#this goes for both sides but i feel like this...

[reidrum]

i think he knows

A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3

summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk

wc: 2.5k

A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.

He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?

You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.

But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.

The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.

Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.

He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.

Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?

Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!

Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.

You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling? Spencer: Better now, how are you? You: Better now ;)

Oh, you’re everything to him.

Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you? You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop

He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.

Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again. You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board. Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me. You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful. Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.

It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.

Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.

He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.

While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.

Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something? You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise. You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it. Spencer: Are you free this Friday? You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;) Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7? You: I’ll be waiting <333

He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.

Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”

He deflates. So close.

Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.

Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner? You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?

He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.

Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.  You: Be safe out there please Spencer: Always am. You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me. You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better. Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful. You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3 Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions. You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid. Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy. Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon. You: Bye handsome 💞

The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.

He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.

Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you. Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon. You: Promise? Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything? You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face. Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital? You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that. Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself? You: How are you going to do that? Spencer: I have my ways. You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it Spencer: Maybe. You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye. Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this. You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting? Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay. You: Ugh, you know me so well <3

To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.

The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.

Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.

It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.

Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures. 

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.

Ding!

But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.

And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.

Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.

The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.

The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you. 

“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”

He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.

You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”

“In Maryland?”

“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”

God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”

He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”

“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”

The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”

You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.

“You were busy.”

“So were you.”

Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”

You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t. 

You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.

It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.

It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”

To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”

[himbosandhardwear]

He's managed to talk himself into - Robin thinks Eddie likes you and Wayne thinks it's about time - and out of - that's no guarantee of success and you just figured out you liked him four minutes ago, maybe sleep on it - asking Eddie out by the time he comes out of his room, finding Steve standing in the hallway like the twins in The Shining. At least that's what he assumes he looks like, based on the way Eddie jumps when he sees him.

“Jesus, Harrington, why save my ass if you were gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack three months later?”

He moves Steve bodily to the side so he can pass by, hands to Steve's arms, and then heads to the kitchen to dig through the cupboard above the sink.

“Wayne, have you seen the spider cup?” He asks as he leans up on his tiptoes to reach into the back. His shirt rides up and gives Steve his own heart attack when he catches a glimpse of the dimples on the small of his back.

Fuck. Yeah, not the first time Steve's seen Eddie's waist and gotten flustered. He's never felt so stupid. And he'd once chewed and eaten not one, not two, but three plastic grapes before realizing something was wrong.

“Check underneath,” Wayne says, snapping Steve's eyes away from Eddie's skin.

He opts to return to Eddie's room and wait; if there's a spider somewhere in the room, he'll take his chances.

He still has no idea what he's going to say to Eddie by the time he comes back, empty handed and pouting.

He glances down near Steve's feet. “Oh, she's gone anyway.”

“Who? The spider?”

“Yeah, you must've scared her back under the bed.”

“Cool. Good luck with that later.”

He shrugs like it's no big deal. Steve supposes you don't tattoo a big fuck off spider on your chest if you're scared of them.

“You figure out your big epiphany?” Eddie asks as he flops back down next to Steve. The bed jiggles with his weight.

“Mmhmm,” he confirms.

Eddie waits patiently for Steve to go on and when he doesn't, he gets a dry stare. “Is it a secret?”

“..........no?”

Eddie snorts. “You know, as the resident freak, it's my duty and my pleasure to inform you that you're being weird.”

Yeah, he knows that already. He rubs at his eyes, praying for inspiration, and somehow, it works.

“I'm heading to the VFW, boys. Money on the table for pizza if you want.”

They make eye contact as Eddie yells his thanks.

“He knows we both have money, right?”

“Yeah but he's never been able to treat me before. It's kinda sweet. Don't tell him I said that.”

“Never.” It is sweet and it's the exact thing he needed to push him into… “Hey, so you said something about Mexican food earlier?”

He swings his head up from where he'd just laid it down on the mattress. “Yeah!” He goes up on his elbows next. “You interested?”

His stomach swoops like he's on a roller coaster. “Yeah. You know a good place?”

“Hell yeah I do. If you don't mind a drive, there's a little joint in Indy that has enchiladas the size of your head.”

“Awesome. Tomorrow?”

He drums his hands on the bedspread in excitement. “Hell yeah! Let's make a day of it! The Plex might be playing something good and my favorite record shop is right around the corner.”

Dinner and a movie! God, he's nailing this. It was so much easier than he imagined-

“I'll pick Rob up first and then swing by your place, say noonish? Maybe oneish, I shouldn't promise noon.”

“Oh.”

Eddie looks up at the tone of his voice. “What? You wanted to drive?” The longer Steve doesn't answer the more worried he gets. “Or Rob can't come? I assume that's why you called her.”

“No,” he drawls, slow so he doesn't have to confess the truth right away.

“Okay?” Twin lines bracket his mouth, not sweet like his dimples but deep set frown lines that immediately make Steve feel like dirt.

“I thought maybe…it'd be just you and me?”

It might be that Eddie can't parse why Steve is being weird about something as normal as two friends spending the day together, but Steve's nervous system interprets Eddie's silence as apocalyptically bad. He starts fiddling with the frayed bit of his cutoffs so he doesn't have to look at Eddie anymore.

“Sure?” Eddie eventually answers. “Any particular reason why Robin isn't coming?”

Steve rubs at his eyes in frustration, convinced he's about to blow this whole thing to shit before he's even started. “How is it that I was better at this at fifteen than I am now?” He mutters. Probably because he was young and dumb and everyone wanted him so it was easy. After a moment to collect his courage, he looks Eddie in his huge Bambi eyes and says, “Because you generally don't invite your friends to go on a first date with somebody.”

“Date?” Eddie coughs.

“Yeah.”

“Date?” He asks again

“Yes.”

“Like, a date?”

“Just like a date.”

“As in you. And me. On a date?”

“Ideally.”

“.........Date?”

This would almost be funny if it wasn't so frustrating. “Edward Munson, would you like to go to dinner and a movie with me? Otherwise known as a date?”

He's still staring at Steve like maybe Steve is turning into a blueberry. Which reminds him the whole plan for today was supposed to be ‘get high and watch Willy Wonka’, but they'd both got distracted, being consumed with each other's company. And then Eddie changed his life forever by explaining what liking something felt like. Steve's used to having to have things explained to him but being talked through having a crush on someone is a new low.

“Why?”

“Why?” Steve boggles at him. “If you don't understand that part-”

Eddie waves both hands. “No, why me? Since when do you even… You're not… I don't understand where this is coming from.”

“Right,” he agrees, since this whole thing would seem sudden to Eddie, “uh, I guess since you said your interests consume you day and night, you become obsessed, you want to spend all day with them, and the first thing I thought about was…you.”

‘Me?’ Eddie mouths silently.

“Yeah. You. You're my interest. Took me a little bit to catch up, but, yeah, I'm totally obsessed with you.”

Eddie cracks a disbelieving laugh and then slaps a bunch of his loose hair in front of his face, like a little kid trying to hide.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie laughs some more but it's just hysterical enough that he gets it's not at his expense, it's still in disbelief.

“I don't want to rush you to make a decision but I'm kinda freaking out over here-”

Eddie launches himself across the bed and lands heavily in Steve's lap, which is pretty great.

He takes Steve's face in his hands and jiggles him a bit. “You like me?”

“Yep.”

“What if I kissed you?”

He snorts. “I'm not sure what world you live in where I admit to being obsessed with you and wanting to take you out but somehow I wouldn't want to kiss you.”

“So….yes?”

Fuck it. Steve pulls him down and kisses him. He kisses him like his subconscious had been more than aware he wanted to for months now.

They fall back onto the bed, Eddie still straddling him, and make out like it's 2am on prom night.

Things are starting to really heat up when all of a sudden Eddie starts giggling into Steve's mouth.

Steve pulls back enough to scowl a bit. “Wanna share with the class?”

“No.” He tries leaning in again but Steve stops him with a yank on his hair, which gets him a groan. He files that info away for later.

“Seriously, what's so funny?”

“Agh! Nothing! I was just thinking about how I used to fantasize about this but I always had this grand speech prepared first. You know, back when I had any pride. I was gonna tell you all about how I wouldn't be your secret and if you wanted me it had to be out in the open, but I'm realizing now I could not give two shits about that. I'll be your back door man. Hell, you could get married and have kids and I'll be the other woman for as long as you want.”

He tries to kiss Steve again but he yanks even harder this time. “Eddie, that is fucked up and I'm going to be so mad at you later for even saying it but first, that's not even an option considering Robin and Wayne already know.”

Eddie leans up on his hands, looking down at Steve in shock. “They do?! Wait, how the hell does Wayne know?!”

“Obviously I told Robin as soon as I figured it out and Wayne heard the whole conversation through the wall. He thinks it's about time I got my shit together, so I think we've probably been flirting with each other a little too much in his presence for him not to know.”

Eddie scowls, staring off into the distance as he contemplates this. “That’s why he left, huh?”

“Yeah. He's an ally.” Steve giggles.

Eddie looks back down. “Well then. Can't waste this opportunity. You're cool with kissing… How do you feel about blow jobs?”

Steve rolls Eddie onto his back and shows him how cool he is.

Tag List

@ravenfrog @disrespectedgoatman @grtwdsmwhr @pidgeaf7 @quartzandsundry @resident-gay-bitch @sheldarp @karakro @beckkthewreck @xocowilde @racer-reader @comedictragedy

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[gojosluut]

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི Satoru Gojo HCs 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི (some suggestive, but other than that it’s purely fluff)

Satoru Gojo! sends you his half eaten kikufuku and proceeds to follow it up by texting you how it reminds him of you after he fills you up. (weirdo..)

Satoru Gojo! never takes things seriously, besides if you’re hurt or need comforting then otherwise he’s never serious.

Satoru Gojo! wears those boxers with your face printed all over them, and would wear them out in public if he wouldn’t get charged for public indecency.

Satoru Gojo! always picks up your favorite blind box type (Sonny Angels, Smiskis, Labubus, Hirono Echos, etc) any type of trinket you like? oh he’s getting you the whole box and bringing it home to you after a mission.

Satoru Gojo! Loves sucking on your tittes, not even in a sexual way too he’ll just lay his head on your lap and pull down your tank top and start sucking on your sensitive bud. It’s a comfort thing for him to be honest.

Satoru Gojo! Loves women with any type of body mod. Tattoos, piercings, colored hair, etc. He’s down bad for you.

Satoru Gojo! Prioritizes having an actual connection with you other than just wanting sex. Obviously he wants sex but his priorities for a deep connection with you are higher.

Satoru Gojo! Always makes sure that his teasing doesn’t go too far with you, since he doesn’t actually wanna hurt your feelings so he dims it down a bit with you.

Satoru Gojo! Doesn’t care what you wear out in public. He’s the strongest after all, so? why wouldn’t he just pick a fight with the random creep who cat called you.

Satoru Gojo! Hates it when others make jokes or tease you. He doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile, he just stares at the person looking at them like they’re stupid. Because to him his teasing is love and affection, but with others it’s just disrespectful.

Satoru Gojo! has a polaroid picture of you in his wallet where his drivers licenses is supposed to go, but who cares about that when he can have his pretty girl in the slot protected.

Satoru Gojo! Yaps and yaps about Dijimon to you if you don’t know anything about the game nor the anime. He sits you down and just talks forever about it, and you just gotta listen or else he’ll get all pouty (but also who wouldn’t listen to this man yapping about Dijimon?)

Satoru Gojo! is a secret nerd. Outside of the Nerdjo AU, I can see this man being the biggest nerd ever. He’s got the old time mangas of his favorite anime’s.

Satoru Gojo! Grabs your face mid argument to makeout with you and it always leads to makeup sex, with you in a mean missionary position as he grunts and moans between apologies.

Satoru Gojo! Loves when you’re both loud during sex, he doesn’t want you to think he’s not enjoying it so he’s loud as possible because he really is enjoying it. And the same goes for you he doesn’t wanna think you’re not enjoying it, so he always makes sure you are.

Satoru Gojo! Keeps things you make him or gift to him in a little box inside his desk. And whenever he’s doing paperwork during the day or late at night, he always gets the box out and rereads your little love letters to him and looks at the little trinkets you gifted him whenever he misses you.

Satoru Gojo! Fiddles with his wedding band whenever he gets nervous.

Satoru Gojo! Pulls you by any piece of your clothing back to his side when you start to wander off too far from him.

Satoru Gojo! Loves being babied even if he denies it. He just loves when all your attention is solely focused on him and is smothered by your love.

Satoru Gojo! Doesn’t smash the cake into your face on your wedding day. He just lets you do it and once the cake and frosting is smeared all over his face, he just looks at you with a love sick smile watching you have a laughing fit at his cake covered face.

Satoru Gojo! says the most poetic type shit about how much he loves you outta nowhere and you just gotta stare at him like where the fuck did that come from?! But you always return his little lovely poetic confessions after you look at him like he just said he killed your cat.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[leahsfavefics]

Mr. Park is an Asshole

Author: leahsfavefics

Rating/Genre: M (18+); reverse tropes: nice guy who hates only you, academic rivals, but it's two teachers competing to have the best class. Both reverse tropes come from this post: https://www.tumblr.com/out-of-jams/747204416306806784/reverse-trope-writing-prompts

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (f)

Word Count: 11.5K

Author's Note: Part of the In Bloom collaboration with @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @kpopfanfictrash, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan. Sorry, I'm bad at moodboards.

Summary: Ever since you joined the team as Darling Elementary's new art teacher, you've been welcomed with open arms. By everyone except Mr Park, the music teacher. Jimin seems to be the school's golden child, beloved by all (except you), and the organizer of the school's most popular event, the annual Spring Recital. When the school's poor budget planning requires Jimin to enlist your help on the recital, you wonder how you're going to manage working with your sworn enemy.

Warnings (explicit content): hot tub sexy time, fingering, Jimin talking you through it, 'good girl,' penetrative sex

Y/N:

“Winter break just flew by so fast, I can’t believe it’s already mid-January. Hopefully the rest of the year goes by this quickly,” you said, pouring two cups of coffee from the break room coffee pot. Despite the cheap and horrendous taste, the caffeine was a necessity and the warmth of the drink helped stave off that bitter winter chill that fought through all layers of cloth and skin to get right to the bone.

“Ugh but the second half of the school year always drags,” Heather complained, taking the mug you offered from your hands. “At least we’ll have the spring performance to look forward to. Jimin always does such a great job working with the kids to put on a good show. And it helps that spring break follows right after.”

“Winter break ended not two weeks ago and you’re already anxious for spring break?” you replied with a laugh, ignoring the bit about Jimin she mentioned. Mr. Park, the music teacher, was essentially the school’s golden boy. Beloved by everyone, faculty and students alike, kind, warm hearted, generous, talented beyond belief. Or at least that’s what you’ve been told. While you have witnessed that side of Jimin, it’s never been directed at you. In fact, you didn’t really seem to exist in his world, though you had no idea why. You’d seen him go out of his way at holiday parties to talk to everyone, including newcomers that he makes feel welcome. Yet ever since you accepted the role as art teacher at Darling Elementary he has not spoken more than two words to you.

“I’m always anxious for the next break. Oh, hi Jimin. Good Morning!” she turned her focus to the blonde haired teacher that just entered the break room. He wore a suit, his usual work attire, and his straight hair was tucked behind one ear. You hated how handsome he was. It was harder to dislike someone that was so beautiful.

“Good morning Mrs. Bailey!” He said, a charming smile on his face as he looked at her. “How did yesterday’s spelling test go? The kids were so focused on throwing words out to each other to spell during music class that we barely got to learning the songs for the spring recital.”

Heather winced, “Sorry about that! It went well, all that practicing during music must have helped.”

“No apologies necessary, it’s nice to see the kids excited like that about a test of all things. We’ve got plenty of time to learn the songs.” He poured himself a coffee of his own as he spoke. Once he was finished, he glanced at the black watch around his wrist. “I better head back, I have to meet with the principal about the budget for the show before class starts. I’ll catch up with you later.” He ducked out of the break room, leaving you and Heather alone once again.

“He hates me,” you said sullenly.

“What?! Oh my god y/n no, Jimin is the nicest guy ever. There’s no way he hates anyone.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s the nicest guy to everyone else. He just ignores me.”

Heather laughed. “That is ridiculous, he was just talking to you.”

“No, he was talking to you,” you retort. “Didn’t you notice that he didn’t address me once? He barely even glanced at me!”

“Well have you talked to him much? It’s a two way street.”

“No,” you grumbled. “How am I supposed to? I’m still kinda new here, and he has made no effort.”

“Y/n, this has got to be in your head. He’s literally an angel. Just try talking to him.” 

You checked the time on your phone, internally celebrating when you realized you could use it as a way to weasel out of this conversation. “Oh, look at that, class is going to start in 10 minutes. I better get the supplies ready in my room!” 

Heather laughed, seeing right through you. “You can avoid it if you want, I just think you’re being silly.”

“Yeah yeah,” you waved dismissively. “Whatever. Have a good day! Send me calm children when it’s art time.”

JIMIN:

“We just don’t have it in the budget this year, I’m sorry.” 

Seething, Jimin sat across from Principal Walker and tried to keep his shit together. Flying off the handle wouldn’t solve anything; it wouldn’t get him the funds he needed to get decor for the annual spring recital, nor would it prove his point. It would only get him into trouble. He took a deep breath, his knuckles white where they gripped his knees beneath the desk.

“Mr Walker, the kids look forward to this show every year. The parents, the faculty, so many people look forward to this show, despite the fact that I’ve been funding it personally every year. You promised after last year that it would be worked into the budget this time. I can’t afford to keep paying for everything myself with a teacher’s salary.”

Mr Walker at least had the decency to wince and seem apologetic. “I know, and like I said, I’m sorry. What exactly do you need the money for again? Decorations?”

“Loads of decorations. It’s a winter turned to spring theme, we need dozens of snowflakes and flowers to sprinkle across the stage. I want it to be interactive this year, so the seats will start off with snowflakes and the kids will go around and hand flowers to the audience during one of the songs.”

“Well why don’t you ask Miss Y/L/N for help? Maybe she can add these snowflakes and flowers to the art curriculum.”

“No,” Jimin bit back sharply, bristling. He didn’t want that job thief anywhere near his recital. 

“It wasn’t a request, Mr Park. Talk to Y/N and tell her to work it into her curriculum. You have months, the kids can make the decorations.” He spoke with resolve that left no room for argument. “This will be better anyway, they’ll get to hand out flowers they made themselves to their parents and everyone. And then you don’t have to spend your own money again this year.”

Glancing out at the snow through the frosted window, Jimin sighed, clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to ask Y/N for a favor, he didn’t even want to talk to her. He found it difficult to even be in the same room with her, and it was only partly because he found her to be the most gorgeous woman he’d even seen. Erick had been let go for no reason and she had the audacity to come into school after taking his job, acting all nice and chipper with no remorse whatsoever. “Do I really need to ask Miss Y/L/N? Is there no other option?”

“You could buy the decorations yourself, but once again it has not been approved in the budget. I suggest you stop pressing the matter.”

“Fine,” Jimin said, grinding his teeth.

“I suggest you get going. Class starts in just a few minutes.”

He was being dismissed, and Principal Walker did not seem happy. That was only fair, Jimin wasn’t exactly happy either. Why did she have to be the art teacher? He would be fine asking literally anyone else at school. He stood, gave one sharp nod to Mr Walker, and left for the music classroom.

Y/N:

A knock at your door startled you, causing you to drop the bean salad you’d been all but shoveling into your mouth, trying to finish in the short lunch break between classes. You cursed, grabbing a napkin and whirling in your chair to face the intruder. 

“Jimin?” You balked, eyebrows creasing as you wonder why on earth he is in your classroom. 

“Miss Y/L/N. Do you have a moment?” he didn’t look any happier to see you than you were to find him at your door. Now that you knew he was the culprit of your spilled salad, you were even more irritated. Not only was he interrupting the one bit of time in the day you have to yourself, but he made you lose nearly half your lunch!

Grunting in response, you gestured to the many chairs in your classroom. He eyed them dubiously before finally strolling over and taking an uncomfortable seat on a chair meant for an 8 year old. If you weren’t so annoyed, you’d find it comical. 

“Why are you here?” you finally asked after a moment of awkward silence.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I need to ask a favor.”

You couldn’t help the bark of laughter that came out of you. “A favor? From me?”

“Look, I don’t like it, but I don’t really have any other choices here.” He took a deep breath and leaned his elbows on the table before him, hunching awkwardly to try to get comfortable in the elementary furniture. “You know the recital?”

“The one you put on every year that everyone raves about, that is a glorified choir concert?” you said. “Of course I know it.”

His brows furrowed angrily at your description. He opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to  think better of it, closing his mouth and clenching his jaw until you could see the muscles twitch. It was… unfortunately, extremely attractive. Why does the biggest asshole at work also have to be the hottest? You thought.

“Well,” Jimin started, snapping you out of ogling him. You looked away, embarrassed. He continued unphased, his voice low and angry. “Despite being promised some sort of budget to put on the show this year, I’ve been left high and dry again. Principal Walker told me to talk to you about making decorations for the performance. We need snowflakes and flowers, at least two of each for each kid but likely more if you have time.”

“You want me to make decorations for your show myself?” you asked, incredulous. 

“No, of course not,” he answered. “The kids should make them. Work it into the curriculum. You already have supplies- glue, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and so on.”

“Jimin,” you said, setting the remains of your salad to the side to focus on this absurd conversation. “I already have the curriculum planned out for the rest of the year. We only have time for a few more projects, and especially clay will take at least a few weeks. I don’t have time, sorry.” You added the sorry as an afterthought, not really feeling the sentiment but following the urge to be polite despite your dislike of him.

He cleared his throat, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat again. 

“What?” you barked, wanting him to spit out whatever he was clearly fighting with himself about saying.

“Mr Walker told me that it wasn’t a request. That the kids will like making the decorations and will be proud of them. We’ve been tasked to work together on this.” 

You gaped at him and he looked down, refusing to meet your eyes. Swirling rage welled up in you. “So I have to re-plan the entire rest of the year?”

“The recital is in March, so not the whole year,” he offered. “Just like, the next two months.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh okay, just half the remaining year then, as if that’s so much better. Unbelievable.”

A moment rolled by, tension thick in the air as both of you sat glaring at each other. 

“Miss Y/L/N?” your head whipped over to the door, where one of your students had arrived early. Her face broke out into a grin when her eyes landed on Jimin. “Mr Park?! My two favorite teachers are in one room!” she exclaimed, bounding over to her seat. 

“Mr Park, will you be here for class today?” she asked. 

Jimin extricated himself out of the small chair and stood. His face was lit with a smile, an expression so wholly different from the way he’d just been looking at you that it was hard to believe it was even the same person. “No, I’m sorry, Anjelica. I was just leaving. But I will see you tomorrow at music class! Your favorite.” He shot the words over this shoulder with a smirk. All the kids always raved about music class with Mr Park, but since you took over the art class there’d been rumblings that the kids were doing the same with your class. You bristled, feeling competitive. If he was going to behave this way- always cold, demanding favors- you were going to do your damndest to steal his title of ‘Favorite Class.’

Y/N:

A long conversation with Principal Walker confirmed what Jimin had told you. Despite your protests, he refused to budge from his decree and you spent the entire weekend re-writing lesson plans and rearranging your curriculum for the remainder of the year. When you weren’t working on school stuff or sleeping, you were on the phone with your long distance bestie, Lisa, complaining ad nauseam about Jimin and the fact that you were being essentially forced to help him. 

By the time Monday rolled around, you felt as if you hadn’t even had a weekend. That exhaustion made you angry, and that anger fueled you as you stomped over to the music room before the school day had started and banged on the door. 

“Wha- Oh.” His expression changed from curiosity to a barely concealed glower as soon as he opened the door and saw you. “What do you need?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, bristling at his tone whilst simultaneously trying not to let your eyes dart down to his plump lips. They looked so soft, you wanted to bite them and draw blood. 

Clearing your throat, you met his dark eyes and tried to focus on why you were there. “If we’re going to have to work together on this, I need some direction.”

“Why? Do you really not know how to teach kids to make snowflakes and flowers? How did you get the art teacher gig if you don’t know that?” He sat on the edge of his desk as he spoke, black pants stretching across what were surely muscular thighs. He folded his arms, mimicking your stance, and you couldn’t help but notice as the sleeves of his jacket rose revealing veiny forearms. Focus, y/n. Focus on how much of an asshole he is.

“Of course I know how to teach kids to make that stuff. What I need to know are details. Do you need one or more specific kinds of flowers? Is there a color theme we need to stick to? Should the snowflakes be plain like made with white paper or should they have glitter or other decorations? Do you want me to keep going or do you get it now?” you finished, trying to refrain from grinding your teeth. He just made you so angry with this condescension. It was almost better when he wasn’t talking to you at all. 

“I see,” he said pointedly. “The kids can do whatever they want with the snowflakes, glitter, string, whatever else. As long as they stay mostly white. For the flowers, they need to be spring flowers. Tulips, daffodils, lilacs, lily of the valley.”

“A bunch of 7 year olds are not going to be able to make lilacs out of elementary art supplies.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Okay well you get the picture. Spring flowers only.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t screw this up, y/n. This performance is the highlight of the year for some of these kids. I’m trusting you with this huge part of it. The decorations better not wreck the show.”

If this were a cartoon, red would be rising up your body, whistling steam coming out of your ears. “My decorations will make the show. They’ll outshine your songs. And art class will become the new favorite class.”

He smirked, gesturing to the door. “It’s a contest then? May the best man win. Class is about to start, I suggest you head back to the art room.”

JIMIN:

“2 Iced Americanos for Jimin!” the barista announced over the cafe loudspeaker. Jimin got up from his seat to grab his drink. As soon as his hands closed over the iced coffees he regretted his choice. It was far too cold outside, and it would have been nice to wrap his hands around a warm drink. But, Erick always drank iced no matter the weather and Jimin had panic ordered, being too stressed with work to put any thought into anything else. Even something as simple as a coffee order. 

Just as he resumed his seat, a familiar face walked through the door. Jimin held his hand up to catch Erick’s eye, who smiled and took his seat across from his old university roommate.

“Chim! It’s been a minute. I’m glad we found time to grab a coffee and catch up,” he said, beaming at his old friend. 

Jimin took a sip of his drink and shivered. “I know! We’ve barely had time to see each other since you left Darling. I miss working together.”

Erick winced. “I do and I don’t miss it. I hated that job. I was so happy when they let me go.”

“What?” Jimin coughed, choking on his next sip of coffee. “You were happy? It was so slimy though, letting you go so they could hire a new art teacher instead of giving you tenure.”

“Well, yeah, it was slimy, but it was a relief. I was thinking about quitting anyway. Stacey and I want to start trying to have kids, and I just couldn’t imagine being around kids all day and then going home and taking care of more kids. I needed a career shift.”

Jimin sat for a moment, reordering events in his mind. This whole time he had been villainizing Y/n in his mind, thinking she came in and stole Erick’s job right from under him. Now he was finding out that Erick was not only relieved to go, but was likely going to quit anyway? 

“What is that look for? What are you thinking so hard about?” Erick asked. 

“I just didn’t know that.”

“I told you we were trying to have kids.”

Jimin waved this away. “I knew that, you guys told me at your holiday party. I didn’t know you wanted to leave Darling. I didn’t know you were happy to get laid off.”

“Yeah it was honestly great.” Erick said with a shrug. “But what does that matter?”

“Well…” Jimin cringed. “I haven’t exactly been very nice to your replacement…”

Erick’s jaw dropped. Jimin was almost never not nice. 

“I thought she stole your job!” Jimin said, defensive. 

“Dude, even if she did, it wouldn’t be her fault that the school did something shitty.”

Jimin wanted to fold into himself, suddenly ashamed for his behavior the last few months. Sure, he hadn’t been outwardly mean to y/n, but he had pointedly ignored her. Given how friendly he was to everyone else, surely she would have noticed. 

“You should probably fix that,” Erick said, laughing. “Also, if you’re that upset at how they treated me, maybe you should look for another job.”

“I was over winter break. Right now I’m so focused on the recital it’s hard to think about much else.”

Erick paused, then chuckled again. “I can’t believe you weren’t nice to someone. We roomed together for 2 years in college, I never saw you be anything but nice.”

“I was trying to be a good friend. Loyal,” Jimin whined. “Now I feel like a dick.”

“You might have been a little bit of a dick, but it’s not too late to fix it. You see her every day at work I’m sure, just start being nice.”

“Not too nice though, she is trying to steal my thunder at the performance.” Jimin explained to Erick that he once again got no budget for the recital, and had to resort to asking y/n for help from the art class. 

“So let me ask you this,” Erick said, once Jimin had told him the entire story. “Is this girl hot?”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Um,” he coughed, unsure how to answer. “I mean. Sure, she is attractive.”

Erick smirked. “I think you have a crush on her.”

“What?! No, I don’t even like her.”

“You thought you didn’t like her because you thought she stole my job. She didn’t. You think you’re annoyed at her for saying her decorations will outshine your songs, but you don’t hear yourself talk about her. She’s helping you with the show.”

“Because she has to-”

“Sure she has to but she clearly wants to do a good job.  I don’t know, Chim, maybe I’m wrong, but the only other time I’ve seen you be this animated talking about someone was when you dated Clarissa back in college. I think there could be something here with this girl if you pull your head out of your ass.”

“Ughhh,” Jimin groaned, disliking nearly everything Erick was saying. But, as one of Jimin’s oldest friends, Erick knew how to read him better than most, despite the fact that they hadn’t spent much time together since Erick left Darling Elementary. Maybe he was onto something… but that was a possibility Jimin didn’t feel like considering at the moment. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” he grumbled.

Y/N:

You leaned against the break room counters, blowing on your coffee as Heather walked into the room.

“Hey!” Heather said, grinning. “Will you be at the teacher’s retreat next weekend?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’m still so new, I don’t want to skip out on things like that and inadvertently ruffle any more feathers than I’ve already ruffled just by being here.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing as she poured herself a cup. “Are you referring to Jimin? You’re still convinced he doesn’t like you? I thought you were working together on the recital or something.”

“Is that what the rumor mill is saying? It’s more like I’m being forced by him and Principal Walker to rearrange my curriculum for the rest of the year to have the students make all the decorations.”  Several weeks had passed, and each day the students were getting more and more excited about the spring performance. They’d made all their snowflakes and were working on their flowers now, and it hadn’t cut into your normal curriculum as much as you’d thought. However, it was still disruptive to your flow and you were determined to stay annoyed at Jimin and Jimin only for it. 

“Oh that’s cute! They’ll be personalized and have more meaning. Plus I’m sure it will save Jimin a lot of money. He was determined after last year to have the school supply some funds for the show. I’m guessing they didn’t if he’s asking for homemade decor.”

Your attention was caught on one thing she’d said. “What do you mean, ‘save Jimin a lot of money’ ? Shouldn’t the school be funding this show each year? I assumed the budget was just a bit lower this year.”

“No,” Heather glanced around, making sure the room was empty before leaning in and lowering her voice. “This district notoriously does not give a shit about the arts. Despite all the praise the show gets every year, and how much students and parents and everyone look forward to it, the school has never provided any budget. Last year Jimin told me he ended up spending over $600 out of his own pocket on decor and set designs trying to make it perfect for the kids. But it made the rest of the year difficult for him financially. He put his foot down after that, saying he wasn’t going to spend a dollar of his own money anymore.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t know that,” you murmured, feeling guilty for giving him such a hard time about helping out. You just thought he didn’t get as big of a budget as he wanted or was being over the top. If you’d realized he’d been funding this all himself in years past you would have been more willing to help. Still irritated at reworking all your lesson plans, but you would’ve at least been nicer about it. “That sucks.”

“It does. He works so hard on it each year. I’m sure it’s hard for him to not be spending money to make it the best show possible, but I’m also sure the kids won’t care. They’ll love it anyway, especially if they get to feel like they’re helping with it by making the decorations during art class.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, lost in thought. This put Jimin into a different light. You’d always just thought he was kind of an asshole. And he was, sometimes, to you. But a true asshole wouldn’t almost bankrupt himself to spend hundreds of dollars on a recital for 2nd graders. Maybe Heather was right, and you did need to lighten up a little when it came to Mr Park…

JIMIN:

Heaving a sigh, Jimin collapsed on the bed. A whirl of conflicting feelings about the weekend’s retreat overwhelmed him. On one hand, he needed a weekend away. He spent nearly all day during the week at school, running the music class as normal and preparing for the recital. On weekends, he stressed about not being able to be at school and get more work done. He hadn’t even chosen the final song yet, let alone taught the kids how to play it on their recorders. He’d just been so focused on a loose script and some makeshift set designs. While he was determined not to spend his own money, that commitment required more time to handcraft. Although y/n was helping immensely by providing the snowflakes and flowers needed, there was still a lot that fell on Jimin’s shoulders, and he alone would bear that burden.

However, as much as he needed a weekend away he would have rather it have been to visit his own friends or family versus spending the whole weekend with the colleagues he saw day in and day out anyway. And y/n. He’d continued to avoid her after his conversation with Erick, not wanting to face her and too embarrassed to admit that he had made a mistake. There would be no avoiding her on this trip, unless he wanted to still send the message he’d been sending since day one, but that wasn’t fair to her. None of it had been fair to her in the first place, and he knew he owed her an apology. 

“Ughhhh,” he groaned to himself, dragging himself off the bed. 

The school must have used the budget they’d refused to give him for the recital on this retreat- it was a nice hotel in the mountains about an hour away from the school. He’d heard some of the rooms even had jacuzzis, but was disappointed to find that his did not. 

While many of his colleagues had carpooled, Jimin drove up himself, wanting to arrive later so he could spend a bit more time getting work done. As much as he appreciated a getaway in a beautiful location, it stung that they were willing to spring for this but not for the kids’ beloved performance. But why would they, when Jimin had always foot the bill himself? They expected that, and intended to take advantage of his desire to do best for the kids as they had always done.

He shook off the thought, it left a terrible taste in his mouth and he hoped to actually use this weekend as a relax, recharge, reset. There were a few teacher workshops sprinkled into the schedule, and dinner as a group each night, but otherwise the teachers and school counsellors, psychs, and other admins had time to themselves. Jimin intended to spend the majority of that time in bed. But before he could do that, he needed to get ready for dinner. 

The first night’s dinner was informal. Rather than a suit such as he wore to school each day, he donned belted black jeans with a white t-shirt loosely tucked in. It was cold, so he slung an oversized yellow flannel and a leather jacket overtop. He slipped into a pair of black boots and pulled a beanie over his blonde locks. Patting his back pockets, he confirmed his wallet and room key were secured before leaving the safety on his room. 

Y/N:

Upon finding your name card on the dinner table, you groaned. Sure, you understood why assigned seats are nice for group events in theory, but when they placed you next to Park Jimin, you cursed their existence. You grabbed your place card, about to whisper shout to Heather across the table to ask her to move, when you heard his voice beside you.

“Hi.”

You froze, turning slowly. Jimin was actually looking at you with something that resembled kindness in his eyes. Blond hair fanned out over his eyes beneath a black beanie. You’d never seen him outside of school, where he was always dressed formally. Your voice caught in your throat, addled by how beautiful he looked and by the shock that he was paying any attention to you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his dark brows furrowing in concern as more time went by without you uttering a word, just staring at him dazedly.

“Yep!” you said, a little too loudly. You glanced away, needing to take your eyes off him to be able to string a sentence together. You set the place card back down. Now that he had seen you, there was no escaping the seating arrangements. With a sigh, you took your seat. You saw him hesitate for a brief moment out of the corner of your eye, but then he took his seat beside you. 

Sitting stiffly, you remained silent as your mind raced. Why was he talking to you? Why did he seem… nice? Something weird was going on, you wondered if you’d somehow fallen into an alternate universe.

As you awkwardly sat there taking sips of your water just for something to do, the table began to fill with your colleagues. As more and more people joined, everyone had to scootch in a bit to make room until your arm brushed Jimin’s every so often. 

“So,” Jimin said beside you. “How was your week?”

You glanced over, expecting him to be talking to whoever was seated on his left. However, his dark eyes were fixed on you. “Um,” you cleared your throat, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You defaulted to talking about the common ground between you, thinking maybe he was just trying to find out where you were at in terms of progress for his show. “It was fine. The kids are excited about making the decorations. Principal Walker was right, they like feeling like they’re included in the creation of the production. And we’re making good progress, we will definitely have everything ready by the time you need it.”

He smiled, and being on the receiving end of that crooked tooth-ed smile took your breath away in a fashion you had not expected. “That’s great, but I wasn’t fishing for information on the status. I just wanted to check in. I-”

“Good evening faculty!” Principal Walker stood at the head of the table, and Jimin grimaced and shut his mouth. You wondered what he’d been starting to say, but didn’t dwell on it long as the principal gave a brief speech about the importance of community and an overview of the weekend’s schedule. 

The food was delivered shortly after the speech and you got to eating. Conversations flowed all across the table, and you found yourself chatting along with Jimin and others normally, as if there had never been any tension or frost between you. Though baffled by this change, the more wine you had the less you cared, just glad to avoid the awkwardness you’d been dreading ahead of the retreat. If Jimin was going to actually play nice for once, you weren’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth. You were, however, still determined to ‘win’ the little not-so-friendly competition between the two of you and be labeled ‘best class.’

JIMIN: 

As the weekend progressed, Jimin found it was just what he had needed. Sure the little work exercises were annoying, but he was finding himself spending more and more time with y/n and, to his surprise, enjoying it. He’d only been able to interact with her in group settings, however, and still hadn’t had the chance to really talk to her one on one and apologize for his prior behavior.

 He didn’t know how to approach that. He couldn’t exactly ask her to come to his room for a talk. That would be wildly inappropriate, and frankly now that he had admitted to Erick, and himself, that she was attractive he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being alone with her. He’d get all giggly and nervous. So, he’d spent his free time taking naps or watching TLC in his hotel room, trying not to think about her.

The final night of the retreat had come, and everyone was meeting at the hotel bar for a final mixer. It was the only ‘formal’ event of the getaway, and Jimin had donned black slacks and white button up with the sleeves rolled up past his forearms due to the blasting heat in the bar. He was one of the first to arrive and ordered a glass of champagne. He was whirling it in it’s glass, taking the occasional sip, when y/n strolled in. 

He froze, swallowing thickly as his eyes roved over her body. Though technically her dress was appropriate in that it did not violate any school dress codes, the way the black satin clung to her curves should have been illegal. She caught him staring and smiled as she raised a hand to wave. He sent her a thin lipped smile before promptly downing the rest of the champs and turning around to order another. If she was going to look like that all night, he needed some more alcohol in him to survive.

As the night wore on Jimin continued to mingle, making sure to talk to everyone at least once. At the start he was carefully avoiding y/n, afraid that he would say something stupid. However he could not deny the draw he felt towards her, especially not when he’d been continuing to drink.

Before long they found themselves leaning against the bar side by side, lost in conversation. One by one their colleagues returned to their rooms, but Jimin and y/n couldn’t pull themselves away until they were the only patrons left in the bar.

“So do you have one of those, uh,” he floundered, searching his mind for the word he was thinking of. “Those things in some of the rooms. Scuzzis?” Jesus Christ, he couldn’t even talk, he was so dazzled by her.

She laughed, and the sound was like the ringing of the most enchanting bells in Jimin’s mind. He couldn’t help but grin, despite the fact that he’d just made a fool of himself. “You mean jacuzzis? Yeah, I do. I haven’t tried it yet, though.”

“I’m jealous. When I heard they were in some of the rooms I hoped I’d get one, but alas. You’ll have to try it tonight and let me know what you think.”

“Excuse me,” the bartender interrupted, sliding two bills before them. “Sorry, but we’re closing.”

“Oh shit,” Jimin cursed, checking the time on his phone. Sure enough, it was nearing bar close. He didn’t know where the night had gone. He didn’t want it to end. He slid his card over onto both bills. “I got this,” he said when y/n started to reach for her own wallet.

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course. It was really nice talking to you,” he said, trying to get himself to say goodbye.

“It was,” she smiled. “Um. Would you want to come to my room for a nightcap? You could try that scuzzi.” She added with a wink, and he couldn’t help the ‘Yes’ that burst from his mouth as soon as she finished speaking.

Y/N:

As you slipped out of your dress and into your bikini, you couldn’t believe how bold you’d been at the bar. You just couldn’t handle the thought of the night ending quiet yet. Jimin was not what you ever would have expected. Before, you knew he could be kind, but being the focal point of his soft voice and his smile had butterflies erupting in your stomach. But he was also silly, stumbling over his words occasionally and whining about how the timeframe in Rings of Power is too compressed, though the cinematography was magnificent. You’d never seen this side of him, dorky and hilarious, and you wanted to see more. 

So you invited him to your room before you could stop yourself. Now, though, as a knock sounded at your door, the nerves were setting in. You took a deep breath and opened the door. 

Jimin stood before you in naught but black swim trunks, a white towel slung over his shoulder. Your eyes roved over his body unwittingly, snagging on a bold lettered tattoo scratched along his side. You’d never even considered that he may be tattooed under those suits he always wore. You had to forcibly drag your eyes away from the way the words stretched over the taut muscles of his abdomen. 

He smiled, catching your gaze. “I’m here for the jacuzzi” he emphasized. “Is that still alright?”

“Of course,” you said, swallowing your nerves and stepping aside from the door to let him in. “I’m ready.”

“I can see that,” he said, eyes darting down and back up as he took in your bikini clad body. 

“Well, let’s get in,” you said, closing the door to your room. The jacuzzi was situated just across from the bed, a button on the wall behind it to start the bubbles. You pushed the button, hoping the bubbles would somehow help dissipate some of the tension in the room. The air between you felt electric with attraction and champagne. 

You slipped beneath the water, groaning as you sunk deeper, becoming encased in warmth. 

“Don’t do that,” Jimin said, shuddering as he climbed in and sat across from you. “It sounds sinful.”

“Sorry,” you said, giggling. “So what do you think? Worth it?”

“Worth what?” he said, eyes half lidded in bliss.

“Worth coming all the way to my room? For the jacuzzi?”

“It was worth coming all the way to your room just to see you in that swimsuit. The scuzzi is just a cherry on top,” his eyes flew open as he spoke, seeming to take even himself by surprise with his words. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That was inappropriate. I’ve had a lot of champagne, my filter is-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “It wasn’t exactly appropriate of me to invite you here anyway, either.”

“But I’m glad you did,” he said. 

“Are you?”

He gazed at you for a long moment, no sound but the bubbling water between you. Finally, he moved, sliding over until he sat by your side. “Is this okay?” he murmured, barely audible above the bubbles. 

“Yes,” you whispered back, breathless with his proximity. He leaned closer until his lips were hovering over yours, nearly touching. Your eyes fluttered shut, breathing him in before closing the small distance. As soon as your lips touched, the tension in the room, between you, burst through whatever dam was holding it back and overwhelmed you both. It was a soft kiss for the briefest of moments before Jimin deepened it, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pulling you into his lap.

“You looked,” he groaned between kisses. “So fucking good in that dress tonight.”

You shivered at his words, heat that even trumped the warmth of the jacuzzi pooling between your legs. “You looked amazing too. So handsome. You always look so handsome.” You ground your hips against his, seeking friction.

He placed his hands on your hips, holding you still. “Please don’t do that unless you want to take this further. I can’t handle it.”

You pulled away just long enough to start peppering kisses along that sharp jaw of his. The one that had fallen open now, despite always being tightly closed in annoyance in your presence. You moved your hips again.

“Do you really want this, y/n?” he said, placing two fingers beneath your chin to make you meet his eyes. They were darkened with lust, his lips red and swollen already from the force of your kissing. 

“Yes,” you said, twisting your fingers around the blond strands of his hair and pulling him close again.

“God,” he moaned, reaching between your bodies to slip his fingers beneath your swimsuit bottoms. “How are you so wet?”

You laughed. “We’re in a jacuzzi, everything is wet.”

“Not like this,” he said, biting your shoulder before licking the same spot. “I can tell the difference between you and the water. The water isn’t so slick. It isn’t even so warm,” a finger slipped inside you and your head fell to his shoulder. “So tight.”

You felt his firm length beneath you and reached down, needing to feel him in your hand. “You’re so hard already,” you moaned. His fingers began to pump slowly inside you, his thumb swirling over your clit in a way that made it hard to think. “Do you want me that bad?”

“I want you. So bad, baby,” he said, shivering as you wrapped your hand around his cock and began to pump. “But I don’t have protection. So I’m going to have to get you off like this. I need to see you cum, I want to see the face you make. I bet it’s so pretty.” You didn’t answer, too lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you, over you. Your eyes fluttered shut as heat began to swirl in your belly.

“Close,” you whimpered, grinding your hips faster to chase the high. 

“Come on baby, you can do it. Come for me. Just like that. So pretty.” The encouragement sent you over the edge along with his voice, low and husky with lust. You trembled as you came apart, gasping at the overwhelming pleasure. When it was over, you slumped against him, taking a moment to catch your breath. Your hand had stilled on his still hard cock, and as soon as you had even remotely recovered, you wanted it.

“I have protection,” you said. “I always keep a condom in my suitcase. Just in case.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss you. “Smart girl. Responsible girl.” He looked at you carefully, gauging your reaction as he continued to play with your pussy. “Good girl.” He must have felt as you gushed and twitched at his praise, for his smile widened sinfully. “Let’s get out and get on the bed to do this. There has to be some sort of health hazard to sex in a hotel jacuzzi.”

You laughed as you regretfully pulled yourself apart from him to exit the water. That laughter died as soon as his fingers slipped out of you. The sudden emptiness was entirely unacceptable. After rushing to dry off as quickly as possible, you rifled around in your suitcase until you found the condom and tossed it over to Jimin, who was running a towel over himself. You both peeled off your wet swimsuits and hung them up like responsible adults before crawling onto the bed. You glanced down to confirm Jimin had slipped the condom over himself. His dick stood firm, long and thick and ready for you. 

“I need you,” you whispered, sliding under him and pulling his face down until his lips met your own. You slanted your hips upwards, brushing your pussy against his length. 

“So impatient,” he said, running his dick over your folds. “Can you take me? Are you wet enough? I can go down on you first if you want.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, so focused on the way his cock was running along your sex. He took your lack of response as a ‘no’ and began to pull away, but you grabbed him. “No, no. I don’t want to wait. I’m plenty wet. Trust me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on.”

“Me either,” he answered, breathless as he pressed inside you. “God, you feel so good.”

“So do you,” you moaned as he settled his hips against yours, fully inside. 

“Are you good? Can I move?”

You nodded, “So good. Please move.” 

He didn’t waste another second, slowly pulling out before pressing back in and gradually increasing his speed. He pumped with a smooth roll to his hips that had you briefly wondering if he was a dancer. The control he had over his body, the way he was able to reach the innermost parts of you with fluid strokes, had you guessing he was. But then he hit that spot deep inside you that rendered you unable to think much of anything other than the feeling of him.

He grabbed one leg, hoisting it up and resting it over his arm before leaning down to kiss you. “You look so fucking incredible. I wish you could see how well you take my dick. How hot my girl is.”

You could do no more than mewl at his words as he pounded into you, the new position allowing him to reach even deeper. He hammered against your g-spot with every stroke, and you felt yourself almost vibrating with your impending orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I can feel you getting even tighter.” You closed your eyes, pushing your head into the pillow when he grabbed your chin and slipped his thumb into your mouth. You sucked on instinct, opening your eyes to look into his own hungry ones. “That’s it baby, I want to see that pretty face again. I need to see how your eyes roll back into your head when you come.”

You bit down hard on him when the wave crashed into you, drowning you entirely in pleasure. The world shuddered black and white as you trembled, coming apart so entirely on his cock that you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to put yourself back together. A few more pumps that you barely even felt through the power of your orgasm and Jimin finished, collapsing beside you. 

“I need,” you slurred, drunk with pleasure (and a little bit of champagne, still). “To sleep now. That was incredible.”

Jimin huffed out a breathless laugh. “You have to get cleaned up first, babe.”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

He pressed a kiss to your brow. “Then I did my job well. I’ll take care of it. Just go to sleep.”

You curled into the covers, drifting away almost as soon as he was finished speaking. You vaguely felt as he cleaned you up with a warm, damp cloth, but that was all before you slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

JIMIN:

Jimin was yanked from the best sleep he’d had in ages by the alarm blaring on his phone. Eyes flying open, he felt disoriented as he glanced about the room. He sat in a ruffled, empty bed, but this wasn’t his hotel room, was it? 

As soon as he laid his eyes on the jacuzzi, drunken memories came back in a rush. This was y/n’s hotel room. He and y/n had…. Wait. Where was she?

“Y/n?” he called out, climbing out of bed and checking the bathroom. He checked the closet, there were no clothes. No sign that she had ever even been here. Surely he hadn’t imagined the night before. Even in his wildest dreams he couldn’t have come up with sex that good. And how else would he be waking in a different hotel room? 

Guilt gnawed at him as he thought of her, and why she may have vanished without a word in the morning. He’d never had the chance to explain why he had always been cold to her before. They’d been lost in conversation all night and then… well. Alcohol had lowered his inhibitions and his thought processing. He should have explained, ironed everything out, before jumping into bed with her. What must she think of him? Rude, until he had the chance to fuck her? He cringed, hoping that wasn’t the case. But why else would she be gone now? 

He grabbed his phone, hoping to send her a message before realizing he didn’t even have her number. He was just starting to really like her, becoming more and more enchanted the longer they’d talked, and he already royally fucked this up. With a sigh, he pushed his hand through his hair and grabbed his still damp swimsuit, pulling it on just for coverage before heading back to his room and packing up to head home. 

Y/N:

You’d fought off tears the entire drive home from the retreat, filled with regret. How could you sleep with Jimin, who had always made it clear he didn’t like you? And worse, after spending the weekend with him, getting to know him, you were actually starting to really like him. 

Your first instinct when you got home was to call Heather and tell her since she was only friend of yours that knew you both, but you thought better of it after careful consideration. You were still new to this school, after all, and though you didn’t think Heather would tell anyone else, you didn’t want to risk word getting out that you’d had a one night stand with a coworker. 

So, you picked up the phone and called Lisa instead. Sure, she didn’t know Jimin directly, but you had complained to her enough in the past about your hot asshole coworker, so she had the background to understand the gravity of what had happened. 

“Hey,” Lisa said, answering on the first ring. “‘Sup. How was that retreat? Are you driving home?”

“I’m home now, but I actually called to talk to you about that. The retreat was fine, but do you remember that colleague I told you about that was nice to everyone but me?”

“The music teacher?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. What happened? Was he a dick to you this weekend? I bet it was awkward having to be at a retreat together.”

“Well that’s the thing. It was weird. He was nice all weekend.”

“What? That is weird. Maybe someone talked to him and told him to stop being an ass?”

That thought had not occurred to you, but you brushed it aside for the moment, focused on telling Lisa the rest of the story. You rushed through it, divulging all the details about how he’d been friendly since the start of the weekend and you’d decided to match his energy to avoid conflict. How you’d been lost in conversation at the bar that final night and drunkenly invited him up to your room for the jacuzzi. How he’d fucked you better than you’d ever been fucked, and lastly how you’d slipped out of bed the next morning and rushed out the door, panicking. 

“Holy fucking shit,” she said when you were finally finished. “So you didn’t say anything?”

“No, I left while he was sleeping.”

“Has he texted you or anything?”

You pulled your phone away from your ear to check for notifications from an unknown number. “No. I’m sure he’s feeling the same way I am this morning. Embarrassed. Maybe he’s also repulsed.”

“You don’t know that, I’m sure that’s not the case. Does he even have your number to reach out if he wants to?”

“Now that I think about it, probably not. I don’t remember ever giving it to him.”

“So he doesn’t even have the opportunity to contact you.”

You merely hummed in response, unsure how to feel about that.

“What do you want to do now, do you like him?”

You chewed your lip, weighing your answer. “That’s part of the reason this sucks. I think I do like him. Especially after last night. I’ve never had that sort of chemistry with someone, especially not the first time having sex. It was crazy. But, he hates me.”

“You don’t know that,” she reiterated. “Maybe whatever was up his ass earlier in the school year died and fell out. I don’t know, y/n, but I think you should talk to him. If you want to. If you don’t, then fuck him.”

“Thats the problem, Lis, I did fuck him,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “I’ll have to talk to him eventually, we’re working on this annual music performance thing together. But that’s not for another couple of weeks, so I think I can avoid him for a while.”

“I’m not sure if avoiding him is the way to go, but I support women’s rights and wrongs so I’ll back you whatever you do.” You smiled, grateful to have someone like her in your corner. “Look, I gotta go, but think about it. And call me tomorrow after you’re back at school, I want to know how it goes.” 

“Will do,” you said, hanging up the phone and heaving a sigh. You had no idea what you were going to do.

JIMIN:

The past week had been agony for Jimin. At first he was looking forward to getting back to school, hoping to see Y/n and speak to her, maybe ask for her number and take her out. But he hadn’t had sight or sound of her on Monday. On Tuesday he bumped into her in the break room before class. His heart soared until he caught the look on her face- pure panic- as she abruptly stood from her seat and rushed out of the room without a word. 

That happened a few more times throughout the week, enough that Jimin got the message that Y/n was avoiding him loud and clear. Clearly, she needed space after what happened. She must regret it, must dislike him after the way he’d treated you for the first half of the school year, and who was he to blame you? He probably would have felt the same way. But that didn’t make it sting any less. 

By the end of the week he simply couldn’t take it any longer. It pained him, he wanted to see her smile again, wanted to hear her laugh and talk to her again. But instead she rushed out of any room he walked into. So he picked up the phone and called the one person who knew about the situation.

“Erick, I fucked up,” he said as soon as his friend answered the phone. “That teacher I told you about, the one that took your job. You were right, when you guessed that I liked her. I didn’t know it then, but we had this retreat last weekend and long story short we had a few drinks and may have ended up hooking up.”

“Really? So you made up for the way you acted before?”

Jimin cringed. “That’s the thing, I didn’t get a chance to talk to her about that. To apologize.”

“What do you mean you didn’t get the chance? If you hooked up clearly you spent some time together. You could have said it then.”

“Well, yeah, I should have said it then. Before having sex with her. But we just got lost in conversation, I didn’t want to spoil the mood. I was enjoying getting to know her.”

“Okay, why didn’t you talk to her after?”

“She’s been avoiding me like the plague ever since. She was gone when I woke up, and I don’t have her number.”

“Get it from someone else. Surely someone at work has it.”

“I don’t want to overstep. She is clearly telling me, without actually telling me, that she needs space. I’ve already crossed a line by sleeping with her. I don’t want to make it worse by disrespecting her boundaries.”

Erick laughed, and Jimin scowled at the noise. “What?” he snapped. 

“Jimin, you’re an idiot. You’re giving her space because you’re afraid to talk to her and you’re making excuses to make yourself feel better about it.”

Jimin was silent, stewing at the truth in the words that he didn’t want to accept. When he didn’t speak for a moment, Erick continued. “You shouldn’t be giving her space right now unless she explicitly asks for it. You were a dick to her all year, then you two slept together, and now you’re not making any effort to talk to her about it? The ball is in your court, man. You need to fix this if you want to get anywhere with her. Even if it’s just to be cordial coworkers.”

“Now that I’ve…” he hesitated, trying to choose the right words. “Now that I’ve been with her, seen a different side to her, I don’t know if I could handle just being coworkers. That night would always be seared into my mind whenever I looked at her.”

“That good, huh?”

“The best.”

“Then you need to fix it.”

Y/N:

The door to the music classroom stood, menacing, before you. You’d been staring at it for the better part of five minutes, trying to work up the courage to knock. Taking a deep breath, you shifted the bag full of the flower decorations the kids had made to one arm and lifted the other, making a fist but stopping just short of the door, freezing once again.

Abruptly the door swung open, leaving you face to face with a startled Jimin. “Oh,” he said stiffly. “Hi.”

You awkwardly laughed, putting your hand down. “Sorry, I was just about to knock. I have the decorations, the kids finished at the end of last week. The flowers are in this bag, the snowflakes in the other. I had them put their names on the backs so they can pick them out and give them to their families.”

His eyes darted down to the two bags in your hands. “Great, thank you. Um, do you want to come inside for a minute?” He asked, stepping aside from the door to make room for you to pass.

“Uh, okay, sure…” you said. “Where do you want these?”

“I’ll take them,” he said, grabbing both bags from you. He opened one, peering inside and smiled. “These are perfect, Y/n. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, shifting from foot to foot. You didn’t know if you’d ever felt this uncomfortable before. However, at the same time your body was reacting to being in the same room with him for the first time since you’d left the hotel. Your skin was hot, and you felt tingly in your lower belly. Why did he have to smell so good? Like eucalyptus and winter. 

You needed to get out of here before you did something stupid. “Is that all?” you said. “I should go.” You took a step towards the door but he rushed forward, grabbing your wrist loosely with one hand. 

“Wait, Y/n, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“We don’t have to talk about what happened,” you said, trying and failing to laugh it off. “It’s all good.”

“No, it’s not. Please, just let me explain some things.”

“I-” you hesitated, looking towards the door. You wanted to rush out the door and escape the tension of the situation, but you knew that wouldn’t make anything better. The least you could do is hear him out. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Jimin dropped your hand and stuffed both of his in his pockets before leaning against his desk. “When you got hired, it was on the heels of one of my closest friends being let go.” Your mouth opened in shock, but Jimin held up a hand to stop you from speaking. “Just let me finish, I want to get this right. He was up for tenure, but instead of giving it to him, they laid him off and hired a brand new art teacher.” He gestured towards you. “I… obviously didn’t handle it well. I was angry on his behalf, and rather than taking it out on the school board who was actually responsible, I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry.”

You paused for a moment, digesting his words. “I had no idea, that’s really shitty of the school to do.”

“Yes, it is. This district doesn’t really give a fuck about their teachers, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I was an asshole and I shouldn’t have been. Erick didn’t want this job anyway. When I told him how I’d been acting, he scolded me.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You deserved it.”

“I know. Y/n, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Especially after getting to know you better this weekend. I- I think you’re a great person. You’re interesting, and beautiful, and were kind to me even though I definitely didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush hot with the praise. “I really appreciate it. I’m sorry as well, for being kind of a brat when you asked me to help with the decorations. I know it must have been difficult for you to ask, and it sucks that the school left you in the lurch this year. I should have just helped without complaining. And I’m sorry for saying my kids’ decorations were going to outshine your show. That was childish of me.”

He grinned. It was perhaps the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

You sighed, feeling lighter. “So we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

JIMIN:

The big day had come, and Jimin wiped sweaty palms on his pants nervously. No matter how many times he put on this show, the nerves never got better. Kids were unpredictable, and he always felt pressure to improve upon the year before. That was difficult this year, considering his refusal to spend his own money again.

For the last couple of months, the main focus of each music class was learning the songs and the structure of the performance. The kids had been doing wonderfully at practice the last two weeks, and he could tell how excited they were for the big day. He’d taken the decorations the kids made and sprinkled the snowflakes throughout the seats in the auditoriums. The kids all had their own flowers, so they would give those to their families during the last song, symbolizing the end of winter and the coming of spring. Though they weren’t all perfect, Jimin hoped that the personal touches of the decorations would make up for any flaws. 

“Alright everyone!” Jimin said, addressing the 2nd graders in their choir stands. He whispered behind the curtain, trying to avoid being heard by the audience. “We’ve gone over this, you know these songs like the backs of your hands! Let’s make this the best performance Darling Elementary has ever seen!”

He gave the cue for the music to start and as the children began to sing, the curtains slowly opened. Jimin rushed off to the side, not wanting to block the view. He’d be right there to step in if he was needed, but he felt confident that the kids could rattle off the songs without him. His eyes scanned the crowd, smiling as he gazed out over the grinning faces of teachers and parents. 

His smile widened when his eyes snagged on Y/n out in the audience. He’d felt better since their chat a few weeks back, ironing things out. But, he still had not said everything he’d wanted to say, and he had been too busy with any last minute preparations to slip over to the art room during school. And, damn him, he still hadn’t gotten her number. 

While he knew he should really peel his eyes away from her and focus on the kids, he just couldn’t. She looked so beautiful, eyes shining and lips curled up into a smile as she watched the kids sing and do their hard-practiced little dances. Throughout the entire performance he simply couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

As the last song started, the kids pulled their flowers from their pockets, making their way down into the audience to find their loved ones while still singing. They gave them their flowers and returned back up to the stage as the song came to a close, ending the show. Jimin stepped out to bow along with them, addressing the crowd for the first time. 

“Thank you all for coming! We hope you enjoyed the fifth annual Darling Elementary spring recital.” His eyes followed Y/n as she stood, preparing to leave with the crowd. Compelled to speak to her at once, he rushed off stage to catch up with her. Parents immediately surrounded him, congratulating him on another job well done, another great performance this year, what a wonderful touch having the kids create the props, and though he was grateful, he really was, all he could think of was y/n leaving. He’d missed so many opportunities to say everything he wanted to say, he’d be damned if he missed another. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, smiling and trying his best to be friendly though he felt rushed. “I just have to speak to someone quickly, but I appreciate everyone’s kind words!”

He slipped through the crowd, trying not to be rude as people tried to stop him. He chased her all the way out to the parking lot, shivering in his suit jacket as he called her name. She stopped, hand stretched towards the driver's side door of what must have been her car. 

“Jimin?” she looked startled, brows pinching in confusion as she put her gloved hand above her eyes to block out the sun.

He jogged over, murmuring a breathless “Hi” when he finally reached her.

“What are you doing? You should still be in there, talking to people.” 

“I know, I-” He turned, shooting a glance back towards the school. “I just saw you out there, in the audience. And I knew I needed to talk to you.”

“Okay?” 

“People were complimenting the decorations. Thank you again for helping with those.”

“You said thank you already,” she replied, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she seemed… disappointed. Like she’d been hoping he would say something else. 

“I know. That’s… not really what I wanted to come out here and say.”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. 

“Look, Y/n, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the retreat. I think you’re amazing, and I want to spend more time with you. Get to know you more.”

Her cheeks were flushed pink, and Jimin wasn’t sure if it was the chill or the effect his words had on her. “I would like that too, but-”

“But?” his heart stuttered in his chest.

“I don’t know how appropriate it would be, us being coworkers and all. If something happened, if it didn’t work out. My reputation could be on the line. What happened at the retreat was amazing, but it was unexpected.”

He smiled. “Is that all? Well I haven’t told Principal Walker yet, but I received an offer from another school. It seems word of the recitals has gotten out, I was approached by a music school. After what happened with Erick and the budget this year I’ve been hoping to switch schools, so the timing seemed perfect. Plus, there’s this incredible woman at my current school that doesn’t want to date a coworker.”

“Jimin,” you gasped. “Really?”

“Really. This will be my last year at this school. So, that being said, will you go out with me?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him. “When?”

“Right now?”

“Now?!” she balked, laughing.

“I’ve been waiting to spend more time with you for weeks, I don’t want to wait any longer. So let’s go grab a drink. We can celebrate the recital.”

“And your new job,” she added. “I’d love to go grab a drink with you.”

“Amazing. I just have one more question.”

“Hmm?” she hummed as he inched closer. He reached up and lightly ran his fingers over her jaw. He did not miss the way her breath hitched at his touch.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. He felt rather than saw her smile before pressing her lips to his. It was like having water after a drought, getting to touch her again. He’d only had one taste but that was enough to have him addicted. He couldn’t wait to find out what the future would bring for them, together. 

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Good Morning

Dad! Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Sweet Morning time activities Warnings: SMUT, oral (both receiving) unprotected p in v (Plz use protection) fingering. A/N: I hope this was close to what my sweet anon wanted! Thank y'all for your patience on getting these fics out! And thank you so much for your love and support for Dad! Chan. Please comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Requests are OPEN

Chan’s lips meet your neck as the sun begins to shine through your bedroom window. You stir awake, the feeling comforting and familiar. You smile as you awake from your slumber, a soft moaning escaping your throat as you feel his teeth graze your soft skin.

“Good morning,” he mumbles in your ear, the deep voice Aussie drawls. Chan’s voice has always been attractive, but mix in his morning voice and your practically a puddle.

“Good morning,” you smile lazily at him as his lips connect to yours in a sweet kiss. At first it's subtle, Chan’s tongue ghosts over you bottom lip, teasing you. But when you don’t push him off he runs his tongue over your lip again, and you separate your lips.

His tongue runs over yours, both of you moaning quietly as the kiss deepens. Your fingers find the ends of his hair on his neck. You can feel him smile against your lips as his hand rubs your side up and down.

“So sweet,” he almost whimpers against your lips.

“Wanna taste,” he mumbles as his lips move down to your neck. You smile as you feel his knee come between your legs, causing your sleep dress to hike up. You feel his sharp teeth drag across your soft skin, no doubt marking your collar bone. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he licks over the spot.

He helps you sit up and drags the sleep dress over your head revealing your naked body. Chan licks his lips as he gently pushes you back against the mattress.

He begins to kiss down your chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple, his cock growing harder in his boxers with every sound you make.

Quiet gasps, little moans as your nails lightly scratch his scalp, all of it making him a desperate mess.

He kisses down your abdomen, slowly, savoring the moment and building your anticipation.  

He notices you squirming and bites down on your thigh as he settles between your legs.

“Ah, Chan,” you gasp. He smirks as he kisses the area, kissing his way to your folds.

“Mm, so pretty,” he praises and you blush with a quiet groan, trying to push his face closer.

“Baby,” you whine your thighs lightly pressing against his head. He rubs them before locking his arms around them and pulling you down slight. His tongue lips a stripe up your soaking cunt, collecting your taste on his tongue and he moans.

“So sweet,” he murmurs as he dives in like a man starved. Your hips jerk at the force of his tongue, your body arching every so slightly, the feeling going straight to your stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as your eyes shut. Chan looks up at you, one breast in hand as your hips shift under him. His tongue does figure eight’s on your clit, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Gasps can be heard as he inserts his middle finger, achingly slow, he starts to pump in and out, while still massaging your bud.

“Fuck,” you choke out as your hips roll to meet his thrusts.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly. He adds another finger, his tongue moving impossibly faster.

“Oh God,” you cry out as he picks up the pace with his fingers. Choked out gasps leave your mouth as your head spins, the euphoric feeling close.

“I’m close,” you whimper out. He goes what you can only imagine would be described as super sonic speed, wet sounds filling the room along with your noises.

“Fuck, baby, yes- ah, just like that, oh fuck,” your legs shake as your body explodes, the feeling washing over you as he fucks you through your first high. But he isn’t finished, he slows down, letting you come down but his tongue reattaches to your sensitive bud.

“AH, Chan,” your legs shake with the direct contact and over stimulation.

“Come on baby, one more,” he kisses your thigh as he pumps his fingers. Your hips roll with his thrusts again, his fingers curling to hit your sweet spot.

“Ah, Chris,” you whimper. He keeps his fingers inside you but crawls up to kiss your lips, causing you to taste yourself. His forehead rests on yours as his fingers pump in and out quickly. He feels your walls contract around his fingers, and his own cock starts to become uncomfortable.

Your mouth falls open as your next wave of pleasure hits, your whole body going stiff as it shakes under him. Chan kisses your neck, thrusting in and out of you slowly.

“Fuck,” you breathe out with your chest heaving as you catch your breath. You kiss Chan’s lips passionately.

“Get on your back,” you command and he pulls his fingers out of you cleaning them before doing what you told him to.

You take his cock out of his boxers, the tip leaking and red. You lick your lips before pumping him a few times, a sharp hiss leaving his mouth.

“Ah,” he chuckles at your teasing as your thumb rubs over his slit. His smile is one of the most beautiful things you ever seen and your heart swells before you slowly wrap your lips around his thick cock. A gasp leaves Chan’s mouth as you slowly sink down, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Gnah,” he gasps, as he wills himself to look at you. His hand finding the back of your head, not to force you but just to hold onto you, to help ground him.

“Fuck,” he whimpers as your tongue swirls around him. The saltiness hits your tongue and you moan around him, causing vibrations to be sent through him. His head tilts back as he moans his mouth agape. You pump what little bit you can’t fit in your mouth as you accelerate your speed.

Moans and whimpers leave his mouth, and you start to feel it twitch when Chan gently pulls you up.

“I wanna be in you,” he says before smashing your lips together. You reach down, teasing his slit one last time and he shutters. He lays you on your back, lining himself up at your entrance.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you breathe as he slowly pushes in, both of you moaning.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts.

“Fuck,” he says as he shifts his hips backwards, only to slam them back into you and you gasp as his cock hits that perfect little spot inside you. His head drops to your shoulder as he ruts into you like a dog in heat. You can feel his hot breath on your collarbone, his groans causing your walls to contract around him, causing him to moan and groan more.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Look at how well you’re taking my cock,” he whispers in your ear.

“Fuck,” his hips speed up faster as his fingers go down to your clit. He starts to rub circles, furiously, against it.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chokes out as he rests his forehead on yours.

“Harder,” you whimper and he obliges, with both his hand and hips.

“Oh shit, fuck I’m close, I’m close.” You whimper as the tightening in your stomach hits.

“Ah, Chan,” your hands go this back, nails scratching down it, as your body explodes. The feeling of your nails pushing Chris over the edge as he comes with you. Both of you riding your high out together as you feel the warmth he spreads within you.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out as Chan pulls out of you out of breath.

“Well good morning,” he chuckles and you roll over to him resting your head on his sweaty chest.

“Good morning,” you say as you press a kiss to it. Chan takes your hand, holding you close to him.

“Y/n,” he asks.

“Hmm?” you watch as he mindlessly plays with your fingers. After a beat of silence you look up at him.

“I love you.” He smiles and your heart skips a beat.

“I love you too, Channie,” you kiss his lips passionately. This is the first time Chan has ever told you he loved you. It's a moment you know you'll cherish.

“Eomma!” Hwan busts through the door and you yank the covers up to make sure you’re covered.

“Appa!” He yells dragging his Wolf Chan plush with him.

 “Breakfast!!” He shouts as he jumps on the bed. You look at your boyfriend before bursting out into fits of laughter.

“All right buddy,” Chan says as he puts your little boy down on the floor.

“Go to the kitchen, I’ll meet you there.” Hwan runs as fast as his little legs will take him.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes please,” you say before kissing him again.

Tags: @breakmeoff

Please do not repost my work

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

[thrasherella]

Weekend Getaway ‧₊˚⊹

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ synopsis ~ stepdad!Nanami takes you for one of your regular weekend retreats over at his friend Higuruma's house; this time Higuruma's extra needy since you've been busy with work/friends/life and haven't been able to come see him and Nanami has been hogging you all to himself :(

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ featuring ~ nanami x reader, higuruma x reader

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ tags ~ porn with plot, fauxcest, stepdad, mention of 'uncle' but no actual relation, daddy kink, lots of praise, praise kink, cuddles and creampies, non-protected sex, fingering, oral sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, sloppy make-out sessions, age gap, threesome, sharing, exhibitionism, squirting, spitting, cum play, cum eating, domination, free use, generally other fun sexy things~💋

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ a/n ~ back with more of the two hottest overworked and exhausted zaddies in jujutsu kaisen sharing you for their own weekend of pure carnal pleasure~! 🥵 i don't normally write in second person pov soooo hope you guys enjoy this as much as i do~! any constructive feedback/thoughts are welcome 🩷

~ Part Two ~ Animals

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙○♡๑•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•๑♡○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

stepdad!Nanami who makes you take your panties off in the car after arriving at his friend Hiromi’s place before you both go inside.

"You know how he gets; I can't have him ripping another expensive pair of your panties right at the start of the weekend...leave those in the glovebox for me to find later sweetheart..." he watches hungrily, those soft hazel eyes all over you as your face flushed a deep pink, slowly hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your boy-shorts and sliding them down along your soft thighs; he couldn’t help but notice they were an absolute soaking mess as you folded them gently and placed them into the glovebox as he asked, dick stirring against his slacks at the thought of smelling you on them later…

stepdad!Nanami who gets out of the car and goes around to your side to help you out, like a true gentleman, however his motives are a little more devious. As he helps you up and out of the car, you hear him give a small gasp and tut, looking down at the passenger seat with a little grin. There was a large, wet puddle from where you had been leaking through your panties the entire ride over here, a thin trail of slick still connecting your now naked cunt to the seat. You felt your cheeks burning even hotter now, but you couldn't help smirking back mischievously; feeling him dripping out of your pussy, making a wet mess all over the seat and your thighs, felt so good...

"Sorry daddy," you mutter, biting at your lower lip. Before you can do anything else, his large hand is at the back of your neck, holding you hard, forcing you to bend over, putting your face dangerously close to the wet seat, like a puppy being disciplined. He steps behind you to block the view of your exposed ass and cunt, a little contented growl escaping his throat at the sight.

"Oh dear, darling what a mess you've made. All over those pretty thighs, and my nice car seat…you better clean it up," he forces you a little closer, and you tentatively lap at the spot, tasting his spunk mixed with you juices and the faux leather of the seat; truth be told not the worst thing you’ve ever tasted…

“Fhuuck; wish I could fuck you right here, that’s so hot…” you hear him mutter, his grip on the back of your neck tightening as he growls again, his dick now throbbing with mounting need.

God how badly you want the same thing…

…

stepdad!Nanami's friend Hiromi Higuruma, who you've always called your uncle since your introduction a few years ago, was a perfect gentleman as he answered the door, smiling brightly as he hugged Kento and stepped aside to allow you both into the entryway.

uncle!Higuruma became a perfect freak as soon as the door swung shut behind you, however, backing you up against the hard surface as his lips pressed against yours, that handsome nose bumping playfully against you. He gave a low hum, his tongue already begging for entrance to your mouth, which you eagerly gave. He taste like sweet coffee and mint, his tongue exploring you hungrily, one hand buried in the hair at the back of your head, tugging softly. Fire danced between your legs as that familiar knot in your core began to tighten, sparks flying along your spine as he completely took over in a matter of seconds.

"Missed you," he sighed into your mouth, his free hand wandering underneath the hem of your dress, heat erupting in his lower abdomen as his fingers found your bare, dripping cunt. He was restless, frantic; fingers teasing your puffy clit, drawing sharp breaths and moaning from you, Higuruma smirking against your mouth knowing you were helpless beneath him.

"So wet," he groaned, still sloppily tasting you, tongue slipping against yours wetly as he finally sinks one long finger into your velvety folds, again moaning against your lips as you clench tightly around him, Nanami's cum leaking out and all over his hand, dripping down as far as his silver watchband. In contrast to his previously fervent movements, he worked his finger slowly inside you, making your breath hitch. He was curiously pressing and prodding different spots, remembering which ones caused you to make those sweet little erotic sounds against his lips and into his mouth so that he could make you do it over and over…

“Fuck Hiromi, are you gunna take her against your front door like a fucking animal, or are you gunna come over here and share already?” Nanami's voice suddenly interjected, your eyes snapping open, trying to focus through this sweet haze clouding your senses. He was standing close by, just out of the entryway, palming his hardened dick through tented slacks, smirking at both of you. You felt your cheeks grow hot; how long had Higuruma been fingering you for…? You can’t help but notice the growing wet stain on the front of your stepdad’s tan pants as he rubbed himself almost absent-mindedly, hazel eyes fixed on your messy cunt.

“Fuck I ain’t sharin’,” Higuruma muttered, pulling the digit from your tight folds; you’re unable to stop the little whimper of loss, but then he raises it to your swollen lips and pushes it in, making you taste the mixture of his skin, your own juices, and your stepdad's climax. He gives a low hum when you moan against his finger at the intrusion, sucking him softly, feeling his cock throbbing in time with the movements of your mouth. “Besides, she loves this, fuckin’ little exhibitionist; she loooves knowing that the whole street could hear her if she’s not quiet…”

He wasn’t wrong.

He was now hurriedly undoing his belt and pants, pushing them down his thighs just enough so that his cock could stand free, tip blushing darkly, leaking all over himself. He grabbed at your hips, pressing you harder against the door, almost frantically guiding himself to your entrance and roughly thrusting in, groaning above you as he immediately began rutting into you like a dog in heat, the mixture of his precum, your slick, and Nanami's earlier orgasm coating his length as he hilted you over and over.

You gasp and sigh into his neck, holding onto his shoulders as he fucks you right there against the front door, his dick already bullying your cervix as he pounded into you; he wasn't quite as thick as Nanami, but he was a little longer, and you felt equally stuffed when he bottomed out in you; you could swear you saw your stomach bulging as he filled you completely.

"Missed you, missed you," he repeated, his words mumbling, using the long bridge of his nose to force your chin upward so that he could press soft, wet kisses against your neck and jaw. "God; fuck your pussy feels so fuckin' goodohmyGod..." your legs were shaking, Higuruma holding you up for support, his hot breath against your neck making your pussy throb around him.

"It's been three weeks," Nanami chuckled softly, and you briefly get a peek of him grinding himself into his fist, his gaze focused on how perfectly your tits bounced with each of Hiromi's thrusts.

"Three too many," Hiromi whines as his hips snap into yours and you can feel him trembling, already losing what little control he had. "Ahh, hah, fuck, I'm sorry doll, I can't help it, gunna--" he couldn't even get the words out before he was spilling into you, hips stuttering as he groaned. You can’t help your eyes rolling back as you feel him twitching and squirting inside of you, painting you white, your cunt clenching and gushing around him as your own hips seemed to lose control as you thrust yourself onto him, joining him in climax.

As your movements eventually slowed, he slumped against you slightly, pulling you into a tight hug which you returned, wrapping your arms around him, breathing him in. Fhuuuck you could never quite place the smell of his cologne, but the way it mingled with his own natural scent always went straight to your groin, your cunt suddenly gripping his softening member, making him moan lightly, pressing his lips against your temple.

“Give me a minute doll; fuck three weeks, you’re not allowed to do that again…when’s your lease up? You’re moving in with me…” he was rambling breathlessly, and you couldn’t help but giggle; you knew he was absolutely serious, this wasn’t the first time he had asked (more insisted) that you come live with him, but Nanami would be wildly jealous; he’d already discussed this with you at length, which is why he continued to pay the rent for your apartment.

“She moves in with you and I’ll never get to see her again, or you either for that matter Hiromi,” you could hear Nanami saying, his voice sounding a little blunt. “You two’ll be fucking on every single surface in here every chance you get…”

Higuruma snorted. “Like we’re not already…?”

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙○♡๑•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•๑♡○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

[bonniesbluee]

okay so for part 2 of art x stripper reader you can do like a continuation of them at the house and once she sees the kind of lavish life he lives she gets comfy but also wants to get to know him more so they talk then she gives him a lap dance which leads to well you know....(just like in anora)

dilf!art x stripper!reader pt 2 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the drive to his home is mostly quiet, only filled with soft "hmm" from you whenever he would start small talk. a friendly soft smile never leaving your face. mostly because that's what she always does with her costumers. but also because he's genuinely charming!

when you both get home, you're shocked at how...expensive the whole place is. it screams 'rich guy' but not in an obnoxious way. either way, its all so enticing.

"mi casa es tu casa," he botches up the spanish, which makes you laugh softly. you go through his door, hands clutching at your dress as you look around. "not too shabby," you say softly, and he gently drags you to the couch.

"of course. you want a drink? anything?" he says while placing your purse on the other couch, sitting next to you with an almost an needy look. "i dont drink while...y'know, working." you respond, hands laying ontop of thighs.

"right. work." he leans back, his forearms tensing as he rests them on the couch. "so, how much is the pay?" he says bluntly. way too bluntly. your smile falters slightly at the sudden question. "depends on the night. sometimes it can be about 2-3k. in other times its less than 500."

"hm." he sits up almost as if scanning you. "you're too pretty for that job, y'know?" he asks you, softly brushing a stray piece or hair off your face. "way too pretty. you deserve better." you stay quiet, simply glancing away.

"what about 1k a day. you get to live here, not in a trashy apartment," he states so casually you almost dont believe it. also 'trashy apartment'? why would he- "i assume you live in an apartment anyway." he places his hand on your thigh before tugging at it. "think about it," you move ontop of his lap, ass pressed against thighs and back pressed against his chest. "me, you. in this house all for ourselves. no more worrying about rent," his hands goes to your hips, gently grind them against him. "deadlines, debts. you'll get taken care of by me."

you loll your head back, forehead softly brushing against his jaw. "all in return of..?" "just company." it sounds pathetic. but he needs to sleep with someone at night, he needs a warm body, and you need stability. win win. not only that, but something about you makes him feel almost obsessively protective.

you continue grinding on him, biting your lip as you feel his hand gently caress your stomach. "ill think about it." you whimper, eyes fluttering as you feel his erection press against your ass cheeks.

"mm yeah?" he groans against your ear. his hips bucking as he tries to search for friction. "maybe you want me to convince you more?" he asks, yet doesn't wait for an answer before he's already pushing your face into the cushion of the couch. "arch your ass baby," she instructs, pinching your soft ass cheeks.

you obediently arch you ass, whimpering at the whine. "so wet already," he whispers to himself as he gazes at the wet spot in your pink panties. he smirks, cupping your thighs and spreading them open. "so sweet and wet.." he purrs, pulling your panties to the side, gently thumbing at your clit. "i wonder how you taste." she sits up, kissing the side of your head before cupping your ass harshly.

he nuzzles his nose into your core, eyes fluttering as your juices touch his face. "god," he breathes out before a switch in him happens. a raw, crude need to taste you. you let out a sharp cry, hands gripping the couch as you press your face into the couch. "a-art!" you whimper, chest heaving.

he stays quiet the whole 5 minutes. in the span of 5 minutes you come 2 times. its that bad. he's licking sucking and biting into your core. its harsh and raw, which just brings more goosebumps to your body. by the time he pulls away his face is soaked, your body is trembling, alot. and you're drooling. you are so dumb and he isnt even inside you yet.

the sight of u at his mercy makes his cock twitch inside his pants. "come on baby," he kisses your lips, mixing your saliva, his saliva and your juices. "we aint done yet."

"we're far from done."

[luigisbambinaaa]

Fic request for after Luigi gets out of jail.

He comes out not in a very good mental state ofc. He does a great job at keeping it together, goes to therapy etc, but has episodes where he snaps or is just out of line. (Not violent or anything but enough to say things he doesn't mean.) You both have a bad fight one night, and you rush off to your room where you lay down and cry. You pass out, and wake up to him on his knees by the bed, apologizing and kissing your hands and just begging you for forgiveness. Turns into smut, lovemaking but still intense (raw and super intimate)

Call it Fate, Call it Karma

Summary: Luigi snaps at you, hurting your feelings, and begging to make it up to you.

Content Warning: Very brief argument, Luigi crying, reader crying, p in v, a bit angsty (?)

An: oof this took me sooo long to write im sorry! spring break ended and i was swamped with work. this is also my first time writing anything angsty so i hope i lived up to your expectations anon! thanks for the request <3 enjoy!

other works: soft spot , soft spot pt. 2

—————————————

It wasn’t even a big deal.

Just some stupid comment you made about groceries and how tired and overwhelmed you were, obviously trying to make a joke.

But the moment the words left your mouth, Luigi’s whole face changed.

His eyes went cold, jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. And you knew that look, you knew he was trying to keep his anger from bubbling over, just like he had been working on with his therapist.

But he snapped anyway, disregarding any feelings you’d have.

“Why are the fuck are you still here if you’re so fucking miserable then, huh?”

“I didn’t ask you to stay. You can leave whenever you want.”

The words cut you like knives, leaving you almost frozen.

He wasn’t even loud nor violent, but cold enough to hit exactly where it would hurt the most.

You stood there, heart hammering and throat closing.

Feeling all your insecurities flooding back to the surface. Thoughts of not being good enough for him anymore, that he didn’t really want to be with you anymore after being gone for so long, that maybe he realized you were a burden too.

And you didn’t say a thing, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You turned and ran, vision blurred with hot tears.

You barely remembered slamming your bedroom door, barely remembered collapsing into bed and sobbing into your pillows as your entire body shook.

You cried hard, even more than you expected to.

Every fear pouring out of every tear— of losing him, of not being enough to pull him out of the darkness he was plagued with, of loving him more than he could ever love you back.

And eventually, the exhaustion lulled you to sleep.

———

You awoke hours later to the sound of quiet sobs and broken breathing.

You blinked your swollen eyes open, sticky tears dried to your face, and saw Luigi.

Kneeling by your bed, forehead pressed against your hands, his entire body shaking with quiet, desperate sobs.

He kissed your knuckles over and over again, whispering quiet apologies against your skins like he was praying,

“I’m sorry baby.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, please.”

“Please, don’t leave me. Please.”

You stirred, fingers twitching against his, and his head snapped up immediately, letting you get a good look at his wrecked state.

Red-rimmed eyes, mouth trembling, and endless tears sliding down his cheeks.

Luigi, who never let ANYONE see him so vulnerable, so broken like this, kneeling beside you.

“Please,” he gasped, climbing into bed like he couldn’t bear to be any further away from you anymore.

“Please don’t leave. I didn’t mean it, baby. Please don’t hate me. Baby, I swear I didn’t mean it.”

You stayed silent for a second, still stunned by his appearance, still hurt by his words, before whispering,

“You don’t get to say things like that to me and pretend it’s nothing, Lu.”

“I’ve stayed because i love you.”

Your voice cracked and your hands shook, but you still managed to say,

“If you don’t want me— If you think I’ve been a burden, just say it now.”

Luigi broke.

Collapsing against you, sobbing, shaking, hugging you like he was afraid if he didn’t have any hands on you, you’d disappear.

His words spilling out frantically, “no, no, never, you’re my whole world, i’m sorry, please don’t leave, i’m sorry—“

You wrapped your arms around him, rocking him, whispering sweet little soothing words, letting tears slide down your cheeks as well.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his curls. “I’m not leaving, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

———

Somehow, through all the tears, your mouths found each other.

Kisses that tasted of salt and of so many things left unsaid.

Luigi kissed you like he wanted to swallow you whole. Like he could kiss away all the broken parts of you.

And you kissed him back, desperate and trembling. Tugging on his clothes, needing him closer, and needing him now.

He stripped you first, tender but clumsy, tears still slipping off his cheeks and hands shaking when brushing against your soft skin.

You undressed him second, just as frantically. Tearing his hoodie off, yanking his jeans down, until you were both skin-to-skin, warm, sticky, but wrecked together.

When he finally pressed his body against yours, his forehead resting on yours and his heavy, hot cock between your thighs, you whimpered and dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Please,” you gasped, wrecked and needy.

“Lu… please, need you.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I’m here, baby.”

He lined himself up, hands trembling and pushed into you slow.

So slow it almost hurt. So slow you felt every single inch of him press deep inside, dragging a sharp, breathless moan from you.

Your legs spread wider without thinking. Just desperate to take all of him, to feel all of him and drown in it.

Luigi whimpered when he bottomed out, buried to the hilt with your walls fluttering around him.

“God,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You feel so good. So fucking good, baby”

He stayed buried inside you, trembling and peppering kisses over your cheeks, your throat, and your lips— whispering broken promises into your skin.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Forever.”

And when he finally moved, it wasn’t rough or frantic. It was slow, deep, and wrecked.

Every thrust lit your nerves on fire, feeling so full and stretched, and overwhelmed by his weight on you in the best way.

He fucked you like he wanted to become one with you. Like he needed your body to understand how apologetic he was.

Each slow drag of his hips pulled more tears from you, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming love and care pouring out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he kept gasping. “I’m sorry, baby. I love you so much. I’m never gonna hurt you again, swear.”

“I know,” you sobbed— kissing him and clutching him closer. “I know. I love you, Lu.”

He moved faster, deeper. His thrusts becoming messy, desperate, and grinding you further into the mattress until you were sobbing into his mouth and your nails clawing at his back.

He reached between you, hand sliding down your body to press little tight circles over your clit with his thumb.

“Wanna feel you cum on me, baby,” he moaned against your lips. “Wanna feel you milk me, bella.”

Your thighs trembled, whole body shuddering as he kept fucking you just right.

“That’s it,” he breathed, already panting.

“That’s my girl. My perfect baby. Taking it so good— fuck, gonna make me lose it.”

You came first— body locking up and clenching Luigi so tight he groaned— a low, broken noise that went straight to your pussy.

You sobbed his name, hands grabbing blindly at him, thighs shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, and still he didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, fucking you through it. “So good, so fucking good for me, baby.”

And Luigi followed right after— burying himself as deep as he could inside you, sobbing out your name as he came, his hips jerking, cum spilling into you in warm pulses as he moaned against your mouth.

He didn’t stop kissing you. Not even when he collapsed on top of you, still inside you, panting, and trembling with how much he loved you.

———

You stayed there wrapped around each other, shaking, clinging, and sticky.

Kissing each other’s faces, whispering wrecked little ‘i love you’s’ until neither of you could speak.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you even thought about it.

You two were home right there, in each other’s arms.

———

You’re not sure how much time had passed, but eventually, Luigi stirred with his voice low as he whispered into your hair,

“I’m sorry again, baby. For everything I said. I shouldn’t have—“

You cut him off with a soft kiss and shaking your head.

“Stop,” You murmured gently. “You don’t have to keep repeating it. You already showed me. You’re here and we’re okay.”

His arms instinctively tightened around you as he buried his face in your neck.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it,” he whispered.

You ran your fingers through his curls, lightly scratching his scalp, grounding him with every tug.

“Then just start here,” you said softly. “Let’s sleep and just hold me.”

He pressed a soft and tentative kiss to your collarbone, his eyes fluttering shut.

And you both stayed like that, sore, but comforted. Both your hearts steady for the first time in a long time.

Because no matter how heavy the night had started, you were both ending it together.

[kindahoping4forever]

looseunit123: I remember being 8 years old. It was 8pm, or 10, or 12. Laying dormant in the bottom compartment of my metal framed bunk bed. My dad used to waltz home from the pub and sit outside in a camp chair under the tin roofed awning we had.

He'd put The Proclaimers 'Sunshine on Leith' CD into our player and let it run all the way through. Sometimes twice. Harping and humming along like no tomorrow. The sound would crash through my window and set up camp in my small shipping container of a room. Guess I'm not sleeping for a couple more hours.

If you asked me back then I'd probably say he did it because he was a little buzzed and wanted to let off steam from working long labored hours. But if you asked me now I'd say that it reminded him of home. I don't blame him, I do the same for both reasons and loose change.

I think Sunshine On Leith was track 4 or 5. From then on it became his own. I won't ever associate this song with anyone but him. Flooding my CPU with pictures of his slight crooked smile on one side. Or the sound bite of his laugh where at the end the inflection of his pitch goes up just a touch. Or how he used to talk through his teeth whenever he was seething. All pretty much a carbon copy of what I do now.

It makes me think of him as a child. Blue eyes and blonde hair weaving through the Scottish wind. It makes me wonder of what he was like when he was my age.

What does he love?

Who does he love?

What's he afraid of?

There's so many things I won't ever get to ask that version of him.

It's hard now to sing the song without tearing up. In fact I'm tearing up now as I write this. Maybe it makes me feel closer to him. Maybe it humanizes him. Maybe I'm just emotional.

A parent is likened to some sort of guardian angel. And although that maybe an unrealistic expectation as a 29 year old man I'm going to call him now and tell him he did a good job.

I hope you have a song that reminds you fondly of someone.

[strungnews]

Mark peels his eyes open when he hears the chime of his phone. He’d ignore it if it were anyone else, his beauty sleep too precious for anyone’s demands at this hour, no exception.

Except one, that is.

He personalized his text notification for you, just because, he reasoned. You’d text him late at night, this was no different. You loved showing him all kinds of curious stuff he never knew existed. Usually it was pretty lively, or quiet.

But came another ping, quickly followed by another, then it went quiet.

That was less than usual. Odd.

He opens it up, lockscreen practically blinding his eyes while he tries to decipher what you’re texting. It’s punctual, direct, just your usual self.

Mark. Do you have any glue that can stick anything together.

Its important.

Odd, eery, okay.

At this hour?

What for?

. . .

No reply. The bubbles on the screen disappears, left on seen.

Okay. He needs to check up on you, right now.

“Please don’t do anything stupid.” He mutters under his breath, quickly flying over to you like a bullet to the head.

Your blinds are closed, typically. Lights are open, dim, no shadow casts near the window the closer he goes, the latch isn’t locked. Concerning.

“Hello?” He softly calls out. If this was really an emergency, him calling out to you would most likely be the cause of your death. And he wouldn’t know whether or not to laugh or grimace at that when he’s standing by the headstone of your grave. Who needs some strong ass glue for a scenario like that?

“Im just gonna let myself in…” Its the smell that hits his nose first when he slides it up, like fixing his busted nose by snapping it back into place, he can take a deep breath again. Everything is so strong, so pungent, so headache inducing.

“Why does it smell like rugby in here?” He groans, pinching his nose. It’s so quiet in here.

Usually the soft whirrs of your dingy fan was enough to be white noise, or the sound of your phone playing music faintly by the bed. But nothing, just dead silence and that familiar beat of a heart.

Mark softly calls you out, his socked feet thudding lightly on your floor. Your back’s to him, and he watches as you just eye at something by your feet.

Your favorite umbrella. It was those old fashioned ones, popular in the 1960’s since people raved about a lot of things that essentially made little to no impact back then. Now its handle has been broken and separated, the pungent glue is lathered lazily and hastily, like a doctor trying to revive a patient on the spot.

So much supplies are scattered just at the side, he guesses it was your quick panicky feeling at trying to salvage this.

Mark bought it for you at some antique shop, since you wouldn’t stop eyeing it whenever you’d coincidentally pass by the same row at the place. 100 percent from japan, the tag and the lady at the counter said so!

You paraded that thing around when you first got it, yet hesitant to even use it when you’d actually go out.

‘What if someone steals it?’ ‘What if I forget about it and I cant find it anymore?’ You’d complain, as if you weren’t opening up the thing in your room. Just sitting under it while you typed away like there was a storm inside the place. It was cute.

“Oh, man.” Immediately, he sits next to you and drapes an arm while squeezing at your shoulder.. Enough to let you lean in if you wanted, and enough room to pull away. An option in case you were ever overwhelmed.

Its a bit hard to gauge your expression and emotions in this state. You’re kind of just staring at it with a blank face, eyes while tracing over it like you’re committing it to memory, before blinking it away. Repeating the process.

“Im upset.” You finally say. Your tone doesn’t indicate you’re as upset as he’s thought you’d be. Just like a disappointed sigh kind of upset, the one he’d get from his mom whenever she caught him lazying a second too long.

“I really liked that umbrella.”

“I know.” He leans further onto you when you do first. You both sit there, watching the broken handle of the umbrella and its body just to the side. Like a wielder’s sword put to rest. Boxed and put in a glass in admiration, the rough patches and jaggedness a story of its history, of its past.

“I think Paul could help with this.”

“You think so?”

“He’s a man of many tricks, trust me.” Mark starts to rock the both of you lightly, your body now fully leaning onto him.

“Really now? I think your mom would know more about that than him honestly.” You two giggle, tracing spiraling patterns on his knee.

“Im so telling mom that.”

—

It seemed no glue would be enough to fix that crack in your umbrella shaped heart. It got fixed, of course. But the fear of it breaking even more doubled by the time you’d received it back in one rather than two.

Paul helped install a small hook to attach it at the wall of your room, presented in all its yellow glory.

Mark shortly surprises you by taking you to the same antique shop, this time they were on sale!

“It was like it was meant to be.” You said, pushing the door as the bell above jingles.

“You breaking your umbrella?” That earned a heavy yet light hearted smack on his shoulder. Too early.

It wasn’t all that hard to look for a substitute, the bright yet soft color of green had already caught your eye the moment you started looking, and he thinks there was no changing your mind.

“Look Mark! It even has a crocodile for a handle!” You beamed, brighter than that old umbrella of yours, brighter than the screen of his phone at a late night.

Man, that’ll never get old.

A/n: im so sad (?) that the handle my umbrella broke because i was too busy chasing away the ants in my room and i stepped on it sob. Here it currently lies on my floor still broken and in disrepair

[moth-murdock]

Posture. (Matt x AFAB!reader)

A/n: thank you so much to @upended-jellyfish for helping me come up with this 🥴😵‍💫 I think @bunmurdock @pupmurdock @lambmurdock and @sharkymurdock will especially appreciate it too

Genre: smut adjacent?

Summary: Matt helps you fix your posture for good.

Warnings: disciplinarian!Matt, bondage, face slapping, posture correction in the fun way, Mean!Matt (I surprised myself with that tbh)

Other tags: in the new apartment :/, chest hair 😋,

Word count: 1.5k

You don't mean to slouch. You really don't. It just... Happens. But Matt notices. Of course he does. So he does what any loving boyfriend would do. He tries to help.

"sweetheart, you're slouching"

"no I'm-... How did you know?"

"I can, uh, I can hear your breathing. It's kind of labored."

"oh... Alright, thanks." You say as you straighten up.

For a while, he'd remind you like that. Polite, soft, helpful. Then he starts to get a bit tired of it the longer it goes on. He'll just clear his throat while putting a hand on your back. From there, it turns into putting one hand on your lower back and the other on your upper chest, then pushing. It's quick, and automatically gets you to straighten up.

"quit slouching, it's not good for you."

"alright, dad."

"I mean it, kid."

After a while of that, he still catches you slouching sometimes. He'll just flick the back of your neck, and you catch the message. He's just trying to help. And to your favor, you have improved.

Just not enough.

***

He had a rough day. The client was a laidback asshole who was lying left and right, with no respect for Matt or anyone else on the legal team. It pissed him off. Rubbed him the wrong way.

As he walks home, he can't help but be annoyed still. He enters the elevator, going all the way up to his top-floor apartment. He walks in the door, only to hear you slouching. He can hear you typing something on your computer, which is usually when you slouch anyway. He lets put an exasperated sigh, tapping his cane on the floor to get your attention.

"Matty? What's wrong?"

He says nothing, taking off his coat and his jacket. He folds up his cane, tapping it again on the table as he sets it down. He makes his way over to where you sit, cool and composed with measured steps. He still doesn't say anything as he reaches over and closes your laptop.

"hey! What the he-"

Smack

"Posture." He practically growls in a low, gravelly voice. Letting out a tired huff as he tugs his tie off, he quickly undoes the knot in the silk before gagging you with it, tying a tight knot behind your head.

You were still trying to process the slap, your cheek still stung and he had caught you completely off guard. You snap out of it when Matt throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, starting to carry you towards the bedroom. You start to protest, words not being an option due to the tie in your mouth.

Your next best option is physical protest, so that's what you go with. You squirm and kick and hit, which only earns you a smack on the ass so hard that you feel it even through the clothes you're wearing. You gasp out in pain and wriggle some more on his shoulder, but he can smell the truth. He can smell how wet you are, he heard your heart race.

He tosses you on the bed unceremoniously, quickly crawling over you both to avoid you getting up, and to start undressing you. You know that you could realistically give him the signal and he'd stop dead in his tracks. Just tapping that certain rhythm you agreed on. But youre in the mood to play along, so you do. You struggle against him, which is conveniently helping him undress you. Only once you're stripped bare does he get off of you, pressing a large hand to the center of your chest and holding you down.

"Stay." He commands as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, like you're some mutt he found on the side of the road.

And like a dog, you listen. But that doesn't stop you from glaring daggers at him while he rummages one of his drawers for something. You expected a lot of things, but his white Muay Thai ropes was not one of them. The blood on them was no longer the deep crimson they were on that night, implying that he'd washed them since then.

"turn."

You do.

He uses one rope to secure your arms behind your back, wrists to elbows. The other goes around your neck, then connects to your arms, arching your back slightly.

"That's good fucking posture." He growls, tugging on the ropes to jostle you into a kneeling position, facing the foot of the bed.

"do you know what you sound like when you slouch? I can hear your lungs being compressed and squeezed." He starts as he gets off the bed, the mattress silently raising. He walks around to where you're facing, popping the first two buttons of his shirt to reveal his salt and pepper chest hair. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the other resting on his hip.

He has a 'what am I going to do with you' expression on his face as he speaks again, pacing back and forth.

"not to mention that your back pops like goddamn bubble wrap when you finally stand up. You know that's why you have back pain, right?" He says expressively as he paces, the hand that ran through his hair now waving around and making gestures like he's in court.

You let out a whine around his tie, only for him to take two steps forward to slap you across the face again and grab your jaw right after.

"don't interrupt me. I'm not done." He says dangerously.

"I tell you time and time again to sit up straight, kid. But you just don't listen to me! All I'm trying to do is help you and you just. Don't. Listen. It feels like I'm babysitting you at this point." He huffs, taking a deep breath that was supposed to calm him, but only floods his nose with your scent.

"seriously?" He scoffs, stopping in his tracks.

"are you seriously getting off on this?" He asks, almost incredulously.

You whine and squeeze your thighs together, trying to hide your scent and relieve some of the ache between your thighs.

He steps forward and wrenches your legs open, and as if the waft of your scent wasn't enough, he runs his fingers through the mess between your thighs.

"do you really expect me to touch you, kid? After that? I'll tell you what, I have had a shit day at work today. I am not in the mood for you to be brat on top of it all. If you wanted something tonight, the least you could have done was act like a human being rather than an animal."

You want to cry. You're soaking wet, drooling onto the silk sheets and not with your mouth. You can feel your heartbeat in your clit like a drum, and you know he can sense it too. He takes another deep breath, jaw tensing and brows twitching.

"you are going to stay like this for an hour. Then I'm going to untie you and we will go to bed. Nothing else will happen outside of that. And so help me god if I see you slouching again after tonight, I won't be so kind."

You couldve cum just from that.

"do you understand me? Or did you go stupid like you always do when I don't touch you?"

You frantically nod, humming an affirmation around his tie, which is now soaked in your saliva.

True to his word, he leaves you there for another hour, your back forced into a perfect posture just waiting for him while he takes a long shower to decompress from the day and even treats himself to putting on the one lotion he can actually stand on his skin.

When he returns, there's still a bit longer left, but he ignores your whimpers and whines. You tried once to grind yourself against the sheets, but that was quickly shut down by him gripping your hair and pulling your head back.

"you said you understood me. I didn't give you permission for this. Last warning."

You whimper and nod, forcing your hips to still. After your hour is up, he starts to untie you with such tenderness that it confuses you for a moment. He tosses the ropes aside, massaging your arms and checking your neck for any signs he can pick up of strain or discomfort.

"nothing hurts?" He asks softly as he removes his tie from your mouth.

"no, Matty... I'm okay..." You assure him equally as softly despite the fact that you are still more turned on than you've ever been.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He can tell you're still so turned on, but he told you he wouldn't touch you, and always keeps his bedroom promises. So he removes the sheet that you dripped onto and he grabs a spare blanket. You both crawl into bed, and you cling to him like he wasn't berating, degrading, and slapping you just an hour earlier. Because despite it all, he wasn't wrong.

He just wanted to help your posture.

My masterlist | fic recs

[heechwe]

lexiiii popping in your inbox because i saw the 3k celebration!! first i wanted to say congratulations on achieving 3k followers you absolute deserve it for making absolute bangers and amazing fics💗

but if i could add a mix of hate/possessive sex with jay or sunghoon (im always on my jayhoon agenda)

¿por que no los dos? hehe if this throuple idea goes badly, i apologize, it's my first time writing it and i kinda went feral

𐔌 𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𐦯 — your best friends are just looking after you. that's what they tell themselves, anyway. jay and sunghoon didn't expect you to go all out at this party, drinking and dancing like you can't be bothered by anyone's stares or comments. and stare they do, especially with how low-cut your dress is. nobody should be ogling you like this, the two guys think as you giggle into your solo cup. you're not a piece of meat; you're an incredible and capable woman, but it's so hard for even them to keep themselves in check as they carry you home. your mind is still buzzed from the liquor but not in a place of total loss of recognition. why couldn't they see it was all for them?

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝟑𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓

𐔌 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𐦯 જ⁀➴ 𝒋𝒂𝒚 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙

"You didn't have to storm me out of there. I can take care of myself," you mumble as Jay locks the door to your apartment. Sunghoon immediately runs to the fridge to grab you a bottle of water, but you flick it away when he presses it to your chest. "Stop hovering over me, the both of you."

"You need to drink something that isn't 40-proof, sweetheart," Jay says in an admonishment, running his hands through his hair to keep from saying something he regrets. He can see it in Sunghoon's eyes too. They just want to protect you. That's all they've ever wanted.

It kills you that they can't get past that and give you what you want yourself.

"He's right, doll. Take this water and—"

"I don't want water! I want you both to stop treating me like a kid when I'm grown and I know exactly what I want." You huff into the air, storming past both of them and into your bedroom with tears in your eyes.

You feel stupid thinking the dress, the glittery makeup, the show you put on for the both of them would work. All they ever saw you as was their younger, close friend. That would never change.

Trying to hide the sniffle behind your hand doesn't work, the boys immediately coming to your side when they hear the sound from the doorway.

Jay tucks your hair from your shoulder as Sunghoon squeezes your knee. "Talk to us, please?" Sunghoon sounds so confused, so hurt, and Jay echoes the words in his expression, bright brown orbs laced with concern.

In that moment, you resolve not to hold it in any longer. Even if they say they don't feel the same as you do, at the very least you won't be waiting in the wings any more. You can take the truth and be done with it, go back to how it used to be with no more concealed emotions.

"I did all of this for you." You respond to Sunghoon before turning to Jay, your cheeks heating quickly. "Both of you. But I know neither of you see me that way, so it's—"

It's a crash of lightning the way Sunghoon captures your lips with his own, followed by the rattle of thunder when Jay pulls you away to take your mouth for himself. Sunghoon kisses down your neck as a way to occupy himself, eager to have you again but taking his time. He's waited this long.

Clearly the both of them have.

Sunghoon's eager fingers inch towards the inside of your thighs, lingering just outside the skin covered by your panties. You shiver under the touches of both men, Jay licking inside of your mouth and now squeezing one of your breasts outside of your dress as Sunghoon slips your underwear to the side to do what he's wanted for weeks, months, years.

It's all so much, so soon, you have had no time to speak. You find your voice again, tearing away from Jay's lips to whisper. "H-How—"

"Sweet girl," Jay tsks, running a finger along your cheekbone with a relieved expression, lips puffy but eyes lit with eager desire. "Why didn't you say something sooner? We would've given you anything you wanted."

Sunghoon hums in agreement. You did not notice the man had sunken to his knees, his face in between your legs and dress bunched up at your hips. Was this reality? How did it get to this point? "Didn't expect us to want you this bad, did you?"

You shake your head quickly, and Sunghoon responds with his face and fingers suddenly buried in the apex of your thighs. He licks and curls his fingers with precision, like he knows exactly where to suck and sink his digits in. It makes you tuck yourself deeper into Jay's chest. "Like what he's doing, sweetheart?" Jay asks.

You nod eagerly, riding your friend's face and fingers like your life depends on it. "S-So much, Seongie. I want you too, though," you confess before attaching your lips to his once more.

Jay chuckles into the kiss, cupping your face with both of his hands. "You'll have me—both of us—soon enough, pet. Be a good girl and come on his tongue first."

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @frenchkisstheabyss @prkhaven @tinycatharsis @fangel @aaa-sia @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @xylatox @dawngyu

[hahaifolded]

Cellophane - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Tags/Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), one-sided relationship Author's Note: I genuinely have no clear where this came from. I had to take a lap while writing this because wtf. Read with precaution!

Johnny: Sorry about that. My phone died but on my way.

So many emotions swirl your head as you pick at the loose threads on your couch. You weren’t sure what you were feeling right now. Anger. Disappointment. Confusion. Betrayal. 

All you knew that if Johnny doesn’t have a good reason for this, it’s ov— 

Wait, don’t get ahead of yourself. This is your Johnny for fucks safe. Your boyfriend of two years. Your safety. Your home. Your heart. There has to be a logical reason for this. There just has to be. 

Your front door suddenly opens and interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mo ghradh! I’m home!” announces your lover. Normally, his arrival brightens your day but right now, it just reminded you of the growing tightness in your throat. He rushes past the couch, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to the bathroom. “Was really worried that I wasn’t going to make it,” he jokes. 

You give him a half-hearted laugh as your heart nearly jumps out your throat. It was now or never. 

“So how was dinner with the boys?” Your mind races with what your question implicates. If he comes clean, crisis adverted. 

Wiping his hands on his pants, Johnny breaks your heart. “Pretty good.” He walks over to you and pulls out a bill from his pants, boasting at how he was able to swindle 50 pounds from Gaz. 

Funny how the world works. Here’s Johnny dragging the same man who gave him away in his lie. If your heart wasn’t actively breaking right now, maybe you could have laughed at the irony. Instead, you’re recalling the fact that after three failed attempts in reaching your boyfriend tonight, you called Kyle in the hopes that he could tell your Johnny to check his phone. 

“You know I would, love, but he already left.” “What do you mean “he already left”? I thought the team was grabbing dinner around 7. It’s barely 7:15.” “Tonight? I thought Soap was grabbing dinner with his pa—“

A hand waves across your face, bringing you back to the present. “Sweetheart, you okay?” Johnny’s voice is laced with worry. “You don’t look so good.” Your Scottish lover takes a seat next to you and presses the back of his hand across your forehead. 

You grasp his hand and hold it down in your lap. You take a deep breath and rip the bandage off. 

“I called Kyle today after I couldn’t get a hold of you.” Silence filled the room. Johnny’s face went blank. “He told me where you were.”

“And?”

And? You let go of Johnny’s hand, shocked by the coldness in his voice. 

“And?” You repeated back incredulously. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Johnny stands up and paces in front of the couch. His neck turns red but you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or anger. “What do you want me to say?” he shoots back. Anger. 

“Why?” He pauses to look at you. You both stare at one another, shocked by the reality of the situation. 

“I don’t know.”

Your body goes hot. “Johnny, that’s not good enough.” You stand up. “We’ve been dating for two years. For fucks safe, Johnny, you’ve met my parents,” You fight against the tears. “So why, why didn’t you invite me tonight to meet yours?” You must look crazy right now as your chest heaves with anger - probably even more since Johnny stood so composed. 

But in actuality, a storm brewed inside Johnny. The moment that he hoped would never come has arrived. Delusional. He knew it was inevitable. After he met your parents a few months ago, he knew this was going to happen. After he said “I love you,” he knew this was going to happen. After the the first date, he knew this was going to happen. But, he wasn’t - they’re weren’t - ready yet. Just a little longer and then it can happen. He just needs more time. They need more time. 

So like an interrogation, he’ll stay quiet.

“I don’t know.” It’s clear you don’t like his answer as you take a step back away from him. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Now you begin to pace. “Johnny, I know how fucking important your family is to you. It's important for me too.” Your face contorts as you find the right words. “You even said how you couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t get along with your parents.” 

Johnny can’t help but wince which only startles you. The entire room goes cold. You freeze completely and your body slumps at the insinuation. 

“Oh.” You take a deep breath in and in your plain voice, you conclude, “you don’t plan on marrying me.” 

The Scot’s heart pauses.  No! He rushes towards you and grabs your head, immediately cradling it. You’re clearly in shock. If I don’t say anything, I’ll lose them, he realizes. So in an act of desperation, he tells you the truth.

“You not meeting my parents has nothing to do with you.” He stares deeply in your eyes, hoping you’ll stay after this. “They just want me to marry someone… like us.” He internally cringed at his words. He knows his parents are in the wrong here, but he knows they'll come around to it. They're good people, right?

Emotion, specifically confusion, reappears on your face. Standing face to face to him, you push his hands away and ask, “didn’t your little sister marry a Frenchman?” 

Johnny normally loved how you saw the cracks in people’s facades but right now, he wished that beautiful brain of yours would just stop. “Yes bu—“

“So what’s wrong with me?” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes widened as you realized the stark difference between you and Johnny’s brother-in-law, Johnny, and his entire family. You recall the picture Johnny had showed you early on in your relationship of his family - a big family with one similar characteristic. 

You fall back to the couch. Johnny falls to his knees before you and begins to ramble about how his parents aren’t necessarily bad people, just stuck in their old ways, but you really don’t catch his words. You couldn’t believe it. Your boyfriend of two years won’t introduce you to this parents because of something you can’t and didn’t want to change. You couldn’t believe this was happening…

again. You promised yourself that if you ever found yourself in the shadows because of someone’s inability of loving you in the light, you would…

“It’s over,” you gently announce. John immediately goes silent. He probably wasn’t expecting that and you can’t blame him, you really didn’t think this conversation would be the end. 

With red ears, the Scott begs you to reconsider. “It’s not like you can’t meet my parents. I’m just asking you to wait. Give it some time. I know they’ll come around it. There’s no need to rush—“

“Do they know that I exist?”

“…”

“Do they even know that you’re dating someone?”

“…”

You couldn’t believe it. While you were proudly parading and even defending your love for him, he hid you out of shame. 

You shoot up from the couch, desperate to leave this man and, really, this relationship behind. Unfortunately for you, John is right behind you. 

“Mo ghradh, please,” he begs. Mo ghradh - my love… just not in front of your parents, you bitterly think. Your face felt tight as you fought against the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. After giving everything to him, you couldn’t believe that Johnny John played you as a fool. You stopped and turned around, startling your “fearless" SAS sergeant. You just had to ask one question.

“John.” Johnny’s eye widened. You never call him John, not even when you’re mad. “If your parents never change, would you pick me over them?” John gasps and stutters for an answer. That was enough for you. 

You march off again, but before you leave your own apartment, you gave him your heart once more, “Just so you know, I would have chosen you.” And with that, you shut your door behind you, leaving the stuttering soldier behind. 

Word Count: 1350

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

Author's Plea: Please, please, please - if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, choose yourself and leave. Everyone deserves to be loved under the Sun.

[palmersluvr]

write us sthg like electricity is out, it will be for hours, Luigi decides it's a good opportunity to play cards he explains the rules to you but it bores the shit out of u and u cant stop staring at his neck and arms and he notices

outage

summary: when the power goes out, you find a rather interesting way to pass the time with your boyfriend.

warnings: smut, light bondage (lu is tied up and also blindfolded😣) breast sucking, p in v, breeding, female masturbation

notes: don’t like don’t read 🤪🤪🤪🤪

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

you and luigi are cuddled up in bed, wrapped in soft blankets, the tv at the end of your shared bed lighting up with mario kart. he’s propped up against the wall, one arm around you, while you’re curled up against his chest, wearing nothing but his blue bali shirt that he wore religiously.

the comforting scent of him clings to the fabric, loose and cozy on you. he’s always said his clothes are your clothes, a sentiment that makes you feel even closer. his bare legs tangle with yours under the covers, his free hand resting on your hip as the nintendo switch hums to life.

“i can’t wait to absolutely kick your ass.” luigi says, his voice laced with playful confidence as he scrolls through the character select screen. he pauses, then showcases a cocky grin, locking in his choice.

“i’m gonna go with luigi. the BEST character in the franchise.” he declares, giving you a cheeky side eye. “who you gonna try to beat me with, huh?”

snorting softly, you navigate the character select screen, pausing briefly before picking peach. “i’m gonna go with my girl peach. watch, she’ll fucking DESTROY you.” you say, confirming your choice with a smug glance his way.

he laughs, his hand grazing your hip in a teasing nudge as he leans in, his bare chest warm against your side. “you’re all talk,” he shoots back, his voice dripping with playful bravado. “peach doesn’t stand a chance against my skills.” smirking, he settles back against the wall, controller in hand, as moonview highway loads up, the vibrant track lighting up the tv.

the countdown blares, and you both lean forward, focused. “three, two, one, go!” you call out, your kart surging forward with a boost. luigi’s kart is right beside you, weaving expertly through the track, but you nudge his arm with a grin. “hey, watch it lu! or you’re going down!”

“down? did you forget that i’m untouchable?” he retorts, laughing as he tries to bump your kart off the track. “take this!” his luigi kart edges ahead, but you’ve got a trick up your sleeve.

smirking, you lean over, one hand playfully covering his eyes. “hey! stop it! that’s cheating!” he protests, chuckling as his kart swerves, narrowly dodging traffic.

“what’s the matter baby? can’t see?” you tease, giggling as you keep your hand there a moment longer, your peach kart speeding past with a red shell locked and loaded. but before you can launch it, a sharp crack rings out, and the tv goes dead, the room plunging into pitch black silence as the power cuts out.

luigi’s laugh fades into a frustrated huff. “seriously? right when i was winning?” he mutters, gently pulling your hand from his eyes, his tone tinged with annoyance at the outage.

you try to laugh it off, leaning against his chest, the blue bali shirt still clinging to your body. “guess the universe is team peach!” you say lightly, but the quiet of the darkened room presses in, the cozy vibe strained as luigi’s arms wrap tighter around you, both of you sitting in the stillness, blankets tangled around you.

he lets out a soft chuckle, shifting to pull you closer. “oh, be quiet.” he teases, his voice warm and playful despite the power cut’s weight. he tilts his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he lets out a quiet sigh, the sound mingling with the silence.

a flush creeps up your cheeks, the warmth of his kiss sparking a shy smile as you nestle closer, the darkness hiding your blush. “okay, fine, but we gotta figure this out,” you murmur, grabbing your phone from the tangle of blankets.

the screen’s glow lights up your face as you pull up your power company’s website, scrolling through outage updates. “let’s see… looks like they’re saying power should be back in a couple hours…” you say, glancing at luigi, his face softly illuminated by the phone’s light.

“a couple hours?” luigi says with a grin, his tone light as he shifts, reaching for the nightstand. “alright. i’ve got cards around here somewhere.” he digs out a tattered deck, smirking. “wanna play? lose owes the winner breakfast in bed.”

you raise an eyebrow, setting your phone aside. “deal. but don’t start crying when i beat you.”

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

moments later, you’re both sitting cross legged on the bed, blankets pushed aside, a small candle on the bedside table casting a warm, flickering glow over the card deck between you. luigi is enthusiastically explaining the rules of crazy eights, his voice filled with excitement as he drones on.

you’re already bored, tuning out his little rant, your eyes drawn to his neck, where the striking, purple hickeys you left last night stand out sharply against his skin.

your mind slips back to the previous evening, when you rode him with fierce, unrelenting intensity, hips slamming and grinding in a relentless, feverish cadence. his hands gripped your thighs, fingers sinking into your flesh as his loud groans filled the air, fueling your fire.

you leaned forward, lips and teeth ravaging his neck, sucking with bruising force and biting hard, leaving dark, possessive marks as his body shook beneath you, your nails raking down his chest, marking your territory as you both lost yourselves in the wild, untamed passion.

“babe, are you even listening to me?” luigi’s voice cuts through, snapping you back to reality, his brow raised and a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he catches you staring.

“nope.” you say casually, giving a small shrug as your eyes now linger on his biceps.

luigi raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a curious smirk as he watches you, still catching his breath from moments before.

without a word, you shift, moving with deliberate grace to straddle his lap, your thighs settling over his as you press yourself close, the warmth of your body reigniting the heat between you. his hands instinctively find your hips, gripping lightly as he looks up at you, intrigued.

you lean in, your lips brushing just shy of his ear, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “i’ve got a better idea.” you murmur, your tone teasing yet laced with promise, as you roll your hips ever so slightly, sparking a hungry glint in his eyes.

luigi’s grin deepens, his hands slipping from your hips to your backside, fingers gripping tightly as he draws you closer, the heat of his touch sparking a shiver down your spine. his voice, rough and thick with curiosity, rumbles as he angles his head to meet your gaze. “that so? care to share?” he teases, egging you on as his thumbs trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

your lips curl into a mischievous smile as you pull back slightly, just enough to let your fingers trail down his chest. without breaking eye contact, you tug at the hem of his shirt, slowly peeling it upward, exposing the taut muscles beneath. luigi lifts his arms, letting you slide the fabric off completely, and you toss it aside, your hands immediately returning to roam his bare skin, savoring the warmth and the way his muscles tense under your touch.

your fingers linger on his shoulders, tracing slow, deliberate paths as you tilt your head, a playful glint in your eyes. “you know that purple tie you always wear to formal events?” you say, your voice low and suggestive, a teasing edge to your words as you lean in closer, letting the implication hang in the charged space between you.

luigi’s smirk falters slightly, his eyes narrowing as a hint of nervous curiosity creeps into his expression. “yeah… what about it?” he asks, his voice tinged with a cautious edge, though the heat in his gaze betrays his intrigue as he shifts beneath you.

your lips curve into a sly grin, and you lean even closer, your breath warm against his skin. “give it here.” you reply, your tone commanding yet playful, the words carrying a spark of mischief as you hold his gaze, daring him to comply.

he hesitates for a moment, then lets out a low chuckle, the sound laced with both nerves and excitement. leaning to the side, he reaches for the bedside table, his fingers quickly finding the familiar purple tie draped over the edge. he grabs it, the silky fabric catching the dim light as he hands it to you, his eyes locked on yours, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty flickering in them.

you take the tie, letting it slide through your fingers as you flash him a wicked smile. “atta boy,” you murmur, your voice dripping with teasing authority.

then, leaning in close, you let your gaze drop to his hands before meeting his eyes again. “give me your wrists, lu.” you say, the command soft but firm, the tie dangling in your hand as you wait for him to obey.

his breath quickens, his cheeks flushing slightly as he fidgets beneath you, his usual confidence replaced by a nervous energy.

“w-wait, hold on…” he stammers, his voice cracking with a mix of excitement and apprehension. His eyes dart from the tie to your face, wide and searching. “are you gonna tie me up?” he asks, the words tumbling out in a flustered rush, his hands hovering uncertainly as he tries to figure out your intentions.

you smile, relishing in his flustered state, your eyes glinting with mischief as you lean in closer, letting the tie dangle teasingly in your hand. “your wrists, lu.” you repeat, your voice low and commanding, each word deliberate and leaving no room for argument.

luigi swallows hard, his flush deepening as he hesitates for a split second before slowly extending his wrists toward you, his movements tentative but obedient, his eyes never leaving yours. the vulnerability in his gaze sends a thrill through you as you take his wrists, your fingers brushing his skin as you loop the purple tie around them. with practiced ease, you knot the silky fabric tightly enough to secure his wrists together, the tie binding him firmly but not painfully.

still smiling, you tug the loose end of the tie and lean forward, guiding it toward the bed frame. you loop it through a slat, pulling it taut and tying it off with a deft knot, anchoring his bound wrists above his head.

he tugs lightly, testing the restraint, his breath quickening as he realizes he’s truly at your mercy, his nervous excitement palpable in the charged air between you.

his eyes meet yours, they’re wide and doe like, shimmering with a mix of vulnerability and anticipation. the flush still lingers on his cheeks as he waits, anticipating your next move.

without a word, you lean over to the bedside table, your fingers brushing against the drawer before pulling it open. you retrieve the familiar black blindfold he wore last christmas, its sleek fabric slightly worn but still striking, a teasing reminder of that heated holiday night.

holding it up, you let it dangle between your fingers, the sight of it drawing a soft, nervous whine from luigi as his eyes widen further, the tension between you sparking with new possibilities.

you lean in, your voice dropping to a low, seductive purr as you hold the blindfold just out of his grasp, relishing the growing tension. “want you to wear this for me,” you say, your tone a mix of command and playful tease, your eyes locked on his, urging him to surrender completely. “can you do that?”

luigi groans, his large, vulnerable eyes glinting with desperate longing. “god, please,” he gasps, his voice shaky but burning with need, “put it on me.”

your smirk eases into a gentle smile as you lean in, the black blindfold gliding through your fingers with careful precision. you slowly drape it over his head, settling the soft fabric over his eyes, adjusting it until it fits securely, enveloping him in darkness.

he gasps softly at the sensation, his body tensing for a moment before softening under your touch. with the blindfold secure, you cradle his face gently, your thumbs tracing along his jaw as you lean forward and press a lingering, tender kiss to his lips, feeling the warmth and the way he tilts toward you, seeking more.

easing back just enough to speak, your voice is soft, threaded with concern. “is this alright?” you ask, your fingers resting lightly on his cheeks, studying his face for any hint of uncertainty, though his quickened breaths suggest his willing surrender.

his eyes meet yours, warm and certain. “yes,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest, before a small, pleading smile tugs at his lips. “kiss me again.”

you crack a smile, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw as you lean closer, the blindfold already snug around his head, cloaking him in darkness. his breath catches, anticipation evident in the slight parting of his lips. you press your mouth to his, starting with a slow, teasing brush of lips, savoring the softness. his hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as you deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding against his, hungry and insistent.

the blindfold sharpens his senses, drawing a soft moan from him as he leans into you, the kiss growing fervent, heat surging between you with every breathless, electric moment.

luigi’s wrists, bound tightly above his head, strain against the restraints, leaving him helpless to touch you. your lips crash against his in a fierce, consuming rhythm, tongues entwining as you lean into him, the heat of his body radiating against yours. a shaky whimper spills from him, vibrating against your mouth as you deepen the kiss, your fingers grazing his jaw to tilt his head just so.

another soft whimper escapes, his breath ragged and uneven, as the intensity surges, each kiss more ravenous and overwhelming, the blindfold amplifying every sensation into a torrent of fiery need.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, and slowly, you slip off the blue bali shirt you’re wearing. its soft fabric brushing against your skin as you peel it away, leaving you completely naked.

the cool air prickles your skin, but the heat between you burns hotter. he can’t see you, the blindfold keeping him in darkness, but his sharp intake of breath tells you he senses the shift, the faint rustle of fabric betraying your movements.

luigi’s head tilts, straining to catch any sound, and his voice breaks the silence, low and laced with desperate curiosity. “what’re you doing?” he asks, the words quivering as his bound wrists jerk against the restraints.

you smirk, choosing not to respond immediately, and slide closer, settling directly in front of him. you spread your legs wide, and oh god… the sight of him… blindfolded, wrists tied above his head, utterly vulnerable, his chest heaving with ragged breaths… sends a surge of desire through you.

“god, look at you…” you murmur, your voice low and sultry, “all tied up, blindfolded… it makes me so fucking wet.”

your fingers glide down your body, parting your thighs further as you touch yourself, stroking slowly at first, then with more urgency, your slick fingers circling and teasing your clit. the wet sounds of your movements fill the air, deliberate and provocative, and his head snaps toward the noise, a choked whimper spilling from his lips as he realizes what you’re doing.

“you fucking monster…” he groans, his voice a mix of frustration and raw need, his wrists straining against the binds. his chest heaves, and he pleads, “at least let me watch, please…”

you smirk, leaning closer but keeping your touch steady, the heat of your own arousal building. “no,” you purr, voice low and teasing, “but you can listen. if you’re good, who knows… i might reward you after.”

the promise hangs, heavy and teasing, as you continue to touch yourself with brazen confidence. your fingers circle your swollen clit with slow, deliberate rubs, the slick, sensitive bud throbbing beneath your touch. the soft, wet sounds of your movements cut through the silence, each calculated glide amplifying the raw heat building within you and charging the air with anticipation.

every wet glide of your fingers over your clit pulls a shaky, desperate whimper from luigi, his body squirming with helpless need.

“stop squirming.” you command, your voice low and teasing, fingers pausing for a moment as you lean closer, letting the weight of your words hang in the air.

“i can’t help it,” he gasps, his voice thick with desperation, a pleading edge cutting through. “at least… ride my face… let me taste that sweet cunt.” he begs, the words tumbling out, raw and needy, his lips parting as he waits, every muscle taut with anticipation.

you let out a soft, teasing chuckle, your fingers pausing briefly as you lean in, your breath warm against his ear. “there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” you murmur, voice low and commanding, dripping with intent as you settle back, leaving his plea unanswered for now.

positioned just in front of him, thighs spread wide, a trembling moan spills from you, needy and low, as you slide two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them against your pulsing walls, pumping with a slow, deliberate rhythm that quickens, the obscene squelch of your soaked pussy filling the air.

your hips rock faintly, fingers diving deeper, slick with creamy arousal, each thrust coaxing another breathy moan from your throat. as you touch yourself, your eyes catch the noticeable tent in luigi’s sweatpants, the fabric straining against his obvious arousal, a sight that makes your lips curl with satisfaction.

luigi stays still in front of you, his body rigid with restraint, but his tortured whimpers and ragged groans escape, each of your moans drawing a pained sound from him. his bound wrists remain fixed, tied to the bed frame, the blindfold heightening every wet sound your slick fingers, your soft, pornagraphic moans, pushing him to the brink of insanity as he’s forced to listen, unable to move or see.

the coil in your stomach tightens, a hot, pulsing knot of pleasure growing more intense with every stroke. your fingers work faster, plunging deeper into your drenched core, curling against that sensitive spot that makes your thighs tremble.

the slick sound of your arousal grows louder, mingling with your escalating moans, each one more desperate and unrestrained than the last as you chase the edge. your hips buck slightly, your clit throbbing under the relentless circles of your thumb, the heat building to an unbearable peak.

luigi’s moans grow more frantic, his voice cracking with need as he listens to your every sound… the wet glide of your fingers, the shuddering gasps spilling from your lips. his whimpers turn into low, continuous groans, raw and helpless, the tent in his sweatpants twitching as your pleasure drives him further into a haze of tortured longing, his body trembling with the effort to stay still under the weight of his own denied desire.

the knot in your core tightens, a searing pulse of ecstasy swelling with each thrust of your fingers. you drive them deeper, quicker, curling against that sweet spot within your soaked core, your slick walls gripping them tightly.

the heat surges, your body shaking as you hover on the brink of release, every nerve sparking with bliss. leaning forward slightly, you taunt him, your voice a low, sultry tease.

“do you like listening to me play with my pussy, lu?” you ask, the words dripping with provocation as you let a particularly loud moan follow, pushing him further into his torment.

luigi’s response is a ragged, trembling groan, his voice thick with desperation. “yes… fuck, yes…” he chokes out, the words raw and fervent.

you smirk, his begging fueling your fire. your fingers keep working between your thighs, now rubbing your swollen, slick clit with slow, purposeful circles, the lewd sounds echoing in the charged quiet. a low, sultry moan spills from you, bold and unrestrained, as the pleasure surges, your hips grinding against your hand to chase the growing heat.

the sight of him… blindfolded and at your mercy… pushes you closer to the brink. your moans turn wild, loud and desperate, as your fingers move faster, drenched in your arousal, the tension inside you building to a breaking point.

you gasp sharply, and your body wracks with violent spasms as a ferocious orgasm rips through you, your fingers saturated with your dripping juices, frantically grinding against your swollen, pulsating clit as your hips thrash uncontrollably, milking every last convulsive wave of pleasure.

the obscene, sloppy noise of your soaking wet release echoes loudly, a brazen symphony of your climax. luigi lets out a tortured, animalistic groan at the sound, his body convulsing wildly against the unyielding restraints.

a raw, choking cry bursts from him as he comes hard in his pants, a hot, sticky flood surging through the fabric, the drenched, darkened patch spreading lewdly across his crotch and thighs, his blindfolded face twisted in frantic, helpless surrender as the vivid sound of your explosive orgasm obliterates his restraint, driving him into a shuddering, messy climax.

your gaze locks onto the glistening wet spot plastered against his sweatpants, the material clinging tightly to his skin, outlining every detail. a wicked smirk curls your lips as you lean in.

“did you just cum in your pants?” you taunt, voice dripping with playful mockery, your fingers grazing the edge of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble under your touch.

luigi’s chest heaves, his blindfolded face flushing crimson beneath the silk. “couldn’t help it,” he groans, his voice rough and thick with desperate need. “i don’t even need to see you, your pretty fucking noises alone are enough to get me off.” he confesses, each word trembling with sheer honesty.

his head tilts toward you, lips parted, quivering with anticipation. “kiss me please.” he begs, his voice soft yet laced with urgent hunger.

your lips smash against his in a ravenous, unrestrained kiss, tongues clashing in a wet, fervent tangle. his bound wrists jerk against the restraints above his head, a muffled whimper vibrating against your mouth as you press your body against his, deepening the kiss.

your teeth nip at his lower lip, tugging lightly, while your tongue explores his mouth with possessive intensity. his desperate moans blend with yours, the heat of his ragged breaths mingling in the air, the blindfold amplifying every sensation as you consume each other in a sloppy, heated frenzy.

pulling back just enough to catch your breath, you sport a devilish, shit eating grin, your eyes gleaming with mischief as you study his flushed, helpless state.

“aww, poor baby, want me to get those soaked pants off for you?” you tease, your voice low and dripping with provocation, your fingers lingering tantalizingly close to his waistband, brushing the damp fabric.

“please baby,” he begs, his voice cracking with raw hunger, desperation. “take them off, please, just fuck me, i’m begging you.” he gasps, his body trembling violently, blindfolded and yours to use.

his words spill out in a frantic, pleading rush, each syllable soaked in aching, unrestrained need as he strains toward you, craving your touch with every fiber of his being.

your grin widens, a predatory edge to it as you slide your hands to his waistband, fingers hooking into the damp, cum soaked sweatpants. you tug them down slowly, the fabric peeling away from his skin, revealing his drenched calvin kleins underneath, the outline of his cock straining obscenely against the tight material. you drag the sweatpants past his thighs, letting them pool at his ankles, before turning to the underwear.

hooking your fingers under the waistband, you pull his underwear down, the sticky fabric resisting briefly before giving way, freeing his cock. it springs up, thick and impossibly hard, easily eight inches long, veined and glistening with a mix of precum and the remnants of his prior release. the head is swollen, flushed a deep, angry red, pulsing with need.

your breath catches at the sight, a rush of heat flooding your core as you take in its size, the sheer weight of it making your thighs clench instinctively. you feel an aching urge, your body thrumming with the urge to claim him, to feel every inch of him stretching you open.

you shift forward, climbing over him, your knees bracketing his hips as you straddle him. his blindfolded face tilts up, sensing your movement, a shaky whine escaping his lips. your slick folds brush against the tip of his cock, teasing, and his body jerks beneath you, a desperate groan spilling out.

slowly, torturously, you lower yourself, guiding his thick length to your entrance. the blunt head presses against your dripping pussy, and you sink down, inch by agonizing inch, feeling the delicious, burning stretch as he fills you. your walls clench around him, slick and tight, as you take him deeper, the sensation overwhelming his size splitting you open, every vein and ridge dragging against your sensitive inner walls.

you moan, loud and unrestrained, your hands bracing on his chest as you bottom out, his cock buried to the hilt, your clit grinding against his pelvis. the fullness is intoxicating, sending shivers through you as you pause, savoring the way he throbs inside you, his bound wrists straining and his blindfolded face contorted in helpless, desperate need.

you begin to ride him slowly, lifting your hips just enough to let his veined cock slide partway out before sinking back down, each deliberate motion making your walls clench tightly around him. the slow drag of his length inside your sensitive cunt is exquisite, a simmering pleasure that makes you nearly scream, your hands splayed across his chest for balance.

“oh baby… baby…” luigi whines, his voice high and frantic, dripping with desperation. “fucking incredible…” a booming, shuddering moan spills from him, his blindfolded head tilting as if to follow your presence, his body trembling beneath you.

the sinful sounds of your pussy gliding over his cock mingle with his desperate whimpers, each slow, torturous thrust coaxing more plaintive noises from him. your chest nearly brushes against his, the intimate closeness amplifying the heat between you.

“feel that, angel?” you purr, your voice low and teasing, laced with a seductive edge. “i’m taking my time with you.” a soft, throaty moan escapes you, mingling with his desperate sounds.

luigi whines, a high, frantic sound, his blindfolded head tilting as if chasing your voice. “please, go faster,” he begs, his voice cracking with need. “i can’t take it, please, fuck, faster!” another loud, shuddering moan spills from him, his body trembling beneath you.

you laugh at his pleading, but his desperation awakens something in you. “aww, want it faster lu?” you tease, your voice dripping with control as you shift your pace. you slam your hips down harder, now riding him with relentless, ferocious speed, your pussy swallowing his thick cock in rapid, greedy thrusts.

you moan loudly, unrestrained, your nails digging into his chest, leaving crimson marks. luigi’s moans turn into a continuous, broken wail, his body jerking beneath you, wrists straining against the binds. “oh i love you… i love you… fuck, i love you!” he cries, his voice hoarse, each word punctuated by a desperate, booming moan as his face contorts in helpless, overwhelmed surrender, consumed by the intensity of your ruthless rhythm.

your noises grow wilder, untamed, as the pleasure surges within you. “my sweet boy, i love you too,” you gasp, voice thick with passion, quivering with the heat of the moment. leaning closer, your body tantalizingly near his, you guide your left breast to his parted lips, the soft, heavy curve brushing his mouth.

“suck.” you command, voice low and laced with authority, and he complies instantly, his lips closing around your nipple with ravenous hunger. his tongue swirls, hot and unyielding, sucking deeply, the sensation sending sharp, electric sparks to your core. his muffled groans vibrate against your skin, loud and needy, as he draws your breast deeper into his mouth.

the burning stretch of his size, the way his veined length drags against your pulsing inner walls, is nearly overwhelming, your body trembling with the heavenly feeling. your noises intertwine with his own, a symphony of desire, as you ride him harder, faster, your left breast still in his mouth, his desperate sucking driving you wild.

luigi’s voice breaks as he gasps, “oh my god, i’m close… fuck!” his words are laced with desperation, his body trembling beneath you, the blindfold amplifying his surrender to the overwhelming pleasure.

your own climax builds, the molten coil in your core tightening to a breaking point, your walls fluttering around his cock as you grind harder. “i’m close too,” you moan, voice shaky with need, your clit throbbing against his pelvis. “baby, cum for me.”

the command pushes him over the edge. he lets out one final loud, broken moan, his hips jerking upward as he cums fast, his thick, hot seed spilling deep inside you, pulse after pulse flooding your core. the sensation of his release, the way his cock throbs and spurts, triggers your own orgasm.

your pussy clenches around his length tighter than ever, milking him as you cum, your slick walls spasming violently, drenching his shaft in a gush of your juices. your loud, shuddering screams fill the room, mingling with his desperate cries, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crash through you, your clit pulsing against him, your core gripping him so tightly it’s almost painful.

his seed and your slick mix, leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and pooling beneath you as you ride out the intense, shuddering climax together, lost in the raw, consuming heat of each other.

as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to fade, your breathing heavy and ragged, your fingers gently find the edge of the black blindfold. slowly, you slide it off his face, revealing his flushed, sweat dampened features. his eyes flutter open, and the moment they land on you, they light up with a mix of awe and adoration, sparkling as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

the sight of your flushed skin, your tousled hair, and the glistening evidence of your shared pleasure seems to captivate him, his gaze drinking you in with unrestrained devotion.

you smile softly, your hands moving to the purple tie binding his wrists. with careful, deliberate movements, you loosen the knot, freeing his hands from the bed frame. once unbound, you toss the silky tie aside, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

luigi’s arms, now free, immediately reach for you, his hands warm and eager as he pulls you down into a close, tender cuddle. his chest heaves beneath you, his heart still racing as he wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you like he never wants to let go.

as you settle against him, his soft cock slips free from your cunt, a trail of his seed and your juices leaking out, warm and sticky against your thighs. luigi lets out a soft, content sigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back as he nuzzles his face into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. the intimacy of the moment wraps you both in a quiet, blissful cocoon, your bodies pressed close, hearts beating in sync as you bask in the afterglow of your “session”.

after a moment, he shifts slightly, his lips brushing against your temple as he lets out a low, husky chuckle. “you know…” he murmurs, his voice still rough from exertion but laced with a playful warmth, “you should tie me up and blindfold me more often.”

his words carry a glint of teasing, but the way his arms tighten around you and the soft, appreciative glint in his eyes tell you he means it, already relishing the memory of being so completely at your mercy. he pulls you even closer, his smile pressing against your skin as he waits for your response, the quiet moment filled with shared affection and lingering heat.

you giggle. “maybe i should.”

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

woulda had this out wayyy sooner but erm certain people from a certain website were attacking us LMFAOOO but i hope u all enjoy this!! pls lmk what u think 😋😋

previous work | masterlist

[dirtyvulture]

Knight Falls - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Wolverine!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk (Blood, violence, torture)

Summary: Your perfect life with Natasha isn't meant to stay that way with the Red Room still looking for her.

Word count: 3030

AN: It’s been 84 years since the last update, but I truly thank everyone for their recent interest in this fic and for giving me the motivation to keep going!

Click here to refresh your memory with Part 2.

“Again? Are you sure?”

“Why not? It’s not like she has somewhere to be.”

Dr. Cornelius’s bald head leans into your peripherals. He’s wearing his signature mirrored glasses so you can see your reflection in them: the hair matted to your forehead, the sickly paleness of your skin, the dilation of fear in your pupils.

“You’re our most generous donor,” Dr. Cornelius says, patting your arm with a heavy hand. You try cringing away from his touch, but you’re bolted to the table at every joint. The things you would do to this man if you were free. “Besides, you have to pay for your upkeep somehow, right?”

You growl in response to his words. You don’t try speaking to them anymore. They’d never listen to you anyway. 

In the background, metal scrapes against metal and the clanging strikes a chord of fear in your chest. It’s not easy to move your head but you still try, until you see one of the surgeons back at your side with a scalpel shining in the bright overhead lights. 

“What haven’t we taken today?” Dr. Cornelius asks. 

The surgeon shrugs, his expression unreadable behind a mask. You wonder if he takes enjoyment in this, or he’s just following orders. There’s a lot of each around here. All spineless cowards to you.

“How about the liver?” Dr. Cornelius suggests, pushing down on your stomach. You squirm uncomfortably, but no matter what you do, you can’t escape him. Ever since these sick psychopaths got their hands on you, they weren’t going to let you go.

“Sure.” 

Before you even have a chance to register the surgeon’s response, his scalpel presses into your side until it breaks the skin. Blood rolls down to the metal slab you’re lying on. You can’t block out the pain as he saws through you, but you’ve learned to disassociate from it. If they were going to treat you like an object, you needed to pretend to be one to survive.

***********************************************************************

You come to slowly, your head pounding like someone took a sledgehammer repeatedly to your skull. Light worsens your headache so you squint while you get your bearings. You find yourself strapped tightly to a table, heavy blocks of metal encasing both of your hands. There’s even some kind of solid muzzle over your mouth, restricting your breathing. 

Your first thought doesn’t go to the countless times you’ve been in this position before, it goes to the one that landed you here: Taskmaster standing over you with a gun pointed between your eyes. Your forehead throbs at the memory, but since you actually remember what happened, your healing must be functioning as normal, despite the extreme sluggishness that weighs you down. You pull aggressively at your binds, but you’re cinched tight to the table.

Panic builds inside of you.

Screaming doesn’t do anything. Neither does begging them to stop. Which is why you don’t do it anymore. You lie there like a fish, your eyes glazed over and unseeing, even though you are completely aware of everything happening to you.

Your skin tearing open. The blood pouring out of you that they don’t even try to staunch. Being ripped apart and put together more times than you can count.

The muzzle makes it impossible for you to take a full breath and the anxiety overrides your control. You hyperventilate frantically, but it’s still not enough air and the ache in your lungs starts to build. It feels like you’re drowning in fear and panic and you completely forgot how to stay calm. 

You never thought you’d find yourself in this position again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and try moving your whole body, but your legs down to your ankle are held in place by metal restraints. A band over your chest presses down like someone’s knee in your sternum. The fear of not being in control is crushing like a weight of its own and you fight harder, until the metal starts cutting into your wrists. But you won’t stop, afraid that you might never make it out if you do. 

“Y/N. Y/N!”

Your head whips around painfully against the restraint locked around your neck. Natasha is crouched a few feet away from you, blocked behind a wall of jail bars. You try to speak but your words are muffled by the muzzle. 

She squeezes her arm through the bar, straining to reach you. Her fingertips barely brush your forearm, but her touch is instantly calming. 

“It’s okay. I’m here,” she says, trying to be brave for the both of you, but you can smell her fear mingling with yours. There’s a cut with dried blood on her forehead, but she seems okay otherwise. At least the two of you were together. You focus on your breaths again, forcing yourself to take them slowly and as deeply as you can. Your heart rate falls and the panic begins to melt away.

Natasha has never seen you like this before. The crazed look in your eyes when you woke up, the desperation in which you tried to unsuccessfully free yourself. She knows it must be traumatizing and embarrassing for you to be in a position of helplessness. She wishes she could be closer to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything will be okay, but she’s stuck behind the bars in a cage and can barely reach you. 

“I love you,” she blurts out, in case she doesn’t get a chance to say the words again. “I love you so much and I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.” You cannot speak, but you look at her with pure adoration and trust. 

“I’m not sure where we are,” she says, filling the silence. “I woke up a few times before they brought us in here. But I think we’re on some kind of aircraft–”

At that moment, your surroundings jolt and Natasha falls back in her cell. You know you aren’t going anywhere with the table bolted to the floor, but the motion is jarring and worrying. Escape would be a lot more difficult if there was nowhere for you two to go.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Natasha whimpers, curling into a ball. You can’t stand to see her like this, even more frustrated because you can’t do anything to assure her. A growl rumbles in your throat as you tug pointlessly at your arms yet again. “It should be me on that table. You warned me going after the Red Room would be dangerous, but I didn’t think it’d end like this.”

You grunt in disagreement. You had no regrets going to that Russian home with her and you wanted her to know that.  

“If we get out of here,” she continues in a lower voice, “Maybe I should leave y–”

Before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open and three men walk in, Taskmaster among them. Instantly, the hairs on the back of your neck rise in warning. The shortest man struts over to Natasha’s cell, and the scent of fear that rolls off her is so strong it nearly chokes you.

“Natalia,” Dreykov greets as Natasha shrinks back to the corner of the cell. “Glad to see you back in the Red Room.” You growl to get his attention away from her. “Oh.” He slowly turns as if he completely missed you lying there. “Forgive me for not introducing myself.” 

He comes to your side. He smells like cologne, sweat, and a trace of fear. It makes you feel minutely better that even though you’re strapped to a slab of metal and rendered nearly immovable, he’s still scared of you. “You may address me as General Dreykov, and I think you’re already well-acquainted with Taskmaster.”

An insult is muffled by your muzzle. 

Dreykov chuckles. “We’ve been waiting a long time to get our hands on the both of you. You certainly didn’t make it easy.” He steps back as Taskmaster opens Natasha’s cell door and goes inside to grab her.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams. You yank at your restraints again; you’re not above skinning yourself if you have to. If the two of you are separated, there’s no telling what this man could do to her.

“You stay right here,” Dreykov says, as Taskmaster drags Natasha by. She tries reaching out for you again but Taskmaster pins her arms to her sides. “Dr. Morozov is happy to keep you company.” 

“Natasha!” you try to scream, but it’s unintelligible. 

“Y/N, I’ll come back for you, I’ll–” Taskmaster carries her out of the room, Dreykov following behind. The third man, thin and tall, dressed in surgeon’s attire, is left alone with you. While his physical presence isn’t very intimidating to you, the fact that he’s in a total position of power over you scares you the most.

“I heard you’re in possession of a substance we are very, very interested in,” Dr. Morozov says, his voice high and squeaky compared to Dreykov’s. “I told General Dreykov I had to come see you for myself.” He disappears from your vision but returns, pushing a rattling metal tray of instruments. Panic surges through you again, but you swallow the fear and try to stay calm.

“General Dreykov tasked me with removing this adamantium from your bones,” Dr. Morozov says, sounding giddy with excitement as he picks up a scalpel. “He isn’t sure if it’s even possible, and will most likely kill you in the process, but that’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.” He brings the blade into your left forearm, cutting your skin from your wrist to your elbow. You snarl and struggle, but he presses the blade deeper and deeper until it clangs against metal. “Aha!”

You need an escape route now. You refuse to lay here and be picked to pieces by yet another crazed surgeon. Your breathing quickens again, but this time you’re totally in control. 

“General Dreykov said you had…hmm, what was the word he used?” Dr. Morozov goes on. But your arm is already healing, so he cuts it open again and uses a clamp to hold it open. Adrenaline rushes through your veins so strongly you don’t even feel the pain for a moment, and that’s exactly what you need. Dr. Morozov is so busy studying your left arm, he doesn’t notice you tugging on your right arm. 

You tense your bicep so hard it feels like it’s going to tear out of your skin. The restraints are too tight so they pinch into your skin as it bunches up at your wrist, but you keep pulling until it starts to cut through. With one last breath to ready yourself for the pain, you yank with all your strength and your skin peels off your hand.The loss of the top layer creates enough room to slip your hand through the restraint, the blood acting like a lubricant. 

“Claws!” Dr. Morozov says suddenly.

If you didn’t feel so sick you would’ve laughed at the irony as you swing your right arm up and release your claws into the center of his chest. Dr. Morozov is dead before he collapses onto the floor. You tear the muzzle off your face first, then use your claws to cut through the remaining restraints. By the time you’re free, the skin on your arm and hand has healed back. You stand up, overwhelmed with nausea and pain, but it passes after you steady yourself on the table.

You check if Dr. Morozov has a security badge of some kind and find one in his pocket, stealing it for your own use and leaving the room. You’ve been dressed in a white shirt and sweatpants, now stained with your blood. You’re not sure why you feel so sick, maybe you had been drugged or were still recovering from being shot point-blank in the head. Either way, you don’t have time to sit and recover. You need to find Natasha. 

Following Dreykov’s scent down the hall, you dodge around corners and climb a few flights of stairs. It’s a miracle you don’t run into anyone, but something tells you it had been specifically set up this way. You use Dr. Morozov’s badge to pass foot-thick security doors, cautious to stay on guard in case of an ambush. But you hardly have time to be concerned with your own well-being when Natasha is with Dreykov. 

The thought of that slimy, vile man putting his hands on your girlfriend makes your stomach knot into a pretzel. Natasha had told you stories of what he had done to her and made other Widows do. While you could no longer be surprised by the vileness of humanity, it broke your heart to hear about the horrible things Natasha had been subjected to. Finding the Red Room would be her way of getting closure from that, but it seemed like whatever plan she had had utterly fallen apart with the surprise of Taskmaster. You have to find her before anything worse can happen to her.

Dreykov’s cologne intensifies and you trace the scent to a large door cracked slightly ajar, where his and Natasha’s voices drift out of.

“Don’t tell me to stop!” Dreykov screams, and his genuine anger causes you to pause in alarm.

“If I don’t tell you when to stop, how will you know to shut up?” Natasha responds, then the unmistakable noise of flesh against bone. 

“Natasha!” you yell, going into motion once more. But before you can get through the door, a massive figure drops down from the ceiling and plants their feet against your chest, sending you flying back into a metal wall so hard it dents around your body. For a moment, you can’t even breathe and you’re certain your entire ribcage has collapsed. 

Each miniscule breath you manage is like swords shoved through your lungs and you truly feel the weight of the metal on your bones as you struggle to get up. You lose track of Taskmaster until he slams onto the back of your head. Your metal skull rebounds against the floor and despite its added protection, your brain was just as vulnerable as anyone’s. Professor Xavier had warned you numerous times how much more severe brain injuries could be for you because your brain was literally cocooned in a metal shell. 

You had never really believed him until now.

No thoughts pass through your mind as you teeth rattle like candy and your vision blurs like someone has taken an eraser to half of it. Taskmaster grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you back to your feet. You hate how he easily he throws you around. Very few people could make you feel like a ragdoll. The claws rip out from between your knuckles and you slash out wildly, but he drops you before you can land a fatal strike. You aren’t focused so much on actually hurting him as you are distracting him. You need to keep him at bay long enough for your brain to heal. 

But you have no awareness of your surroundings, out of your environment and in an already-weakened state. The floor trembles beneath Taskmaster’s weight as he closes in on you. You swing without being able to see and feel the pull of your claws as it strikes against something, but it isn’t enough. Taskmaster’s claws stab through your back and steal your breath. You fly through the air, this time colliding with the ceiling and punching right through, landing on the floor above. 

You’re so disoriented in the settling dust you don’t see Taskmaster emerge from the hole you came through, stabbing you in the leg to drag you back down. Rage overtakes the pain at the thought that this man has simply turned you into his plaything, so when you fall back through the hole, you give in to your animal instincts and attack him. 

You slash and punch and kick in an unpredictable pattern because you aren’t thinking anymore. Taskmaster falls into a defensive mode and you sense hesitation as he backs away from you. Gaining some ground back lulls you into a false sense of security, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that he wasn’t hesitating. He was studying you, picking up on your style and techniques instantly to use back against you. 

After a blow that scores three long gouges across his chest plate, he launches at you in a frenzy that rivals your own. You have no protection like he does, and his claws, although not made of adamantium, are still durable and sharp enough to take chunks out of you. Blood splatters the walls and you’re forced to play defensively again after he punctures your lung and cripples both your legs by slicing your hamstrings in half. You crawl away from him, refusing to beg for your life but too scared to fight him more. You’ve never fought anything like him. 

Taskmaster looms over you as you shrink down, wheezing, the last fire of a fight fading in your eyes. He grabs the scruff of your neck like he would to a dog, stabbing you in the chest until blood spurts out of your mouth.

Despite that you easily outweigh the average male, he easily drags you into Dreykov’s office and kicks the door open.

Natasha is standing over Dreykov at his desk, blood dripping from her crooked nose. You wish you had the energy to break free and punch Dreykov in the face, but you barely cling onto consciousness as Taskmaster drops you like a sack of bricks.

“Y/N!” Natasha shouts.

Taskmaster pulls out a gun and presses it into the back of your head as you struggle to get up. 

“Don’t,” Natasha begs. 

You grit your bloody teeth, wanting to tell her that a little lead wouldn’t kill you. 

“That is not for her,” Dreykov says, pointing at Taskmaster’s gun. “It’s for you.”

Before you can even blink, Taskmaster removes the gun from your head and aims it at Natasha.

BANG.

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

AN: Sorry to leave yall on ANOTHER cliffhanger. But one more part to go :)

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[wendichester]

｡𖦹°‧ i see you in my dreams⁸,

summary. sam only ever sees you in his dreams

pairing. sam winchester x dreamwalker!reader    genre. angsty

wordcount. 1250

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

The bunker has never felt colder.

It’s the middle of the night, but no one’s sleeping. Not anymore. Not since Cas confirmed it—Sam’s soul is fracturing. Rapidly. Pieces of it are slipping away like sand through his fingers, devoured by the bond tethering you to this plane. Every breath you take, every second you stay real, you feed off him.

You didn’t mean to.

God, you didn’t mean to.

But that doesn’t stop the truth from curling around your chest like barbed wire.

And Sam—Sam is still Sam.

Still warm and steady beside you, brushing your hair back like you’re fragile, like you’re breakable, like you aren’t the one tearing him apart from the inside out.

He kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters. Like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do.

Like he’s already made his choice.

“Sam,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “This isn’t fair.”

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs sweeping gently under your eyes. “It’s not about fair. It’s about you.”

“But your soul—”

“I don’t care.” His voice is quiet. Absolute. “I don’t care what it takes.”

But you do.

And so does Dean.

It starts like everything always does in this house—loud.

The door to the library slams open. Footsteps thunder down the hallway. And then Dean’s voice:

“I’ve had it.”

He storms in like a force of nature, fists clenched, jaw tight. He’s vibrating with fury, eyes wild and dark like he hasn’t slept in days—which, to be fair, he hasn’t.

Cas trails behind him silently, face unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders is impossible to miss.

Sam shifts instinctively, stepping in front of you.

Dean’s eyes narrow at the movement. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re protecting her now?”

“Dean—”

“No. No, I’ve let this go on long enough. I’ve watched you spiral before, Sam, but this? This is suicide. And for what?” His voice rises with every word. “For some girl you dreamed up?”

“She’s not just some girl,” Sam snaps.

“Oh, right. My bad. She’s the girl you sacrificed your soul for.” Dean takes a step closer, every inch of him coiled like a spring. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Sam’s jaw clenches. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand!” Dean’s voice breaks, ragged and furious. “This is Ruby all over again!”

The words hit like a slap.

Sam’s eyes widen, a flicker of something—shame? guilt?—crossing his face. You flinch, but Dean isn’t looking at you.

He’s looking at his brother like he doesn’t recognize him.

“You think I forgot what you were like after she got her hooks in you?” Dean’s voice drops, bitter and shaking. “You were gone, Sam. You were gone, and you let her destroy you.”

Sam steps forward. “This isn’t the same—”

“It’s exactly the same,” Dean snarls. “Only this time, you’re smiling through it. You’re pretending like it’s love instead of possession.”

You open your mouth, but Dean cuts you off without looking at you. “Don’t. Don’t even try.”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly, a warning in his voice.

But Dean’s shaking now, hands trembling at his sides. “Do you know what it was like? After the Cage? Watching you claw your way back, piece by piece? And now you’re just—what? Throwing it all away for her?”

Sam’s fists clench. “I’m not throwing anything away.”

“You’re dying, Sam!” Dean explodes. “You’re draining out like a leaky faucet, and you’re just gonna let it happen because you think you love her?”

Sam’s voice goes low. Dangerous. “I do love her.”

Dean barks a humorless laugh, pain twisting in his face. “You don’t even know what you’re feeling anymore! That bond—it’s not natural. It’s not you.”

“It is,” Sam insists. “It is me.”

“Bullshit!” Dean points at you, furious. “You’re dying. And she’s standing there like she didn’t know this would happen.”

“I didn’t,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Dean finally looks at you. And it’s not hate in his eyes—it’s fear. Desperation. Heartbreak.

“You shouldn’t exist,” he says, and it guts you. “You were never supposed to.”

“Dean,” Cas warns again.

“No,” Dean says, staring at Sam now. “She’s killing you. And I can’t watch that happen again. I won’t.”

Sam’s expression shifts. Cracks.

And then he does something he never does—he yells.

“Then don’t, Dean!”

The silence is instant.

Thick. Devastating.

Dean stares at him like he just took a knife to his chest.

Sam breathes hard, shoulders heaving.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Sam says. “I didn’t ask to meet her. I didn’t ask to fall in love. But I did. And now that she’s here—now that she’s real—I’m not letting her go.”

Dean looks like he’s about to be sick. “You’d really give up your soul for her?”

Sam doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Dean doesn’t speak.

He just turns, shaking his head, shoulders trembling as he walks away.

And you—your heart is breaking.

Because this is wrong. All of it.

You weren’t meant to exist. Every second you stay, Sam loses more of himself. And soon, there’ll be nothing left.

You can feel it now.

That awful, hollow pull under your skin—the tether between you and him. It hums, faint and hungry, feeding on every touch, every moment. Every heartbeat.

You want to stay.

You want him.

But not like this.

Not if it costs him everything.

So when the house finally goes still—when Sam falls asleep, breath soft against your shoulder—you slip out of bed.

And you call it.

You don’t know how you know how. Maybe it’s always been inside you. Maybe it was waiting.

The words aren’t words. They’re threads. And they unravel from your lips like smoke, like silk, like blood in water.

And the air breaks.

The world shifts.

The lights flicker.

And then—

The Weaver steps into the bunker.

Not through the door.

Through the space between.

It drags darkness with it, folds of its cloak twisting around reality like a spider spinning a web. Its face is a mess of eyes and none, flickering in and out like a glitch in time.

It tilts its head.

“Dreamwalker,” it says. “You summoned me.”

Sam’s voice shatters the silence.

“No.”

You turn.

He’s standing in the doorway, barefoot, bare-chested, pale and wide-eyed. Behind him, Dean and Cas appear—Dean already reaching for a blade.

Sam’s voice cracks. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” you whisper.

“You don’t.”

“I do,” you say, voice rising. “You’re dying, Sam.”

He steps toward you, panic flooding his features. “I don’t care—”

“Well, I do!”

The Weaver watches.

Silent.

Unmoving.

“Please,” Sam says, softer now. “Don’t leave me.”

You step closer, press your hands to his chest—right over his heart.

It’s weaker than it should be.

Not physically.

But something inside him is fading. Vanishing.

And you did that.

“I love you,” you whisper. “So much.”

His eyes shine.

“I love you too.”

And then you turn to the Weaver.

“I want to go back.”

It tilts its head again. “You understand the cost?”

You nod.

“You will not return.”

You nod again.

The world starts to tear.

Sam lunges forward, grabs your hand. “No. No, please—”

You kiss him.

Soft. Final.

“I was never supposed to exist,” you say against his lips.

And then—

You let go.

You fall through the gap.

Back into the dark.

Back into nothing.

And behind you, Sam breaks.

He screams your name like it’s being ripped from his soul.

And maybe it is.

Maybe that’s the last piece of it.

Gone.

⋆.˚ ★— read the epilogue

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ