, that this afternoon was in fact the time to finally do it. He'd been at the gym almost two hours, pumping himself up, doing every exercise he could think of to distract himself from the dread that was slowly filling him. It was like sand in an hour glass, falling slowly enough that he could forget it if he tried. Which he'd successfully done all morning, until your tired form appeared from his bedroom door.

You started preparing your food in silence, the sizzling of San's stir fry and clinking of dishes the only sounds in the room. You were thankful you'd be leaving him in a good mood; it was always hard to leave when he was sad, or grumpy, because every single part of you needed to make him feel better, needed a happy look on his face for you to feel okay. There was no doubt he was meal prepping for the week, given the amount of food he was making, and you sighed in hoping that the future days were on his mind now, instead of the past few.

"I realized something this morning," he said out of nowhere, tossing in his chopped tofu. Your eggs had just finished, so you turned off the burner, plopped them onto your plate, and grabbed your two slices of bread from the toaster, carefully spreading on the perfect amount of butter.

"What's that?" you asked, mind still elsewhere, running in circles and figure eights.

"We met exactly one year ago, today," he said, voice bright and breathy.

"Oh shit, really?" you asked, grabbing a fork from the cutlery drawer, then shoving a piece of toast in your mouth.

"Yeah, don't you remember?" he responded, voice lilting a bit. You mindlessly stuffed some eggs in your mouth, savoring the flavor of the local organic eggs that San always had in stock.

"Yeah, I just didn't realize it was that da-" you cut yourself off when you saw his face, his eyes glassy and jaw set. "Sannie, oh my god, don't cry. I'm not that special," you said, almost scoffing at the emotion coming off of him.

"Yes you are," he said, turning back to the pan on the stove, wiping something that must have been a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"I'm really not," you responded, walking back towards his bedroom to find your phone again, which you'd accidentally left behind. Inside his room you could hear him speak from the kitchen, but you couldn't make out the words. You were distracted by the text you'd received from Maya, i'm doing even better, but Titi is still pretty bad. the Tylenol and everything has been so helpful though. and whatever those anti-nausea meds were, please thank San for me. she's able to keep down fluids now.

I'm glad to hear that. I hope she keeps getting better. She looked awful this morning, you responded, typing it out with your right thumb as your left hand balanced your plate of food.

"You gonna eat in here?" San asked from the doorway, and you snapped your head around to meet his gaze.

"No, sorry, just checking my phone. I had texted Maya asking how they were doing," you responded, mouth in a tight line.

"How's Tina?" he asked.

"Fine, it sounds like. Maya said to thank you for all the stuff you got them," you said.

"It's no biggie. I'm glad it's helping," he said, eyes blinking and face neutral. No biggie, the words made you want to roll your eyes. It was always 'no big deal' to him to do so much, and you'd started to realize that those words were total fucking bullshit. 'No biggie' was seemingly just a favorite English phrase of his, one that made him sound selfless and kind in the way he wanted to be. But you could see the flash of irritation in his eyes, you knew damn well that he was upset that you'd called this morning and made him feel obligated to come and help. He'd wanted your thanks for doing so, which you could recognize was fair. But he also should have said no, if he really didn't want to do it. You couldn't help the fact that he'd been lax with you since the start; one year now, as he'd just reminded you, of you pushing his boundaries and him relenting, and somehow he was still frustrated every time it happened. Like he didn't realize this was just how things were.

You waited till he turned around to point your eyes to the ceiling, a long deep sigh matching the movements of your eyes. You just had to eat and get out of here, one simple task. Then you could be home and worrying about the work ahead of you, or you could be on the phone to Tina and checking on her. You couldn't wait for the relief of hearing her voice.

"Did you hear what I said earlier?" San asked as you walked out of his room, sitting yourself down on his couch to finish your food.

"I don't know, what did you say?" you asked, placing your phone face down next to you.

"I asked if you remembered what you said to me that night we met, right before we came here?" he said, his own bowl of food in hand as he sat down a few feet from you.

"I don't think I do," you responded, sighing as you took another huge bite.

"Really?" he asked you, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes really, San, was it something I should remember?" you asked.

"It's just kind of funny, given what happened next," he said, taking a bite of his stir fry. You gave him a confused look, head cocking to the side. "You said, 'sure I'll come to your apartment, but I'm not fucking you'," he said, chuckling.

"I did not," you scoffed, shaking your head at the thought of it.

"You did, I swear," he continued, eyeing you. "Kind of crazy considering that's exactly what you did for the next forty-eight hours."

"Oh my god, shut up," you rolled your eyes, grabbing the throw pillow to your right and smacking his arm with it. He laughed and batted it away, careful to protect his food as you swung it recklessly. "Also, you say that as if I'm the only one involved in that activity, you ass. That was very much a 'it takes two to tango' situation, Sannie."

San laughed hard in response to that, his dimples popping and his chest rising and falling with each chuckle. He was satisfied to have brought out some humor in you; he knew that was the way he could get you to calm down, to feel a little better and be ready for everything he was about to launch into.

"Do you know that you're the only one other than my mom that I let call me Sannie?" he said, voice softer.

"No I didn't- wait, why?" you asked, suddenly really thinking about what he'd said.

"Uh- you just, I..." he looked at you with a confusing expression, face a mixture of what looked like shock and anticipation.

"Sannie is a special nickname only your mom uses for you?" you asked, tone harsher than he'd hoped.

"Yeah," he sighed, looking at you.

"Then why do you let me call you that?" you asked, placing your finished plate of food on the coffee table in front of you, then leaning back and crossing your legs and arms.

"Cause you're special to me," he said, resting the side of his head on his palm, eyeing you deeply now.

"San- I- I thought that was what everyone called you, I thought it was just your nickname. I wouldn't have started calling you that if I'd known it was a you and your mom thing. I'm not trying to be some replacement for her, or something," you stuttered, hands gesturing in front of your face to emphasize your point.

"Of course you're not a replacement for her, god, you're just special to me, can't you understand-"

"San, why would I be the only one who gets to use the special nickname? You have closer friends, a brother, other family you're close to, I'm just a girl you sleep with sometimes. I'm not the love of your life, or something, we're not married with a baby on the way, and now that we're a family unit of our own you're letting me use this special name for you. We're just friends, why didn't you tell me!?" you snapped, cutting him off mid sentence without a care in the world.

"We're not just friends, y/n," he grumbled, face stony. "And I don't see what a big deal it is that I let you use that nickname. You're the one who started using it without even asking me if it was okay," he shot back, face and body completely still.

"Fuck you," you muttered, standing up and grabbing your plate, walking over to the sink to clean it. "I know you think everything bad between us is my fault; you probably somehow think that shit you pulled last night is my fault, too."

"I wanted to talk to you about that, I wanted to apologize-"

"Oh, you wanted to apologize for choking me? Slapping me? Practically raping me?" you turned around, staring at him with wide, petulant eyes.

"Oh god, please don't use that word," he sighed, his food long abandoned as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"Why, cause it's honest?" you shot back, rolling your eyes at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I did that baby, I know it was wrong, it was so wrong, I'm just, please know I'm so fucking sorry and I'll do anything I can to make it up to you..." he trailed off, mumbling, a deep sniffle cutting off his words. He was sobbing into his hands, his bare shoulders moving up and down as he heaved, trying with all his might to stop himself from completely breaking down. The sight of it immediately shot right through you; you started crying too, in an instant a huge deluge of tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor below. It was so painful, whatever this feeling was; it was like the entire foundation of your body was cracking, like you were about to crumble in on yourself and die on the spot.

"Sannie, please, stop crying," you managed to say, haphazardly wiping the tears from your eyes. But they kept coming; they wouldn't stop until his stopped, you realized; there was something in you that was breaking with him, like your beratement of him was a boomerang, swinging back around and hitting you too.

"I can't, I'm sorry," he squeaked, and you'd never heard his voice like that, never seen him break down so severely.

"Sannie, please," you cried, and suddenly your feet were rushing over to him, and you wrapped your arms around his folded torso, your tears now falling onto the smooth plane of his back. "Please, when you cry I cry, and I don't wanna fucking cry right now."

It made him cry harder, hearing the desperation in your tone; he tried with all his might to calm himself, to take some deep breaths. But he didn't have the strength; the exhaustion from this past month was really catching up with him, and that high he was riding from the gym this morning was long gone. There was nothing he could do now to stop this; he never cried like this, not since he was a child. He had no idea how to put an end to it.

"I'm sorry I used that word, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you chocked out, breathing through your tears as best as you could, holding onto him for dear life. There were no words on his tongue; he couldn't think of anything now, couldn't remember a single thing he'd planned to say to you, the conversation he'd worked himself up to all morning. Instead he was left with this terrible hollow hole in his chest; one you had created, one you filled, one that he feared more than anything. Your tears were the worst thing for him; the gash you'd carved only grew, deeper, wider, getting closer to the exact shape of you, and all he could do was sit himself up and grab you, wrapping you around him and holding you tight.

"You're not just my friend," he said, voice thin and weak with tears. "And right now I fucking hate you."

next part ->

Taglist: @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starhwa1024 @pyeongstarr @hwaromi @completelyjae

@midnightrebel1028 @pautiny27

Thank you for reading and supporting me my loves! <3333

[voylitscope]

This post about fic length came across my dash. It got me thinking about how many truly incredible Stucky fics under 5k I've read — specifically about the short fics that have broken and/or healed my heart.

So, I made this quick rec list of 10 under 5k Stucky fics that are deeply heart-affecting and emotionally devastating.

(There are so many beautiful, moving, and painful fics in this fandom that come in at under 5k. In the interest of keeping this list to 10 fics, these fics are all also canon/canon-divergent.)

💔 Cheat Days | chicklette | Mature | 2,033 words | Pre/Post TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Only on the very worst days – when he is tired and sore and hurts all over, hurts inside and out. Sometimes it’s the fight that does it, his need to be held, to be loved after throwing himself on the line. Other times it’s something else - something more cruel – a joke that he knows Bucky would find hilarious, a movie that Bucky would have loved, a book. Sometimes Steve is just so goddamned lonely that he feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. Then he has what he calls a cheat day. A day when he closes up his apartment and uses the coin, and sighs into Bucky’s embrace.

💔 029. Mirror | aimmyarrowshigh @aimmyarrowshigh | Mature | 2,400 words | Pre-War

Quote I'm unwell about:

“I wanna sit at his bedside when he’s sick,” Bucky says finally. “And buy him hot dogs at Dodgers games. And uh… I guess, I wanna…” He exhales and looks down, away from Mrs. Rogers’ eyes. They’re too much like Steve’s and Bucky’s never said this out loud, not even to him. “I wanna get an apartment for the two of us and curtains that close, and I want to teach him how to dance to Cole Porter records. I want to finish all his stupid fights. I want… I dunno. A lotta impossible things.” Sarah’s voice is so soft. “Like what?” “I want to see him grow old,” Bucky mutters. “Right beside me. I want it to be a hundred years from now and look to my right and see Stevie standin’ there.” He blinks away the heavy wetness in his eyes.

💔Not the Needle, Nor the Thread | steebadore | Explicit | 2,017 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

"Okay, sweetheart, okay," Bucky whispers, running his thumbs over Steve's brow, his wet eyelids, down that bumpy, ungainly nose--the only physical evidence that Steve is a flawed human and not a figure cut from marble. If you asked Bucky what he loved most about Steve, he might say something like his goddamn earnest heart, or those too beautiful-for-spacious-skies eyes, but really it was this: the bump on Steve's nose, put there by Bucky himself, age eleven. Selfish, maybe, but Bucky never pretended to be otherwise these days. He doesn't know why the serum didn't fix that--Bucky likes to think it couldn't. Steve always said how it didn't change anything, just amplified what he already had, and what he had was Bucky's mark on him, down to the bone. This one's mine, it said. You cannot have him. Not the whole of him.

💔Through the notches in your spine | caughtinanocean | Explicit | 4,460 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Maybe Steve was right to worry, and maybe he's not ready and—he's breathing too fast, and Steve's going to notice any moment now, going to stop and leave. Steve lets go of Bucky's hand to stroke the side of his face, tender and soothing. He leans in to give Bucky a soft kiss on the lips, and Bucky doesn't feel so panicky anymore. He's with Steve. Steve is inside of him, as close as someone could be, and nothing bad could ever come of that. Bucky wills himself to focus on the moment, to watch Steve's face, soft with affection, to relax and enjoy this. “'s like it's my first time all over again. How many people get a shot at that twice?” Steve groans. He looks flushed and giddy and bright, and Bucky's inordinately proud that it's his words and his body making Steve glow like that. “I'm gonna make it way better for you this time.” “Our first time was bad?” Bucky asks, trying not to sound crushed, even though he feels it a little.

Steve traces Bucky's jaw and down the line of his neck to caress his chest. “No, our first time was perfect. We had no idea what we were doing, but it was perfect.”

💔A History of Birds | OddityBoddity | Not Rated | 2,580 words | Post TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

“I don’t remember,” he says. Steve holds his breath. “I don’t remember telling anybody about that.” It’s like there’s something stuck between his lungs, like something’s pulling them apart in his chest. “You mean about the bird?” he whispers. Bucky looks at him. Not staring, not really, but looks at him like Steve’s looked at paintings before. Like he’s trying to work out how it’s done. “That little bird,” Steve says quietly. When he speaks, he speaks like the words are a spell or a prayer. Like the words are going to reach into Bucky the way his name once did. Like they’re going to catch his arms and pull him up to safety. This secret they both kept. Something so little, so inconsequential that no one has touched it.

💔You Will Meet a Stranger | spitandvinegar | Mature | 3,081 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

"Steve," she says, unruffled. "He needs someone who'll look at him without pining for who he used to be."

Steve sets his coffee cup upright again. He mops up the mess with a napkin. "Honestly," he says, "All I ever pine for is for him to look back."

💔This is the place | dharmashark @dharmasharks| Explicit | 4,654 words | Canon divergence

Quote I'm unwell about:

With a metal hand there, under the small of his back, Steve might as well be weightless. It’s terrifying. For Steve to be so fragile in ways that Bucky isn’t, and might never understand. But Steve has never been afraid, has never shrank away. Not ever. Not even when Bucky could have—when he would have—when he almost hurt him—Steve had only balled his fists and locked fierce, red-rimmed eyes on his. Steve is fragile; he is unbreakable. Bucky’s memory is full of contradictions.

💔i've seen my share of trouble and i've held my weight in shame | inevitablemeow  | Teen | 4,166 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Bucky is a ghost, still, in the wind so far they haven’t been able to find him. It’s been six months since the helicarrier, and Steve hasn’t lost hope, not fully, but he’s slowed his search. Seeing this heart, knowing that all the others are his, has that hope roaring back to life. They’re his. They’re all for him.

💔sorrow sings a song in me | unicornpoe | Teen | 4,425 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Bucky’s note is on a thick piece of cardstock, and the words are a little more steady, this time. STEVE, IT HELPS ME TO READ THESE THINGS. I THOUGHT IT MIGHT HELP YOU TOO. I MISS YOU. I WANTED TO CRAWL UNDER THAT BLANKET WITH YOU, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW IF I SHOULD. I DON’T THINK I’M GENTLE ANYMORE, AND I WANT TO BE GENTLE WITH YOU.

💔more than anything | jehans | Explicit | 2,938 words | Pre-War

Quote I'm unwell about:

Steve is a reckless asshole who Bucky loves unconditionally and wholeheartedly, and when Steve is quietly undoing him in their bed, loving on him openly and indulgently the way Bucky doesn’t always let him, it becomes difficult to keep pretending that Bucky wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth for any of Steve’s whims. But mostly, what makes him so honeyed in these moments is the way Steve transforms. When he climbs on top of Bucky, all of Steve’s usual, too-close-to-the-surface anger drains out of his eyes, clearing away into pure blue skies of utter adoration. It’s an honesty that Bucky cracks under, breaking open the clay of mundanity and allowing him to shine brightly under Steve’s hands.

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