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moonchild9350 · 2 days ago

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Lavender Fields-Chapter 1: Different

Summary: you give an insight into your daily life within the lab, a place you've never left after being brought here by humans. life is mundane and repetitive, that is until you meet Hyunjin, your new lab technician.

Pairing: Hyunjin x humanoid!gn!reader

Genre: sci fi au, romance, au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: verbal and brief physical abuse

Notes: welcome to the Lavender Fields series! I am pumped to release this series and embark on this journey with y'all :) I hope you enjoy the first chapter and as always, let me know what you think!

Taglist open-comment or message me to be added! (age must be in bio or pinned)

Series Summary: you, a humanoid from a different planet, was born within a lab here on earth in the near future, your days filled with servitude and testing within the labs to learn more about your kind as your kind are not able to feel emotion. you had nothing to look forward to until you met Hyunjin, a technician assigned to you. you learn much at his hands and invaluable lessons, enlightening your once purposeless life.

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @cafekitsune

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024).

Series Masterlist

“Time to wake up!”

You open your eyes at the shrill sound of the cheery voice that is speaking over the loudspeaker signaling the start of another day. You sit up, and blink, clearing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs out of bed to get up.

The minimalist room is cold, the chill brushing against your skin in the early hours of the morning. You don’t mind, however, as you are made to withstand the cold.

You walk to the door and open it, merging into the crowd of people hurrying down the corridor. You follow the queue, all of you on your way to the the morning room, a place where you prepare for the day. It is quiet, no one around you utters a word, casting an almost eerie silence, with only the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor.

Once at your destination, a lady dressed in blue guides you to a stall, your daily outfit hanging from the partition that blocks off a changing area so you can dress in privacy.

There's a small mirror plastered on the wall, tiny cracks scattered throughout from years of age, but still usable nonetheless. You look at your reflection, your face puffy from sleep and eyes bloodshot. You tossed and turned last night as you kept being awakened by vivid images flashing across your mind leaving you in a panic.

You eyes travel down to the small engraving on the side of your neck that has been there since birth. It blends in perfectly with your skin, the intricate swirls almost looking like a tattoo.

Sighing, you grab the white garment from its hanger and slide it over your head, the scratchy material rubbing against your skin, the feeling almost akin to sandpaper. You don’t mind however, as you can’t tell since you’re not programmed to feel unlike most humans.

Once dressed, the lady fixes your hair, brushing the long strands that travel down your back and land at your tailbone. She ushers you out of the stall once done, ordering you to follow the others in line to your assigned work room.

You arrive in minutes, your desk set up with your task for the day. Today looks like you’re organizing testing supplies as there’s a haphazard pile of tubes, wires, and other things in the center of the desks.

Sitting down, you begin your work, keeping your eyes on your materials that are in front of you. It’s silent in the room as no one says a peep.

Watchers pace the rows with their hands behind their backs, their eyes trained on you and your peers, ensuring the job gets done appropriately.

If you mess up a task, they scold you but it makes no difference. You do not understand the meaning behind the words, not understanding why they scrunch their face up in a scowl, spitting words in your face as to what you did wrong and how useless you are.

The morning passes and you work until your stomach growls, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. You immediately put down your supplies as there’s the ring of a bell over the intercom, signaling it’s time to make your way to the lab.

You only get food after morning work and going to the lab, the humans claiming it’s a treat, a present for being obedient. That’s why you obeyed, completed your work, and let them experiment on you without complaints.

So is the life here within Biofuture labs.

-- --

You are y/n, from the planet Gevora, which is light years away from planet earth in which you now reside. You resemble the humans here on earth, the only difference being you are emotionless, as they were not needed on your home planet.

Your only home that you’ve ever known is Biofuture labs, a name you’ve seen many times on the doors you pass on a daily basis. You were born here, within the confines of this building, and taken away from your mother at age five, where you were put with the other children from your planet.

You don’t remember much about your mother, but then again you don’t remember much of anything of your past. Only that you are 25 years old and you have the number 032518 inscribed on your arm.

Your days are busy and long here within the lab, the technicians making sure no one is idle. Mornings are spent completing your assigned task, similar to a job, a concept you know of because of a description you read in a book.

Mid to late mornings are spent in the lab, your assigned lab technician running different tests on you, jotting down responses and results.

You’re not sure what they’re testing for, but you’ve noticed they take special interest in you for some reason, as they run extra tests on you, whispering to each other while staring at you all the while.

Today was no different. An orderly leads you to lab five, the typical space you spent every day in for testing. You walk into the empty space, your eyes roaming the area to take in your surroundings.

The walls are a ghostly white and there’s a table with two chairs in the center of the room. There’s nothing else present except for a window on the wall next to the door. However, every time you try to look through it, you only see your reflection.

You walk towards one of the chairs, pull it out, and sit down, placing your hands in your lap. You look at the man across from you and wait for the session to begin.

Your lab tech’s name is Raoul. He’s bald with piercing black eyes that are unsettling to you, the feeling unknown but just doesn’t sit right. He never smiles at you and sometimes he'll scream.

When these events occur, you stare back at him as something bubbles up inside you. It’s a gnawing feeling deep in your gut, that sometimes spreads to other parts of your body. If it goes on long enough, you start to see spots and break out into a sweat, all while your hands start to tremble.

You’re not sure what is happening when that occurs and no one takes the time to explain...not that you ask. One time you discussed the sensation with one of your peers during a free period, away from the prying ears of the technicians. However, after explaining what occurred, they didn’t know what was happening either, as they’ve never felt that way.

You stared into this man’s eyes, hoping that it would be a good session, and not one where he screams as you really don’t want to feel that way again.

“Y/n, are you ready for today’s session?” Raoul asked as he pulls out a stack of cards.

“Yes,” you respond, your gaze flickering down to the cards in his hands.

You watch as he pulls out the first card and holds it up to you. You realize it’s the same test that you’ve completed this whole week, the same cards, the same images. You don’t understand why they keep making you repeat the test. Are you doing something wrong?

“What do you see here y/n?”

You gaze at the image, your eyes roaming the card. You tilt your head to look at it a different angle, trying to get a good grasp of the concept.

It’s a mess of a picture, the picture not clear cut, but if you look at it long enough you can start to make out wings of a maybe an…insect or a bird? You think a moment more before nodding your head, agreeing on your answer.

“A butterfly,” you say plainly, your eyes settling on Raoul again.

He doesn’t respond to your answer, but instead places the card aside just to pick up the next one.

“And here?”

Once more, you stare at the picture, the image strange. This picture has red on the top and bottom of the black image. You remember the feeling you had whenever Raoul screams at you, hurling names that are not yours and sound insulting. This picture reminds you of that in a way, but you can’t put a name to it.

Taking a breath, you respond, “bear with blood on its head and feet.”

You watch Raoul’s eyebrows raise briefly and within a second it’s gone, his face devoid of any reaction. Did you answer wrong? Why is he looking at you like that? Your eyes follow as he puts the card down and picks up another.

And so it goes, card after card as time passes. Your responses are simple, “two people, animal skin, another butterfly, another animal skin, a face.”

At the last three cards, you sit up straighter and your eyes get bigger as something warm flows through you. This is the same reaction you had the previous days of the week. Raoul watches your every move, ensuring he doesn’t miss your reaction.

“A tiger, a person, a crab,” you respond in succession.

You let out a breath as he sets the last card down, the test seeming to be over. Raoul leans forward and stares at you with narrowed eyes. You don’t move but stare back, waiting on the next test.

“You are nothing, you know that?” Raoul says, spittle flying from his mouth.

You cock your head, unsure of what he meant. He lets out a loud laugh at your reaction, his hands coming down to slap the table. You jolt in your seat at the sound, your eyes wide as the hairs stick up on your arms, and little bumps form. You feel your heart beat faster, the thump thump pounding against your skin.

Despite this, you continue to stare at him, watching as he turns red in the face from laughing.

“You don’t even know what you’re feeling! I knew it was too good to be true!”

What you are feeling? What does he mean by the word ‘feeling?’ You watch as Raoul gets up and walks your way, stopping right next to you. He grabs your hair and forces you to look up at him.

You comply without protest, your hands still in your lap.

“You. Are. Nothing.”

He releases your hair with a shove, your hands reaching out for the table to catch yourself from falling. You blink once, twice before an orderly is next to you, ordering you to get up and follow them out of the room. It seems today’s testing is over.

“Dinner will be in a few hours. You will wait in your room until said time,” the orderly saids, glancing at you in her periphery.

You nod and continue to follow her all the way to your room. She unlocks the door and lets you in, closing and locking it once you cross the threshold. You glance at the door before glancing at your room, taking in the few belongings you have.

Your bed sits in the corner, a simple blue blanket placed neatly on top, your pillow fluffed and ready for nighttime. Next to your bed is a pile of an assortment of books that you have acquired over the years. You often sit curled up in the corner reading, filling your head with other worlds and what is in them.

However, your most prized possession is the mural on the wall across from your bed that you have been working on. In different vibrant shades of purple, you have painted lavender flowers. The wall is covered in delicate strokes of the purple stems, accompanied by the brown stalk that anchors it to the ground.

You discovered the flower in one of your books, your eyes lighting up at the picture. You remember touching the page with your fingertips, lightly brushing over the image as you stared at the beautiful colors. After that moment, you worked extra hard to earn favor with some of the orderlies so you could acquire paints.

You were going to recreate the scene so you could go to the place with the flowers, the pretty lavender flowers. That was years ago. The wall was halfway painted in the beauties, causing you to feel warm inside.

Walking further inside, you grabbed your paints and paintbrush and kneeled down to paint, your mind drifting in the mundane task that you have grown accustomed to. Your eyes wandered over the wet paint, as you paid attention to the tiniest detail, wanting to get the picture just right.

Time passed and you painted, lost in the world of lavender, that you didn’t hear the bell outside your door signaling dinner. You jumped when you heard the door open, dropping your paintbrush in the process, the bristles brushing against the hem of your dress, staining it in purple.

“Dinner time, get up,” the orderly said, crossing her arms when she noticed you weren’t ready.

You had no time to put your supplies away so you gently set them down and got up, your knees cracking with the sudden movement. You followed the lady to a hall, and sat down next to one of your peers. Dinner was served and everyone ate in relative silence as there was not much to say when everyone did the same thing day in and day out.

The rest of the afternoon passed with no significance. Settling into bed, you pulled the blanket up to your chin. Yawning, you turned your head to gaze at the mural, your mind drifting to how it would be escape to the field, to smell their scent, and touch their delicate petals.

With these thoughts you drifted off, another day come and gone of your life here within the lab. — — Days passed, which turned into weeks. You were subjected to the same tests again and again. You were yelled at and chastised over and over, the same phrase repeated on a daily basis.

“You are nothing.”

You sat there as you were tossed around, your hair disheveled, your arms pinched, your face spit on as Raoul ran his tests day in and day out. You felt that weird sensation as before, but a new one had started to develop.

On a particular day, you endured the typical testing, but when Raoul repeated the same phrase to you, you felt a pang in your heart, and your eyes clouded over causing your vision to be blurry.

You had no idea what was going on and tried to blink, jumping in your seat as you felt tears fall from your eyes. Raoul stared at you in disbelief. He screamed that you were faking it, that you had no inkling as to what you were feeling.

Feeling. Feeling. Feeling.

You are nothing.

You continued to stare straight ahead as he screamed in your ear, chastising you for things you did not understand. Your hands were trembling, your heart beating rapidly until you heard a loud bang on the window.

Raoul stopped, and straightened up, narrowing his eyes once more at you before exiting the room. You let out a breath, your body sinking in the chair you were sitting on. It was over, or so you would hope.

— — Hyunjin watched as the director banged on the glass of lab five, the vibration causing the glass to rattle. He glared at Raoul as he watched the man release you and walk to the door.

In his four years of working here, he’s never experienced a technician as brutal as Raoul, and it was unfortunate he was assigned to you.

You. The anomaly.

You were different than your peers. Typically your kind does not experience emotions, do not even know what they are. However, you showed promise as a little girl, being subjected to testing from a young age.

His father remembers you and was in awe, watching as you were taken from your mother at the ripe age of five and brought to the room with the other children. You hesitated and held on tighter to your mother’s hand, fear etched in your eyes at the strange people coming to take you away.

His father went on to say it took you a while to adjust, your days spent separated from the other children, as you didn’t want to interact with them. Of course overtime, you forgot your mother, and fell right into the routine of living here in the lab.

You excelled on your testing, the technicians surprised at how your grasped emotional concepts the others have not. You were the only one in the hundreds of Gevorians that lived here that had an inkling of similarity to human kind.

Over the last six months, that uniqueness showed as you had interesting results after taking the Rorschach test over and over. It seemed you could learn to encompass the emotional capacity the others lacked.

Hyunjin took notice and became interested in your progress, wanting to know more about you. He looked through your files, all the way from childhood to adolescence, studied your results and the potential you had to make it in the human world, which is ultimately the labs goal.

He took to watching your sessions, notebook in hand to take notes. Imagine his horror when he saw Raoul abusing you, berating you for not being able to feel. Hyunjin’s heart broke for you in your predicament as he’s sure you were confused, not being able to understand the emotions that were going through you during the sessions.

Eventually, he had had enough as he saw you crying one day as Raoul spat in your face and called you nothing once more. He marched to the director’s office then and there and demanded Raoul be taken off the case and that he be assigned to you instead.

At first the director was hesitant, not sure if he would be able to handle you, but after many reassurances, he was granted the request.

Hyunjin went so far as to ask to have your sessions in different places throughout the building, to see if it’ll help in your journey. He was very persuasive, promising positive outcomes, which was risky, but a risk he was willing to take. He remembered silently cheering when the director granted him that power.

Now, here he was with several other technicians and the director himself, all staring down at Raoul.

“As of today Raoul, you are no longer y/n’s technician. Hyunjin will take over their sessions,” the director said in a commanding tone, his hands placed behind his back challenging any defiance.

“What the fuck! I’m making progress! Can’t you see that!” Raoul screamed.

Hyunjin shook his head in disdain, “How? By abusing y/n? Berating them? How is that going to help you son of a bitch?”

“Hyunjin!” The director said, shock in his eyes. He turned to look back at Raoul, “you are not their technician any longer. That’s final.”

The director turned around and marched out, the other technicians filing behind him. Raoul turned toward Hyunjin furious.

“You think you can handle y/n? Good luck, you won’t make a dent. Don’t come crying to me when the director fires you because you failed in your task.”

Hyunjin wiped the spit from his face and watched Raoul storm away.

He was definitely up for the task, wanting to make sure you could have a fulfilling life. One that was better than the one you lived within these walls.

He turned to stare at you through the two way mirror, watching how you stared straight ahead, waiting for someone to get you. However, he looked closer, and noticed your face was wet, as tears streamed down your face.

You didn’t wipe them, but let them fall down your cheeks, onto your clothes as you most likely had no clue what you were feeling.

He watched as an orderly came to retrieve you, watching as you walked past him, not even giving him a second glance.

He would be successful if it’s the last thing he does. He can’t let a promising, talented person like you rot here within the lab. He will mold you, teach you, and take you under his wing.

And once Hyunjin sets a goal, he follows it through.

He can’t wait for your first session together.

He can’t wait to meet you.

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jhilsara · 1 day ago

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Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights pt. 2

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: A year after you meet Spencer and become friends, life continues to throw curve balls. A hot summer with a broken AC, another festive Halloween, and many of your southern quirks to keep Spencer's spirits high.

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: Canon typical BAU themes, sick family members, Mentions of Emily Prentiss funeral

Previous|Next

The one where Spencer cuts his hair

Summer is so close and you’re already feeling the heat. To be fair, the giant windows don’t really help the temperature of the store when it’s been hours of the sun beating down. Or that the sun's staying up until your shift starts now. Unlike in the fall and winter when it’s dark by six in the evening. Your shift always starts so warm and humid, the electric bill is already skyrocketing and it’s not even July yet.

Not to mention summer is the busy season outside of the holidays. So many students are free for the summer and pinning for activities. You sigh knowing you need to start planning for that.

You're fanning yourself with a handheld fan when the doors chime open.

“Welcome to the Midnight Owl, let me know if-” you cut yourself off with a loud gasp as you see who’s entered.

“Spencer Reid, you cut your hair!” you hurry around the front desk counter to look him over.

Spencer’s face lights up with an embarrassed flush. His hands wring the straps of his worn leather bag.

“It was just getting too hot for the length...” He tries to justify.

“No no no! It looks good! I’m just surprised is all.” you reply with a tease. your hand twitches and you stop yourself from ruffling his hair. His pout was enough to keep your teasing to a minimum.

He scratches the back of his head nervously. Averting his gaze from your piercing eyes.

You bite your lip holding back a snicker, you know he’s probably been teased all day, so you give him a break. You don’t know exactly what Spencer does for his job, but you do know he and his coworkers are close. So, you aren’t surprised that he already feels a little self-conscious. You're sure they teased him to death.

“It looks great Spencer.” you say softer, “Very handsome.” you smiled in affirmation.

If Spencer wasn’t red before he surely was now. His hands tighten on his satchel bag and his eyes quickly look down before shifting back up.

“Thanks.” He murmured quietly.

“You’re drinks on me today; you look like you’ve been teased enough.” you say making your way to the drink counter.

“Thanks, you have no idea...” he replied with a roll of his eyes and a small smile turning his lips.

Spencer looks around and notices the shop is pretty empty tonight, no regulars, just him. Not even a random patron perusing the isles. Even the music playing overhead seems quieter than normal. He’s a bit thankful for that.

You're making his drink, which you are giving him your homemade sweet tea. It’s far too hot for his normal hot coffee, no matter what he protests. You’ve put enough sugar in the tea to satisfy Spencer’s sweet tooth. Plus, you’re not sure he’s ever had traditional sweet tea.

You come around the corner and hand him a glass as well as one for yourself. You look over Spencer who’s standing in his work clothes, cardigan and all and you make a mild face of disgust.

“It’s too warm in here for you to be wearing that. It’s gonna be hotter than hell this week and I need a better air conditioner unit.” Your accent seeps through every word and Spencer finds himself smiling into his drink before he can even bother to respond.

“I see your face Spencer, I don’t wanna hear it about my southernisms.” you point an accusing finger at him. “I’m serious about how hot it’s gonna be. These windows make the whole store like a greenhouse!” you mumble in irritation.

Spencer just finds himself laughing and shaking his head. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just a little ridiculous how the windows are the bane of your existence.”

You roll your eyes and places your hands on your hips, “It’s not the windows, it’s summer.” you said the season like it’s personally offended her. Making a blegh noise along with it.

Spencer raises a brow at that, “What did summer ever do to you?” he asked.

You raise a brow, “Listen, you try growing up in the Georgia heat and humidity your whole life and you tell me how you feel about summer. Especially swamp ass, do you know what swamp ass even is Spencer?” you say in a huff.

Spencer snorts and almost spits out his sweet tea. “Excuse me?” his voice pitches in disbelief.

“It’s the foulest experience where you sweat so much it soaks down your back. So, imagine that every summer of your whole childhood.” you state with a face of disgust.

Spencer can only find himself laughing at how intense you are.

“I’m so serious, there’s a reason I moved away from the pit of Satan's armpit, okay?” you hiss out in mild annoyance.

“I thought it was so you had better doctors for your dad?” he accuses with a raised brow.

You shrug nonchalantly and drinks from your sweet tea again, “That too.”

“Come on, it won’t be that bad. Besides you actively only get the sun in these windows for an hour, maybe two tops. You work the night shift.”

You glare at him, it’s not serious, but Spencer is trying very hard not to laugh. “Go look at the thermostat then and tell me what is says versus what it’s on.” you demand gesturing to the wall behind you.

He rolls his eyes at your dramatics but does as you’ve asked. Spencer walks behind to look over the temperature. “It’s on 78.”

“Yeah? What is it set to Spencer?”

“...68.” he murmurs.

You slam your hands on the counter, “That’s a ten-degree difference! It’s too hot!”

You slide dramatically to the ground and release a fake sob. “I’m gonna burn up in here, melt like the wicked witch of the west!”

Spencer crosses his arms as he stands above you, “Maybe, have you thought of purchasing a box fan?” he questions.

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with fake tears. He’s actually impressed by your commitment to this. You would have been a wonderful stage actress.

“My last one didn’t survive the whole summer, and it only works if I stay behind the counter... Spencer you know I move around too much!” you whine.

“Have you tried changing the unit filter?”

You stop being dramatic and stand up quickly. “I just assumed Josie did... oh my god, I’ve never once looked at the filter.” you murmured.

You excuse yourself to go into the back and check the closet. Spencer stays up at the front leaning against the desk, his arms crossed as he just shakes his head in disbelief.

“Oh my good GOD! Eeeewww!!”

You come bolting back around and grab your phone, quickly typing out a text message.

“Spencer it’s pitch black I don’t think anyone’s ever changed it!” You look sick in the face; pale as can be.

“Oh my god, I need to wash my hands, I didn’t even touch it, but Jesus Christ was that disgusting.” You quickly shuffle past him and go to the bathroom, scrubbing away at your hands.

Spencer spends the next five minutes doubled over laughing at how dramatic you are. Until you makes him go look at the filter. Then he was the one scrubbing away at his own hands in disgust.

He’s at least ninety percent sure he saw a moth staring back at him.

It’s July and you’re still suffering. While changing the filter of the bookstores AC unit helped, it still didn’t fix the greenhouse problem.

You're at the front, box fan at your feet, fanning yourself with a hand fan, a giant cup of ice water from the cafe area, and you’re reasonably stripped into something comfortable, well, as much as you can be. Which is a sports tank and running shorts. It’s your store, you don’t care about an arbitrary dress code that you don’t enforce anyway. Besides, everything that needs to be covered is. You have a massive flannel shirt hanging off the back of your chair, just in case you think you need to be more modest.

The store has been pretty hectic and busy since the summer season started, the events they’ve been hosting were popular. Not to mention the Pride event she threw in June, with a mini pop-up cocktail bar. That weekend it might as well have been almost a club. Not to mention the drag show you helped throw, or the drag performers reading for children in the day. Honestly June was festive as ever. Now though, halfway through July, it’s dead inside the store at night. July meant vacations, so all of your locals were at the beach or the mountains. Some even in Europe. So, your nights were uncommonly quiet, well, except for the occasional tourist and Spencer. Which he only visits when he’s free or can’t sleep. Which isn’t as much as you would like, but just because your sleep schedule sucks doesn’t mean you should wish it upon others.

You don’t get too much free time to hang out with your friends anymore since co-owning the bookstore, but to be fair most of your friends were your coworkers. Besides that, all your other friends are still in Georgia. You could call them, and try to plan a time to visit, but life is hectic. With the constant doctor’s visits on top of your busy schedule with the shop, it’s rare you have time for yourself.

In fact, the last thing you did was go out with your coworkers to go see Eclipse in theaters. Which while, fun, you haven’t been out for yourself in what feels like years. You try to brush off the too familiar feeling of dread creeping into your head. Your life really revolves around the bookstore and your dad.

It just gets so lonely in the shop from time to time. You reach for your cell phone and open the notification from the family group chat. It’s a few photos of the beach from your sister and her boyfriend. You feel the wave of jealousy rising in your throat and pushing your phone away from you. It’s not Bridget’s fault you’re stuck working around the clock, but good lord, would you kill for a vacation. Just once, you would like to not spend your waking hours thinking about your dad’s health.

You sigh and lean against the counter, arms dangling over dramatically.

You take some solace in knowing your sister has at least been with this new guy for about a year now...which means that maybe you should remember his name. John? Jacob? Jackson? That sounded vaguely correct. To be fair your sister rarely kept a man around long enough to remember his name.

Your phone dings again and you don't have it in yourself to even look. You want to be at a beach, or really anywhere else. You lift your head to check the clock and almost cry when you see it’s not even midnight.

The shop's phone rings, and the noise is so loud it makes you practically jump out of your skin. You quickly pick up the phone, begging for something.

“Hello, this is the Midnight Owl, how can I help you?” your voice chimes happily through the phone.

“I hoped you were working; it’s Spencer.” His voice is soft, almost like he’s whispering.

“Oh! Hey, I thought you were out on a job?” you asked.

He hums in acknowledgement, “I am, I just,” he sighs, “I needed a break.”

“Oh.” you lean casually against the counter. “Trouble in paradise?”

He scoffs, “Something like that. It’s been a long day.” you hear how tired he sounds in his voice.

“When do you come home?”

“Hopefully tomorrow...” he whispers.

“Have you gotten any sleep?” you ask softly. You shift and move to stand up a bit straighter, concern written all over your features.

The silence from the other line tells you enough, he hasn’t slept much if at all. “Spencer...” you said his name in a slight disapproval, but your tone is soft at the edges.

“I’ll sleep when I get home.” he said firmly.

“Spencer, I’d feel better if you slept now .” you tell him, chastising him like a child.

“Kind of hard with my job.” He jokes.

“You never told me what you do? You see me at my job all the time. Kind of unfair if you ask me.” you tease him.

“You don’t need to worry about it, it’s just stressful and involves a lot of traveling last minute.”

“So vague, but I’ll accept it for now.”

Spencer changes the subject quickly. “Are you reading the book I gave you?”

“Changing the subject I see... but yes, I am. It’s getting me through the very lonely hours. It’s a ghost town in here...”you said.

“Is it still hot?”

“ Yes . If my hair wasn’t already pulled back, I’d think about cutting it off. It’s honestly miserable if I leave the safety of the fan. I’ve called someone to come look, it can’t be normal that it’s 80 degrees in here.”

“How soon can someone come out?”

“Not until next week.” you whine. “I’m tempted to just shove myself in the small walk-in freezer we have in the very back...I’m afraid it’ll lock me in though.” you joke.

Spencer chuckles, “Maybe don’t do that. I’d hate to come back and you’re a popsicle.”

He heard you gasp, “That’s it! We should sell popsicles next week. Spencer, you are a genius!” you exclaim.

“Technically, yes I am.” he teases.

“Shut up, just get home soon. I’m bored outta my mind here. I’m almost done with the massive book you gave me. That’s how bored I am.”

You can almost see him rolling his eyes at you.

“Noted, next time I’ll make sure to send someone to check on you.”

“...Not funny.” You pout. You check the time; you’ve only been talking to Spencer for a little over an hour.

“Where are you this time?” you asked.

“Georgia...ironically enough.”

“Ohhhhhh, south or north? Actually, it doesn’t matter. How is the humidity?" You sound all too enthusiastic to ask him.

“...Wet.”

You hum, “So I guess you’ve experienced the sweat pouring down your back into your ass crack?”

“...I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but yes. It’s been a sweaty week.”

“Sweatin’ like a sinner in church as my daddy would say.” you add in a light playful tone.

“Anyway, besides coffee the only thing I’ve had to drink is sweet tea. Which, while it is good, yours is better.” he admits.

“You’re just trying to butter me up, and it’s working. What do you want?” you asked.

He sighs, “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Think of it as my own older sibling senses, it’s like a mom but better.” you said casually.

“Could you please pick up my mail? I haven’t been in my apartment for a few weeks. I’ve had back-to-back work trips.” he asks tentatively.

You snort, “Of course I will, your apartments just down the street! What are friends for?”

“I owe you.”

“No, you don’t. You’d do the same for me. I’ll let you know if anything is a pressing matter.”

“You know opening my mail is a federal crime, right?” He jokes.

“Mmmm if you find out I went through it.” you tease.

“Y/N-”

“Relax! I’m just joking. Your mail will be waiting, unopened, when you come back tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I have to go but, goodnight.”

“Night Spencer.”

As you hang up, you’re left with the overly warm bookstore and the quiet emptiness of it. You still have hours to go and can only hope someone comes to ease the boredom. You look down at the book Spencer lent and see the roughly two hundred pages left to read. You pick up your sticky notes and a pen and decide to finish it before seeing him again. It’s not like you have anything else to do besides sweat.

You really hate summer.

The one about Halloween (part 2 electric boogaloo)

October is by far, one of, if not, your favorite months of the year. There’s something about the confirmation of the crisp air letting you know it’s finally that time of year. The leaves changing, the smell of apples, caramel, and pumpkin filling the bakery, it all makes you nostalgic for your childhood.

You have so many memories of running through the backyard leaves with Birdie, carving pumpkins with your daddy and sewing makeshift costumes with your momma. You remember the year you hand sewed a cat tail onto a ballet leotard and how proud you were that you had done it all by yourself. You loved trick-or-treating with your baby sister and dragging her up to houses with scary themes. Bridget always cried but you knew how to make her see the silliness of it all.

The wind reminds you of how you’d parade around the neighborhood with your friends and bike around the cul-de-sac. Your heavy flannel flapping behind you as you could smell the leaves and rain. You truly missed the biting cold chill air that came with the turn of the season and stores filling up with decorations. How you would wait all day long for your favorite movie to play on cable during sleepovers.

You give a wistful sigh, maybe you just miss the last moments of when your family was still close, before it fell apart before your eyes. That last Halloween when you were thirteen was so fun, but it just leaves a weird sour taste in your mouth now, like a granny smith apple.

The bitter feeling that creeps up your throat makes you nauseous. You need coffee... or a sedative.

You’re just far too busy trying to keep the festive activities alive, to think about childhood right now. There is a trunk or treat to plan for the neighborhood block. All the small businesses were going to barricade off the road for trick or treaters the night of Halloween. You really needed to think of a theme to decorate the back of the shop's minivan. It offered so much potential; you wanted the theme to be fun but still bookish. Maybe it could be Harry Potter? It was festive enough and based on a children's book series.

The costume wouldn’t be that hard either, you could easily dress as Hermione or any student really. All you needed was robes and a wand. Plus, you’re pretty crafty, you could easily make props for the car and get some tea lights.

You shoot a text to the group chat of coworkers who want to participate and let them know the car theme will be Harry Potter.

It’s a quick choice, but it’s fitting enough. One that’s easy to dress for too. You definitely have house robes from when your friends from home went to Universal Studios during opening weekend. It was a wonderful souvenir gift and belated birthday present that they had chipped in to give. A wonderful Hufflepuff robe and matching scarf. You wished you could have gone with them, but knowing they were thinking about you was enough.

You try to come up with something else that needs to be done, any other activity to focus on for the store. You’d rather keep your mind busy than look at the sterile walls of the hospital you were in.

Maybe that’s why you were being so nostalgic right now, it was easier to think of a happier time than where you are now.

You look at the time and groan to yourself, you’ve been in the waiting room of the doctor’s office for the past hour, and you had no idea how long you were going to be there.

Your nerves are shot, and your leg is still bouncing nervously. Your dad had finally agreed with his doctors that he needed to be in physical therapy twice a week. This is the first week he’s doing two sessions, and you wanted to stay this time. You're just worried, but you’ve always worried.

The sad look the check-in nurse, Susan, gives you every time you come in fills you with such rage that you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to yell at the woman. You and your daddy didn’t need pity. He was sick, and it was your job to take care of him. You didn’t need pitiful looks. Pity didn’t pay the medical bills and they sure as hell weren’t going to cure your dad.

You plug your ears with headphones and open your iTunes to listen to music. You just need a distraction. You dig around in your purse and pull out the new book you’re reading, Warm Bodies. Maybe getting lost in this weird retelling of Romeo and Juliet with zombies will help you pass the time. From the parts you’ve read you've found it pretty humorous. A fun little Shakespearean retelling. It was perfect for the spooky season anyway.

You try to settle into the most uncomfortable chair and begin reading.

You pass another gruelingly long hour that way, reading about R and Julie. Reading about this zombie man slowly regaining his humanity, his sense of self... it’s almost jokingly painful that you wish love could easily cure your dad as it does R.

You suddenly remembered how much you hated Shakespeare.

It’s finally Halloween and you’re manning the van with candy and handing it out to tiny children all dressed in fun colorful costumes. You're standing there with three of your coworkers, who have decided to be Professor Dumbledor, Professor McGonigal, and the Dark Lord respectively.

The lights on the street are glowing green, orange, and purple. There’s a small fog machine hooked up next to the store’s van, and the speaker from the music store’s booth is blaring the best ambient music. It’s quite a festivity.

As much as you want to be, you’re not in the best mood. You’re absolutely beaming at the kids and laughing with your coworkers, but you’ve been in a bit of a mood. Spencer said he was going to help you, but he had a last-minute work call. You're trying to not let it be a mood killer, and on the surface it’s believable. You're a little sad though you aren’t getting to spend it with him. They’ve been talking about spooky and fall themed activities for the past month. Spencer had agreed to spend Halloween with you, since no one he knew seemed to share his enthusiasm for the holiday.

You've seen hordes of kids come and go all night. Ghosts, cats, vampires, sparkling vampires, and lots of fashionable monsters in bright neon colors. Monster High? you think it is what the kids said they were.

You look down and see the bottom of the candy bucket and the last few kids going from car to car.

“I got this if you guys want to go home tonight.” you tell your employees.

"You sure? We don’t mind.” the cashier Keri, Professor McGonigal, states.

“I’m positive, I’m just gonna close these doors and lock up for the night. It’s a tomorrow problem to clean up along with the rest of store decorations.” you just shrug and wave them off.

“Happy Halloween!”

“This was fun, have a good night!”

“Night!”

You wave off your three employees and give the last little trick or treater the rest of the candy in the bowl. The rest of the block is packing up as well.

You shove the tables and chairs unceremoniously into the back of the van and easily park it behind the store.

That’s a problem for Josie in the morning or you tomorrow night.

You walk in through the back entrance and turn on a few of the front lights. You turn the sign to closed and lock the front door. Your only goal right now is to take down the Halloween decorations so it’s a clean slate in the morning.

You were on a ladder pulling ghosts from the ceiling when you heard a knock on the glass of the store.

“We are CLOSED !” you shout, your accent seeping through. You could not bother to be polite for the rest of the night. You just wanted to shower, put on your favorite Halloween movie, Casper, and go to sleep.

There’s another tap at the window, more persistent.

“I said we are closed!” you yank the ghost hanging from the ceiling and turn to glare at the person through the glass, but all the anger leaves your body.

Spencer stands there, waving with a timid smile and pointing at his watch.

You scramble down from the ladder and throw open the door, “What are you doing here? I thought you had a work call?” you asked in confusion.

“We have tickets for a phantasmagoria show, I wasn’t going to miss that!” He said excitedly, “Are you ready? It starts at ten.”

You just blink for a moment before your face splits into a grin and nod, “Yeah, yeah, just let me change out of this real quick and we can go.” you said looking down at your Hogwarts robes.

Spencer finally looks at what you’re wearing and gives a small grin, lightly touching your scarf and humming.

“Hufflepuff makes sense.” He murmurs softly.

Your face bursts into a flush before you swat Spencer away and turn to scurry off to change.

Halloween was always your favorite holiday.

The one with migraines

Spencer can’t keep fighting through these migraines. He’s lying on the couch of his apartment in the middle of the day, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to add pressure. He finds no relief.

The doctor was useless, and he genuinely feels irritated and at a loss.

Then he remembers your hands softly stroking through his hair. His eyes flew open, and he pressed the heels of his palm to his eyes, rubbing them raw. He can feel the heat of embarrassment on his neck as he thought about your soft hands running through his scalp. He presses his palms harder and still finds no relief.

He sits up quickly and calls you.

“Spencer?” Your voice is soft and groggy; you sounded like you just woke up.

“Sorry, were you asleep?” he asked sheepishly.

“It’s okay, I was napping. What’s wrong?” He can hear you shift around, moving blankets probably.

“I, uh,” he suddenly feels embarrassed. Spencer sighs, “I keep having awful migraines. I’m at a loss and I’ve just been irritated because my head won’t stop pounding.”

“Ohhhhhh. Been there before.” you said quietly. “Do you want me to come over? I can do all my tricks. I have like, a ritual if my meds don’t work.” you offered.

“Please.” He finds himself asking you in a small voice.

“Don’t have to ask twice, I’ll be over. Go ahead and boil a tea kettle though- you'll want a warm drink.” you’re more awake now, your voice sounding concerned, “I’ll be there soon.”

You don’t live that far away, but it’s still at least a fifteen-minute drive, with no traffic. You make it over in roughly twenty, and you give a small tentative knock on his door. When Spencer lets you in, he sees that you’re in your lounge clothes with a hoodie and baggy sweatpants. You're holding a Walgreens bag that is packed to the brim. Your appearance is a little disheveled, almost as if you were rushing, as your hair is pulled back, your glasses are almost falling off your face.

“Go change into something comfortable, you don’t want to be in work clothes with a migraine.” you chastise him and shoo him off to his bedroom.

Spencer holds his hands up in defeat and does as he’s told. Immediately scurrying into his room to change into something more comfortable.

You get to work while you’re in his apartment. You close all of his curtains, blocking out the bright sunlight. You make your way over to the air conditioning unit and turn it down to a crisp 66 degrees and turn the ceiling fan on. You go into the kitchen and start to unpack the Walgreens bag of goodies. You’ve brought a few freezable ice packs, an eye mask, and some over the counter pain killers. You brought them just in case, you weren’t sure if Spencer was someone who preferred medicine or not. You had no problem taking four ibuprofen pills but that was you.

Spencer opens the door and he's in sweats and a T-shirt. He sees you moving around his kitchen with ease, grabbing two mugs and making tea. You have some honey out and pour a healthy amount into each mug. Your brow is furrowed in concentration as you work.

“Go sit on the couch, I’m coming with a mug.” you direct him softly holding two mugs in your hands.

Spencer shuffles his feet over to the couch and plops down shutting his eyes tightly. You press the warm mug in his hand, setting yours on the coffee table. You move back to the kitchen to turn off the light and grab a sleep mask and the medicine.

“Drink this, it’ll make you feel better. I turned down your air conditioning and I brought a sleep mask for you, to help block out the light.” you tell him.

He nods and moves to drink the tea, it’s sweet from the honey but it does immediately relieve some pressure, at least mentally.

“I brought some ibuprofen; I take 800 milligrams or take my migraine medication to stop mine. But sometimes you just need really good cold sleep. Mine just make me nauseous, so I need the meds.”

Spencer shakes his head no, “I don’t want to take any pain killers, not right now anyway.” he whispers.

You nod, “That’s okay. Just finish your tea and then lay down. I’m gonna help you get some sleep okay?”

Spencer nods his head and takes a deep breath drinking from his mug. He feels awful, the pounding in his skull won’t stop.

“Is it always this awful?” he asked, looking at you with his wide eyes, brows turned down in a sad expression.

You rub his arm in affection, “Sometimes? Mine are triggered a lot by the weather or sometimes I don’t even know. I do know I’ve gotten optical migraines too, and those suck even more.”

He’s listening to you, but he’s not enjoying the facts. He can read about migraines all day long, but hearing from someone else the same experiences he has sucks.

“When did you start getting them?”

You hum in thought, “When I was thirteen... right before my momma left.”

“Did she get them a lot? You’re mom?” Spencer finishes his cup and sets it down.

You put a pillow on your lap and push Spencer down. You hand him the eye mask to put on. Spencer complies easily and his long legs dangle a little over the edge of the couch, but he’s comfortable. You run your hands lightly through Spencer’s short hair, like you’ve done before in the bookstore. Spencer hums contently.

“She did... Her’s were worse. Always in the bathroom puking from them. She’d have to be in bed all day until it ended.” you whisper.

“Are yours that bad?” Spencer’s voice is just as quiet to match yours. He’s relaxing into your touch, feeling the pressure lighten from his head.

“No, but I get worried sometimes when I get nauseous, ya know? I’m always worried they’re gonna get as bad as mommas did. And I can’t imagine being stuck in bed all day.” you said sadly.

Spencer’s quiet as you mention your mother. It reminds him of his own fear he’s been trying to avoid thinking about. He’s reminded of his doctor's visit, and it irritates him. He knows there is something happening with him, the way he feels his skull pulsating like his brain is trying to jump out of his body is reason enough.

It’s not psychosomatic. He knows it's not.

“You okay? I just felt you tense up.” you ask him softly.

“Fine, just...thinking.” he mumbles.

You give a soft chuckle, your soft hands still massaging his scalp gently. “I know it must be hard for you, being a genius and all, but I really need you to shut your brain off. Go to sleep alright?” you demanded gently.

He gives a scoff but tries to settle down. He focuses heavily on your hands and how soft it is. The couch starts to melt under him and your quiet hums, that he isn’t even sure that you know you’re doing, finally sending him off to sleep.

When Spencer finally wakes up, his headache is gone. He finally feels back to normal. He moves to remove his eye mask, but he finds the room is almost just as dark. His eyes adjust and he realizes he’s alone on the couch. Where you were is just a pillow and there’s a soft blanket laid over him and he smells something being cooked.

Spencer stretches his body and moves to sit up, looking into the kitchen. You’re quietly shuffling around. The only light being from the microwave above the stovetop. He can hear the sizzling of whatever you're cooking, it smells great.

You hear him moving around and turns to send him a smile, “How you feelin’?” you asked, tilting your head trying to assess him.

Spencer stands and makes his way into the kitchen, trying to find out what smells so good. “A lot better. I’ve had that headache for two days.”

Your brows shot up in surprise, “You should have told me sooner Spencer. I woulda helped.” you chastise him.

“Was away for work, couldn’t.” he informs making his way behind you to peer over your shoulder at the stove top.

“What are you making? It smells great.”

You straighten up a bit with a wide grin. “That would be my favorite comfort food, especially after feelin’ like shit. My very fatty, very southern, biscuits and gravy.” your accent seeps through, as you exaggerate it, trying to prove a point.

Spencer just snorts a laugh and moves back, “Is it almost done?”

You roll your eyes, “You’ve been awake for less than five minutes and you’re already starving.”

Spencer just ignores her comment looking at the stove top to check the time, it’s later than he imagined. “Is it really nine o clock? Shouldn’t you be at the bookstore?” he presses in concern.

You shake your head, “I called out; besides, I always work the night shift. Someone else can or we can handle being closed for one night.” you tell him casually.

“You could have left, really, I would have been fine.” He tries to tell you.

You shake your head and move to get the biscuits out of the oven. “Spencer really, it’s not a big deal. You called for help and I’m staying until you shoo me out, I wasn’t just gonna leave without saying anything.”

You shook your head in mild disbelief and went to make plates for both of them. Spencer just finds himself standing there gawking. You wanted to stay until you knew he was okay. He feels his heart clench at that, and he brushes it away. He doesn’t think he can handle whatever emotion is creeping in at the edges, cracking his carefully crafted foundation.

You gently smack his hand and nod to the counter. “Go sit down, it’s almost done.”

Spencer does as he’s told and moves to the other side of the counter and takes a seat on one of the stools. It doesn’t take much longer for you to plate the food and slide it across to him. You place one for yourself next to him and grab two glasses of water.

Spencer and you eat in amicable silence enjoying their meal. Then you break the silence.

“Have you seen anyone about your recent migraines?” you asked him.

Spencer’s silent as he paused eating. His body tenses up and you wonder if you have hit a sore spot.

“I saw a doctor and got an MRI done.” he said, voice tense.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like the results?” you prod treading cautiously.

“The results were nothing. There was nothing showing up in my brain... the doctor said it was psychosomatic.” he whispered, a bitter tone in his voice.

“Then it probably isn’t anything to worry so much about Spencer.” you said, moving to rub his back gently.

“It can’t be psychosomatic, I’m not- I'm not crazy.” he said firmly.

The tone was the most aggressive you’ve ever heard from Spencer and your eyebrows raised.

“Spencer, I’m not calling you crazy sweetheart.” you tell him calmly. “Are you, are you worried that you are?”

Spencer’s body is tense, and he covers his face with his hands. “Did you know schizophrenia is hereditary? That it shows up around your late twenties?”

“Oh, oh. ” you realized what his actual problem was now.

“Spencer, the odds of you having it are low. It can run in families but it’s more complicated than that.” you told him in a reassuring voice.

“I know that, but-” he stops himself, not looking at you.

“Spencer,” you said his voice soft and calm. “It’s okay. You’re okay . I promise.” you continue to rub his back reassuringly. “If you feel this intense about it, then get a second opinion.”

He nods, finally looking up at you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

You shake your head, “It’s something you’re worried about and it’s okay to voice that.”

Spencer moves and pulls you into a tight hug.

“Thanks for listening.” he murmured into your hair.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Anytime.” you whisper.

The one after Emily’s funeral

You are outside Spencer’s door shuffling on your feet. You’ve been debating for the past fifteen minutes on whether you should even knock on his door.

You haven’t seen him in a month... you’re a little more than worried. If it wasn’t for the single word response texts you were getting from him, you’d think he was dead.

The rain pattering on the window of his apartment's hallway is the only background noise you have besides the buzzing of the fluorescents above you. You’re pacing back and forth debating on if this is a good idea or not. He would ask if he needed help, right? They were friends... He’s kind of the only real friend you've made since you came to Virginia. Well, besides Josie.

You take a deep centering breath and find your resolve. you knock on his door.

When Spencer emerges from his apartment, you’re taken aback. He only opens the door a crack, but it’s enough for you to see the state he’s in. His eyes are dark and rimmed red. He’s in rumpled up sweater and sweatpants. His hair is up in different directions, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Not to mention the faint beard that’s growing in. His eyes find yours slowly, and he looks a bit taken aback and opens the door more.

“Oh Spencer, honey,” you step forward and pull him into a warm hug. You feel him melt into your touch.

“You look awful, what happened?” You’re blunt but Spencer doesn’t seem to mind it, he hasn’t let go to tell you otherwise.

Spencer’s been holed up in his apartment. When he’s not working, he just burrows away. Penelope and JJ have called a few times. Checking in on him. He’s kept those conversations short. He can’t find it in him to talk about Emily with his friends yet. Not when he can still feel the weight of Emily’s casket; it almost bears down on his back in a way that feels crippling.

Spencer’s so tired of losing people.

Elle

Gideon

Emily

How long until he loses the next person?

Your warm body settles his nerves, and he can feel the irritation that buzzed at the harsh edges of his own soul ease. Spencer knows he looks like a wreck; he feels like one. He’s been in pajamas all weekend and barely has left his couch. When he does find himself getting any sleep, the only image he sees is Emily. Which, if he thinks about it for too long, he’s going to start sobbing again.

“It’s a long story,” He finds himself barely able to say. His voice warbled and tiny.

You somehow always know when something's wrong, like there is a homing device in your brain that rings letting you know he needs a reprieve.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” you whisper as you rub soothing circles into his back, “I was coming to check on you, I just hadn’t seen you around in a while.”

“Could you stay here,” he asked you timidly. “Just, just for a little while.”

Spencer feels the fight leave his body; the argument built up that he was ready to unleash on anyone else. The prickles of irritation fog his head, almost turning into a migraine, seem to fade. The only thing left is exhaustion.

You seem to always help him sleep, if he’s lucky, it won’t be another nightmare. He’s having more nightmares than ever. He'd love just a dreamless sleep, anything besides the nightmares, the territory that can with his job.

He finally pulls back away from you and goes inside his apartment.

You follow Spencer looking around his home. It’s dark and surprisingly messy. Not how you’re used to seeing Spencer’s apartment. His books are open and scattered along the floor near his large armchair. There’s empty, or rather half drank, coffee mugs scattered along his bookshelf or coffee table. There’s a large duvet half draped over the couch. You assume that’s probably where Spencer has spent most of his time, and the pile of laundry you see resting in the half open laundry room.

It’s a depression cave.

Spencer sluggishly goes into the kitchen and grabs a pot of coffee, before he can pour it you are gently prying it from his hands.

“I think you’ve had plenty of caffeine.” you tell him softly.

He makes a face but doesn’t fight you on it.

“Go and take a hot shower, I’ll make you some tea alright? It’ll feel better than endless caffeine.” you tell him and gently push him out of the kitchen.

You wait for Spencer to disappear into his bedroom before you let out a sigh and look around his apartment. You had her work cut out, that was for sure.

You start by boiling a kettle of water and you start gathering the mugs from around the apartment. At least the ones in your immediate sight. You gather at least ten different mugs at various stages full of coffee. You put them in the sink first before moving on to looking for the chamomile that you know you’ve left here before for when he gets his migraines. You find it surprisingly quickly and grab it from the shelf where his coffee sits. You open it to find there’s only a few tea bags left. He must still be getting those migraines more than he lets on.

You grab one, and a clean mug from his cabinet and set it aside. Still waiting for the water to heat up. You move onto the sink that’s overflowing and rolls up your sleeves to get started. You give a quick rinse and gently scrub the dishes before piling them into the dishwasher. By the time you're done the hot water is ready and the dishwasher is full.

You wash your hands before making a cup of tea for him, making sure you add plenty of honey to accommodate his sweet tooth.

You're in the middle of changing out his garbage when you hear Spencer reappear. He shuffles lazily out of his room in new clothes. He’s in a large Doctor Who tee with the Tardis on it, and flannel pajama pants that don’t fully reach his ankles. He’s also put on clean socks, two different ones with silly patterns.

You give him a smile before handing him the mug of tea. “You look a lot better,” you said with a soft smile.

Spencer just gives a shrug before sipping his tea. you follow him to the couch, and he wraps the duvet around his shoulders, making himself look so much smaller for a man that towered over you with his height.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked him.

Spencer sighs and looks deep into his cup, like the tea would give him answers. Maybe if he believed in reading tea leaves and fortunes, but he wasn’t religious or superstitious by any means.

“I lost a close friend, and it just...it’s been tough.” he said.

“Oh Spencer,” you lean forward and hold one of his hands, “I’m so sorry. That- that can’t be easy.”

He cried so much; he would think he didn’t have any more tears left. The blurry vision foggy up the edges of his sight tells otherwise.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye...” he whispers out, trying to not sob again.

You take a deep breath, you give Spencer a sad look before you whispered, “Sometimes we don’t get to say goodbye.” you replied quietly.

“I’m so tired of people leaving with no warning-” he catches himself before he can finish, biting his tongue.

You don’t pry, just let’s him go through the motions, trying to comfort him how you can.

“I’m sorry Spencer.”

Spencer leans against you and closes his eyes, “I hate change.” he murmured.

You move your hand up to run through his hair gently, like you’ve done before.

“I don’t either.” you whispered.

Spencer grows quiet as you continue to stroke his hair. You hear his breathing finally settle and you know he’s asleep. You gently move to lay him down on the couch and go to work.

Spencer’s home needed a deep clean, something to make it at least more bearable to come home to so he’s not so overwhelmed.

You start with the laundry and work your way around the room as the washer and dryer run through load after load of clothes. The only spot you don’t feel comfortable touching is his books. That seemed like an organized chaos situation if you’ve ever seen one.

Spencer sleeps for hours, so long that you find yourself dozing off after you're done cleaning. You slide yourself back onto the couch and curl up in the corner. You just go to close your eyes for a moment, you won’t spend the night.

You dream of coffee, book pages, and a familiar purple scarf that makes its way in too.

The morning sun comes in through a small opening of Spencer’s curtains and washes over the couch, bathing you and Spencer in its light. The two are curled into each other under the duvet on the couch and if either of them woke up at any point in the night and curled closer to the other, they would never know.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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emmawithtwoms · 2 days ago

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Transfiguration Classroom

@wolfstarmicrofic day 20 -423 words

“Good morning class, please settle down.” McGonagall’s voice was stern, as always, but today it seemed to hold a bit more patience for her students. It was Valentine’s day after all, and they were just a bunch of overly excited hormones filled 16 year olds, she was once young too, you know.

“I know you are all excited today, but please, maintain your composure. I have a special lesson planned for this class.”

At that the whole class perked up, usually “Special Lesson” meant troubles or hospital wing, especially when the marauders were in the classroom.

“Today we are going to transform butterflies into flowers and vice versa. So please come grab a caged butterfly on my desk and sit down with your partner, so I can give you the instructions.”

“Oh, this is so sweet” said a girl somewhere in the class, and a lot more people agreed. It was odd from McGonagall to have them do something so romantic on Valentines, but they certainly weren’t complaining.

Sirius and Remus could already see James pestering Lily, trying to get her to be his partner, and just rolled their eyes.

“This is stupid” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. “Really? I find it romantic” Remus was pointedly not looking at Sirius’ eyes. They had been secretly dating for less than a month, and he still felt embarrassed by displays of affection.

“You find it romantic, Moony? For real?” Sirius asked curiously, while sitting back down at their desk.

“I mean… flowers, Valentine’s day, butterflies. I think it’s sweet, that’s all.” Remus shrugged, feigning indifference. He would have actually loved to receive flowers or chocolate as a gift, but he would not tell Sirius that, it seemed stupid to say it out loud.

“Huh.” That’s all Sirius said before turning his attention to the professor, who was explaining the spell.

Class was dismissed after one hour, and the students were allowed to keep their flowers. Sirius took a long time time to pack his bag, and he and Remus were the last sitting in the Transfiguration classroom. Once he was sure they were alone, Padfoot turned to Moony. “Happy Valentine’s day, Moony.” And put his flower behind Remus’ ear, that was now turning a deep shade of red. “Pads… you- Thank you.” With a kiss and wink, Sirius grabbed his hand and led him outside of the classroom, making sure that no one was around.

The thing is, he didn’t notice a brown cat with dark circles under its eyes observing them from the professor’s desk.

#sirius black #remus lupin #ao3 #marauders #ao3 fanfic #wolfstar #harry potter #fic #james potter #microfic #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar microfics #transfiguration classroom #valentine's day #valentine #padfoot #moony #moony x padfoot #remus john lupin

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 2 days ago

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The Laws of Attraction (Lawyer!Higurnami x Law Student!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black!Fem!Reader x Hiromi Higuruma

Synopsis: You are a law school senior and intern juggling schoolwork and your job who attends your firm’s anniversary party one night. While there, Higuruma Hiromi and Nanami Kento, your bosses and the two sexy attorneys you’re secretly attracted to, help you celebrate your final grades and receiving a brand new position at their firm….just not in the way that they should. But who cares about what’s right or wrong when it feels so good?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Black-coded!Fem!Reader; Lawyers!Nanami x Higuruma; Law Student/Intern!Reader; Eye-Fucking; Secret Crush; Mutual Pining; Threesome; Coworkers to Lovers; Mild Power Play; Lowkey Flirting; Office Sex; CMNF; Dual Cunnilingus; Deepthroating; Doggystyle Over Desk; Spitroast; Facefucking; Dom/sub Undertones; Throatpie; Cum On Ass; Sneaky Sex; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for DAYS now. I’m so happy I’m finally able to share it after finally writing it. I hope y’all enjoy! KISSES!! 💋💋 -Jazz

**********

You know that a second glass of champagne probably isn’t logical or practical.

But if you have to listen to your fellow intern and total preppy asshole drone on about his vacation stories, you’ll definitely blow your brains out.

You stand in a small circle with the other interns that started with you last year for the internship program. The firm has one that stretches all year long, starting in the spring and ending in the winter. You’ve known these people for months now and while you like some, there are others than you’d gladly avoid.

Like the preppy exchange student from Upstate New York who came to Japan to study abroad. Of course, he’s standing beside you in his Armani student, buzzed off of his second beer and oozing arrogance and ignorance. “My friends wanted to go to Bora Bora again, but I always found Bora Bora to be sooo overhyped,” he groans. “That’s why we went to Hawaii. It was cheaper.”

He takes a sip of his beer, dripping some down his tie. You don’t warn him. ”I heard Hawaiians didn’t want tourists anymore,” Yuki points out, standing next to you. “Something about them pushing natives out of their homes because of construction.”

She sips on her champagne and eyes you as she does it. You fight the urge to smile. “Well, that didn’t kick me out,” the exchange student chuckles. “I had a ball! Lotta beer on the beach and a lot of girls too.” He turns to you now, your worst fear coming true. “You ever been to Hawaii, Y/N?”

You force yourself to turn towards the young, blonde jock who only came to work here because his father has connections in the legal system as a hotshot judge in New York. As a young, Black woman, you worked your ass off to get into this program and into law school. As you can imagine, juggling both is a damn job in itself.

You purposely kept quiet for half of the night to avoid exerting energy in boring conversations, but to avoid dissociating for the fifth time tonight, you fix your mouth into a smile. “No, but I prefer Costa Rica. The water is prettier. Excuse me, I’m gonna fill myself up.”

Quickly, you excuse yourself from the group and walk over to the alcohol table located on the other side of the gorgeous ballroom. “Oh, pass me another beer if they got one,” the jock suggests. “We can share, if you want. I know you like a good beer too.” He gives you a lopsided smile that’s supposed to get you hot and bothered like it has to all of the other girls he’s screwed.

You stifle the urge to vomit and give him a tight lipped smile before quickly walking off…or as quickly as you can in your Jimmy Choo heels. Your friend and roommate forced you into them, telling you that only these shoes brought out your skin and meshed with your slim, strapless, black dress.

You will admit that you feel the sexiest you’ve ever felt in it. Even when you tried it on and had your friend tie the strings behind your neck to hold the slinky article of clothing up, you felt like the baddest bitch walking. As soon as you walked into the ballroom, you caught eyes….just not the eyes you truly want.

As you walk across the ballroom, nodding and smiling at guests (lawyers, politicians, city officials, etc.), you admire the beautiful decor of the room. The decorators rearranged cushioned furniture, added gorgeous white flowers as centerpieces, and polished the marbled floor so much that you can see yourself in it. The scent of cinnamon and cloves drift through the air along with the bitter winter breeze pouring in from outside as people come and go for cigarette breaks.

They truly went all out for this anniversary party.

Your firm is located on the sixth floor of a twelve-story building in downtown Tokyo, specifically in the business district. Every weekday you catch the train at 7AM with fellow bright-eyed, bushy-tailed workers in their uniforms and weary, hungover students preparing for an 8AM course. You’ve always loved the hustle and bustle of the city; the constant activity; the sense of determination and purpose in the air when you do your eight-minute route to the train station to work.

Maybe that’s why you decided to take the internship offer when you were picked last spring. You were a law student, a senior-to-be, in need of a legal position that would give you more experience and had a decent pay. Your job as a waitress could only do so much. After you were interviewed by the program director, she set you up for another interview with the attorney you would be working for. When you realized that you would be interviewed by two attorneys instead of one, you thought it was some kind of mistake.

But you were reassured by the director that Kento Nanami and Hiromi Higuruma, the top attorneys at their firm, wanted you specifically. “They picked you out from ten other candidates,” she gushed to you over the phone. “They’re so impressed with your resume and our interview notes.”

You smile to yourself as you take another glass of champagne. You can’t believe that this was twelve months ago. Now if you can only snag a full time position here and ace your final exams so you can graduate next spring, your life will be complete.

Yuki appears beside you, dressed in a red dress and wearing her blonde locks in waves. ”He likes you,” she giggles. You roll your eyes beneath your full lashes. “I could give less of a fuck,” you mutter. “I felt like shovin�� a cupcake in his mouth to shut him up.” Yuki laughs despite your deadass statement. “So where’s your date tonight?” she asks. “Since preppy white jocks don’t float your boat.”

No man floats your boat nowadays, it seems. Not when you’re in law school. What guy would want a girl who stresses over essays and exams every other week? “Well, my roomie has a cold and couldn’t come,” you explain. “I wanted to stay, but she forced me to put on this dress and come.”

“And it’s a damn good thing she did!” Yuki scoffs. “You look amazing!” You smile shyly, feeling your cheeks flush. “And I’d rather you be here celebrating the 10th year of the firm with me than at home. Intern or not, you’re a part of this team too, Y/N.”

Though Yuki’s words are sweet, you’d much rather be at home with your roommate watching Netflix in your sweatshirt and booty shorts, shoveling ice cream down your throat and maybe popping an edible to ignore the impending anxiety of your exam scores tonight.

Anything than being a room with a bunch of preppy folks and pretending to be interested in anything they have to say. But you got yourself into your pretty gown for two important reasons: one because this party is a good distraction from your incoming grades and two, you’re waiting for two guests in particular to show up. Your bosses…or as your friend would call them, your sexy lawyer baes, Nanami and Higuruma.

These are two names that pop up often at your firm and in the legal world. As two Harvard graduates and prominent lawyers in business and corporate law, they were among the original ten lawyers who started out at the firm when it was still very small and upcoming. Now expansive and holding over a hundred attorneys, Nanami and Higuruma are still the top in the game in their thirties.

They are intelligent. They are virtuous. They are calm, cool, and collected when needed in the court. And they are also fine. As. Fuck.

And you know all of this because you work underneath them and have been for over twelve months as an intern. You never knew why they hired you to personally work for them, but you jumped at the chance to take the offer when it was given to you after your one-on-two interview with them.

As unapproachable and cool they seem, the two lawyers are pretty lenient with you. They allow you to use their shared office to do your work, they work around your class schedule, and don’t make you work overtime. Most of your duties are fetching coffee for them in the mornings from the lobby cafe, editing and proofreading documents, delivering files to different departments, and drafting papers.

They truly make it easy for you. They aren’t hard or difficult like a lot of other lawyers in your firm who run their assistants ragged. They answer all of your questions and push you to give your all. “But remember to rest,” Nanami always tells you. “Burnout is a killer.” He is the softest of the two and a true sweetheart at heart.

Higuruma is more of the sterner one, always giving you constructive criticism with any underlayer of encouragement. He has a dry humor that reminds you of a boring dad and has you giggling while you’re doing your work. The two lawyers bounce off of one another, having disagreements and arguments but always coming together to win a case.

They are truly a duo made in heaven, especially in the looks department. It isn’t a surprise to you that the entire firm has their eyes on them as handsome as they are—soft-looking lips, firm stares, and eyes that make your blood run hot. Your dreams are often filled with hot visions of doing very nasty things with Higuruma’s nose and stroking Nanami’s cheekbones with your fingers.

As far as you know, they’re single and unmarried, but things can change. Not to mention that you’re their intern! There is a very clear line that you don’t cross at a job and that includes not fucking your bosses.

No matter how sexy they are in their suits, or how intoxicating their cologne is, or how you wish to feel their big hands on you, you can never ever destroy the work relationship you have with them and fuck up your entire life. Besides, how else are you going to get a job here when you graduate law school?

So you disguise your interest in them as kindness and shove your horiness away, never acting on your attractions to them. But sometimes, you do think that the feeling is mutual. Just in November before your final exams, your bosses graciously offered to help you study. You were studying from your self-made study guide over lunch with them in their office. You had five classes during your fall semester you had final exams for: four tests and one paper due the same week you took your tests.

“Well, I can tutor you for the tests,” Higuruma said, taking a peak at your guide. “Clearly, you need someone to break this shit down for you and test you.”

“And make sure you don’t completely blow your top over your grammar,” Nanami added, referring to your paper. “I was a 4.0 in Harvard, don’t you know?” As usual, you laughed. They always knew how to take your head out of your work with their teasing and dry humor.

That month, the three of you would meet during lunch and work. Higuruma would time you on definitions for legal terms, answering open-ended questions, and knowing which court does what. Nanami, in contrast, would take a look at your final paper and make alterations, highlighting anything that needed to be edited and giving suggestions.

It was the most help you got in your three years of law school. And unfortunately, it made you fall deeper for them. You weren’t even planning to attend the firm’s tenth anniversary party, but when you found out Higuruma and Nanami were attending through an invite to your work email, you knew you had to show up.

You smile at Yuki now, raising your champagne glass. “Well, cheers to that,” you giggle and clink your glass with hers. “You’re sweet, Yuki. Definitely makes this whole environment worth it.” The two of you giggle to each other and gossip about the other guests as you sip champagne and much on veggie sticks from the snack table.

At some point during your third glass, you hear a buzz come from your purse. Your heart skips a bit and you race to fish it out, thinkin that it may be Nanami or Higuruma texting you that they’ve finally arrived. But when you see that it’s your Canvas notification, your stomach drops.

Suddenly, the champagne tastes sour and all of the sounds of the party sound muffled like you’re underwater. All of your grades are in, including your final paper. You swallow hard as you stare at your phone screen, your vision becoming fuzzy. You feel like you’re about to faint. Oh, where are Nanami and Higuruma when you need them?

“…Y/N?” You turn to Yuki as if you just realized that she’s standing there. “Sorry, what?” You dumbly ask.

“They finally brought out the chocolate fountain!” She announces, pointing excitedly at the fountain bubbling chocolate fondue just a few feet away. “Let’s get some before we have to fight off the entire party.” You force a smile and wave her off, trying to hide your oncoming anxiety attack the best you can. “You go ahead. I need to powder my nose first.”

It’s enough to make Yuki agree, telling her that she’ll get you a plate. Once she’s strutting off in her heels, you make a beeline for the bathroom located down the hallway from the ballroom. You move as quickly as possible in your heels, scrolling for your friend’s contact at the same time. By the time you reach the bathroom, you feel like you’re about to throw up.

You barrel through the door, sighing in relief when you find it empty. Quickly, you shut the door and will your friend to answer the phone, gripping the sink for support. You feel as if your knees are about to buckle from the anxiety you feel bubbling inside of you. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” you mutter. Finally, your friend does, coughing into the phone. “What’s up, babe?” she crokes out. “Did your lawyer baes come yet?”

“No, but my grades just came back and I’m in the bathroom so I don’t have a panic attack, but I am having a panic attack.” You face yourself in the mirror. You thought you looked so pretty with your Fenty Beauty foundation, plumping gloss, and long lashes framing your gold eyeshadow. But now? All you see is anxiousness.

“Okay, relax,” your bestie soothingly says. Only she knows the stress you’ve been under for three years. “Breathe. Tell yourself your affirmations. I already know you did amazing, Y/N. You already know that too. You studied your ass off, remember?”

You do. You had to. Only you have the power to make all three of these years of constant stress mean something. You need that degree. “Yeah,” you exhale before inhaling again. You do that a couple of times, egged on by your friend who tells you how smart and determined you are. Finally, you feel like you’re ready. “Here I go…I’m opening them now.”

You put the call on speaker, but your friend is silent as you shakily open the Canvas app. You check each one of your final grades, your heart damn near exploding one after the other. All high scores. Three As and one B. “Oh, my God,” you gasp.

“What?” your friend urges. “What’d you get?”

You nearly drop your phone as your body trembles from excitement and relief. “I passed,” you whisper. Then again, louder this time: “I passed!” you squeal. “I fucking passed!” You feel tears prick your eyes and you have to rapidly blink to keep from ruining your mascara.

You can’t believe it. You’re done! You’re going to graduate law school next spring! “Congratulations, girl!” your friend cheers. “I knew you could do it! Now go out there, turn the fuck up, and celebrate with your lawyer baes.”

You scoff, taking some tissue to tab at your cheeks and temple. “For the last time, they’re not my baes or boos or boyfriends.” She swears that Higuruma and Nanami are your future husbands. “Not yet!” she argues. “You just wait till they see you lookin’ fine as fuck in your dress and next thing you know, you’re going home with one of ‘em…or both!”

“Goodbye, you perv,” you giggle. “Thank you. I love you.” Your friend bids you farewell and tells you to text her later before you end the call. You take a moment to check yourself out in the mirror, admiring the bad bitch in your reflection.

Finally, you put your phone away and strut back to the party, feeling like you’re the sun and the moon. You feel sexy, exuberant, and like you’re on top of the fucking world. Nothing and nobody can get in your way.

You suddenly bump right into someone’s back, causing you to stumble. “Oh, excuse me!” you gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Your words die in your throat when the stranger turns, revealing himself as your favorite handsome blonde attorney. Nanami is usually in suits for work, but this one is especially tailored. “Ms. L/N,” he says in his smooth, eargasmic voice. “I didn’t expect to bump into you so early tonight.”

You gape at him, unable to speak. You’re at a loss for words. Just then, before you can look any dumber, Higuruma appears with two champagne glasses in hand. He, too, is in a designer suit and red bottom shoes, looking so sexy that it should be illegal. “Oh, there you are. We were actually looking for you.”

His tired-looking brown eyes scale down your outfit. “That’s…some dress. You look nice.” Maybe you imagine it, but his cheeks look pinker in the light. Nanami clears his throat and awkwardly pushes up his framed glasses, snatching one glass from Higuruma and taking a sip.

”T-Thank you,” you stammer, finally finding your voice. You spot a passing waiter on your left with a tray and snatch a glass from it. You’ll need it. You clear your throat, conjuring that bad bitch from the bathroom. “U-Um, I’m actually glad you’re both here. I was looking for you too.”

The lawyers’ brows raise expectantly. “Oh?” Higuruma asks. “Why is that?” You break out into a smile, unable to contain your joy. “I got my grades back for my exams!” you excitedly announce. “All As and Bs!” You fish your phone out of your clutch and shove the screen into your bosses’ faces. “See for yourselves,” you proudly giggle.

Nanami takes your phone and peers down at it, squinting into the blue light. When he sees your grades, a slow smile creeps across his face that gives you butterflies. “Let me see,” Higuruma mumbles, snatching your phone from Nanami.

He mutters to himself, something he always does when reading. You find it so endearing. When he finishes, he scoffs in surprise. “Well, damn,” he huffs. “This is impressive, Y/N. You really locked in as the kids say these days.”

“You’re not that old, Higuruma,” Nanami scoffs, snatching your phone back and handing it to you. “Nice job, Ms. L/N. We’ll have to celebrate.” The two lawyers smile at you like you’re the best thing in the world. You feel it. Standing with them, you feel as if nothing can touch you.

Higuruma raises his glass, a small smile playing on his lips. “A toast to good grades and an even better future.” You all raise your glasses and clink them before taking a sip. You can already feel the effects of the champagne taking over. You feel bubbly and light as a feather. Beautiful and carefree. Sexy, even. Very dangerous.

“Thank you,” you happily sigh. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help with the studying. I really appreciate you both for doing that.” The lawyers look happy hearing that kind of praise and gratitude from you. “Well, you can thank us by helping us make it through this party,” Higuruma sighs. “After all, we need to show our law school graduate around to all of these fine, fun folk.”

He looks around the room, looking like he’s thinking anything but nice things about the guests. You snort to yourself. “Don’t we, Nanami?” he asks, smirking at the blonde. Nanami sighs to himself, looking absolutely done with being here. “I barely even want to be here. I almost want to be back in traffic.”

He turns to you now, a small smile playing on his lips. “But hearing about your grades makes it worth it all.” If only he could know how that makes you feel. The butterflies in your stomach have gone haywire.

You swallow, feeling the confidence of the champagne taking over. “W-Well, maybe next spring when I graduate, you both can come to the ceremony,” you nervously suggest. “It’s only right since you’re my bosses and mentors.” You give them a shy smile, peering up at them through your lashes.

The two lawyers look at each other blankly and then back at you. “Mentors?” Higuruma parrots. “We’re your mentors?”

Immediately, your confidence slips. “Well, you did help me study and you’ve shown me so much about the legal system. I look up to the both of you.” You bite your bottom lip, feeling as if you’ve said too much. You’re moving too fast. You’re overdoing it! “I-I’m sorry I assumed—“

“Don’t apologize,” Nanami firmly interrupts. His eyes are all aglow with a quiet passion you’ve never seen before. “We’d be honored to be your mentors…if that’s what you want.” Higuruma looks just as interested in the position, looking ready to drop everything and sign up.

You feel a big, dumb smile split across your face, giddy and joyful. “Then I’d be honored to call you my mentors,” you giggle. “Let’s toast to that too!” You raise your glass to clink with theirs, leading to another joint sip. You open your mouth to say more, to keep them standing here with you, but everyone at the party is just as excited to see the two attorneys as you are.

“Oh, there they are!” someone announces. You turn, finding one of the firm’s oldest lawyers walking over to Nanami and Higuruma. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two! C’mon, the chairman wants to see you.” He practically drags them away, blabbering on about the many guests here who want to meet them.

You watch them leave just as they turn to give you one last look, an apology in their gazes. You feel an immense pang of disappointment inside of you and you feel stupid for feeling that way. It’s a party! This is their job! Of course, they need to mingle and talk to other important people.

Yuki luckily comes to your rescue, strutting over to you with more snacks. “Oh, Y/N!” she exclaims, taking your hand. “There you are! Come here, you have to try these white chocolate raspberry bars before they’re gone!” She drags you off in a different direction from Nanami and Higuruma, widening the gap between you.

For the next hour, the party wears on like this: you on your side and your bosses on the other, all of you stuck being pulled in directions other than each other’s. You watch as they chat with chairmen and CEOs; attorneys and paralegals; city officials and policemen. It’s honestly annoying…probably because of the champagne you drink.

With every passing minute, you sip a bit more, feeling even lighter and riskier than your first glass. You’re pretty sure you’re on about four ½ glasses at this point, so much so that you start seeing things. You believe you feel Nanami’s eyes on your ass from across the room or Higuruma’s gaze straying away from a guest to check you out. Your risky, reckless behavior makes you smile at them from across the party, not realizing how flirty it may come off to them or someone else watching. But the idea of that doesn’t embarrass or mortify you. In fact, it turns you on.

But nothing even comes from it. You never find your way over to your lawyers. Disappointed, sleepy, and exhausted from walking around in heels, you decide to give your dogs and the alcohol a break. You go up to the bar situated on the left hand side of the ballroom and take a seat on one of the stools, ordering a club soda.

“That’s the easiest thing I’ve made all night!” the bartender exclaims, making you laugh. “God bless you!” After they finish whipping up your drink, you’re in the middle of a few needed sips when someone sits next to you. You turn, finding a young man in a suit that looks like Tom Hiddlestone and Timothy Chatlane had a baby.

The wavy-haired man in his suit smiles at you. “Your Nanami and Higuruma’s paralegal, right?” he asks. You shake your head. “Intern. Not a paralegal…yet.”

He nods, chuckling at your humor. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around the office before. I would’ve remembered a face like yours.” His tone is flirtatious and you pick up on it immediately. Usually, you’d disregard and ignore this, but tonight? You may just play along.

“Possibly,” you reply, lowering your soda. “I have one of those faces.” Feeling particularly chatty, you put a hand out for a shake. “I’m Y/N,” you blurt. “I’m an intern for the law firm on the sixth floor.” The man races to shake your hand, hanging on for longer than necessary. His palm is sweaty. “Ah, yes, the law interns,” he chuckles. “I’m Mark, an associate for an accounting firm. I’m up on the eighth.”

He flashes a pearly white smile that is probably supposed to make you swoon. “That explains why we haven’t seen each other,” you giggle. He laughs with you and you decide that he’s cute enough to waste time on at the party.

“Maybe this party is good for something then,” he flirtatiously says, his smile turning suggestive. “I was plannin’ on leaving soon ‘cause this crowd is dead, but you just might make me wanna stay.” And just like that, he pops the bubble on your fantasy plan. “Oh” is all you can say.

No doubt he is trying to get into your pants…or rather under your dress. You turn to sip your water in silence, trying to think of something to say to let him down easy. “Are you here with someone?” he asks and his hand goes crawling to yours again.

Now you really need to think of something fast. “Um” is all you can get out before a shadow descends upon you and him. You both turn to find Nanami standing there. “Oh, sorry, am I interrupting, Mark?” he asks. He sounds apologetic, but you can tell he isn’t by the firm set of his lips.

The attorney beside you gives your boss a lop-sided smile. “Just my drink,” he jokes as the bartender passes him a whiskey. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Nanami?” He cocks his head to the side, drunk and cocky. “Sorry to cut in, but I need to steal Y/N away for a moment,” Nanami explains before turning to you. “We hate to do this now, but since you’re here, we’d like to plan out the schedule ahead of the holidays.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, your brain already switching into work mode. “Um…yeah, sure, of course.” You turn to Mark who looks less than pleased about being cockblocked. “It was nice meeting you, Mark. I’ll see you on the seventh floor one day.” The attorney only gives you a smile and side-eyes Nanami as you leave with him.

In silence, you two head to the elevators and Nanami presses the up button. You aren’t too sure why he and Higuruma are doing this now during a party, but you’ll wait to find out. When the elevator comes, Nanami lets you inside first and then follows behind you. When the doors close, you become hyper aware of him standing so close next to you. You can smell his cologne—spicy and musky like cinnamon. It makes your body react in very nasty ways.

“You won’t be seeing him,” he says. You blink, your fuzzy brain almost not catching that. “What?” you ask.

He turns to you, his eyes firm. “You won’t be seeing him,” he repeats. “Not to gossip, but the man is known to stick his dick where he makes his business. He’s slept with half of his department and a lot of his clients.”

You almost forget who the hell he is talking about until you remember (of course!) Mark. “Damn,” you scoff. “Well, thank you for the save…not that I was planning on sleeping with him or anything. He’s not my type.” You immediately flush, hot with shame and embarrassment. You shouldn’t have said any of that. ‘Fuck that champagne,’ you think.

However, Nanami silently chuckles to himself, finding it funny. But still, you beat yourself up. At least until you get to your floor. Nanami and Higuruma share an office space, their offices separated by a door where one can easily enter one room and exit the other. Nanami’s office consists of tan furniture, a plush couch where you often do your work, and his book collection while Higuruma’s office is all dark colors, polished Mahogany wood, and a mini bar. Some things they do share though are private bathrooms, personal thermostats, and a beautiful view of the skyline.

You walk down the hallway to the office with Nanami and enter his, finding Higuruma already there. “Took you two long enough,” he grumbles. Nanami’s office is dark, only lit by the full moon coating the floor in silver and illuminating Higuruma’s manly, handsome features.

Suddenly, your heart begins to pound. “S-So where’s the schedule?” you stammer. Nanami shuts the door behind you and walks up to stand beside Higuruma. “There is no schedule,” he confesses. “Sorry to bring you up here so randomly, but we didn’t want to do this in front of everyone.”

You scowl, confused. “Do what?” you ask, looking between them. The two give each other a look before Higuruma provides you with an envelope from under his suit jacket. “To give you this.”

You stare at the envelope, even more confused. Tentatively, you take it and look at them, unsure. “Open it,” Higuruma silently says with his eyes. Swallowing hard, you take a millisecond to mentally prepare yourself for what will be in the envelope and tear it open like you would a bandaid.

A folded letter flutters to your feet and you pick it up to read it. “On behalf of [the firm] and the departments of business and financial law, we would like to offer you a full time position as a legal assistant in the spring of 2025. Signed…” Your eyes grow big at the signatures. “Kento Nanami and Hiyomi Higuruma,” you exhale.

The two handsome men standing before you smile while you’re busy trying to resist the urge to pinch yourself. You have to be dreaming! You’ve gotta be! “Y-You’re offering me a job?” you softly ask. Higuruma smirks. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

Nanami nudges his partner in the arm. “We’ve noticed the work you’ve been putting in for us all these twelve months. Don’t think your hard work went unappreciated, Y/N. You’ve helped us a lot, even without us telling you, and for that, this is what we have to offer.” His gaze is soft, intimate. “This is just to get your foot in the door. Of course, you don’t have to stay forever and we’ll help you study for the BAR if you want to take it.”

Higuruma doesn’t add on, but he doesn’t have to. He, too, gazes down at you like everything Nanami is saying is true. You look down at the letter and then back up at them. “I….I don’t know what to say.” Higuruma’s smirk widens. “Say you’ll take the job.”

Finally, you break into a humongous smile and you jump up and down. “Yes!” you squeal. “Yes, yes, I’ll take it! Thank you both so much!” You go to toss yourself at them for a hug, but you make one misstep and nearly trip. You gasp, trying to find your footing.

Quickly, Nanami hooks his arm around your midsection, securing you in his arms. “Careful!” he exclaims, catching you. “That would’ve been nasty.” You should just tell him thank you and leave the comfort of his arms. You should just take the L now and leave before things get bad.

But you don’t. You make the mistake of staring up into his inviting eyes and soft, pink lips. His eyes gaze down to your mouth, his pupils dilating as if he sees something he likes…wants even. He leans down and so do you, and suddenly your lips are on his as you stand in the comfort of his embrace.

The kiss is short and gentle, but it’s sweet enough to steal your breath away. It is a kiss fit for a Disney movie ending. But just as soon as it happens, it ends and you both pull away, stunned. “Whoa,” he exhales.

Yes, whoa. Whoa, that was the best kiss you’ve ever had. Whoa, you just kissed your boss. Immediately, you jump back as if burned and over your mouth. “Oh, God,” you gasp. “I-I’m so sorry. I…oh, God.” You begin to shake, your eyes welling with tears. Regret and shame instantly fill you.

Higuruma steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. Nanami tries to come near you too, his gaze soft. “Y/N,” he softly says. You quickly side-step him and step away from Higuruma’s touch. “I have to go,” you sob. “I can’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.” You begin to panic, dropping the job acceptance letter in the process. You don’t try to pick it up.

“Wait, Y/N,” Nanami pleads. “Stay. It’s okay.” He walks toward you like you’re a wounded animal, gingerly and slowly. “No, it’s not!” you whimper. “I can’t believe I did this! I’m gonna ruin everything now! I-I—“

A hand grasps yours and pulls you close into his big, warm body. “Sweetheart, calm down,” Nanami soothingly says. “It’s okay.” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. There, you begin to cry, big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and ruining your makeup. “It’s okay,” Nanami murmurs into your ear.

At the sound of his voice, you look up into his eyes and see that they are hooded and soft. Affectionate. When he leans in again, you don’t pull away. You let him kiss you, slow and deep, your lips moving in perfect tandem with each other. It is almost as if your lips are meant to kiss. Nanami’s big hand cups your face, tilting your head slightly to the side to meld your mouths together, earning a soft moan out of you. His hands slide down to your ass, caressing the bump made underneath your dress from it.

From the back, you feel Higuruma presses himself against you, his big hands sliding across your naked lower back and shoulders. His touch electrifies you. So do his kisses. When he begins to kiss your neck and shoulders, you pull away from Nanami, gasping. “H-Hang on,” you stutter.

He stops, his hands still on you. Questions flare in his hooded, brown eyes. “Tell us what you want, Y/N,” he says, his voice strained. “Tell us to stop and we swear to God, we’ll stop.” Nanami pauses too, slight pants leaving his lips. You want to apologize, to tell them that this isn’t right or proper or appropriate to do. This is so, so wrong.

But as you stand here in the dark sandwiched between your bosses, you’ve also never felt more right. “Keep going,” you softly beg. The lawyers descend upon you immediately, kissing, touching, and grinding their hips into you. You feel their hardened cocks press against your groin and your ass, giving you a taste of how you’re making them feel…and have made them feel for months now.

“We wanted this for so long,” Higuruma whispers into your neck. “You have no fuckin’ idea, Y/N.” His thick lips press down your spine, peppering your skin in wet kisses. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to pull your ass aside and do this to you.”

“So many times,” Nanami growls, his hands sliding up to your hips to indulge in them. “You make it so hard to control myself, darling.” You’re feeling the last of your self-control slipping, the pleasure too much to handle. You moan at every touch and kiss, loving that you can feel their defined muscles through their suits.

“Take it off,” you whisper and motion to your dress. The lawyers share a surprised look with each other that quickly melts into lust and need. “You tell us if you want us to stop, you understand?” Higuruma sternly asks. You nod, but that isn’t enough. “Words,” he states. “Give me your words. Speak up.”

Your nipples harden at his firm tone, loving how he puts you so effortlessly in your place. “Yes, sir,” you reply, the words feeling so natural to you. Higuruma sharply inhales, greatly affected by this. He quickly snatches one string out of the perfectly-tied knot at your neck, loosening your dress in one single act. The front slips off of you, revealing your hardened brown nipples and ass only covered by a black thong.

“Shit,” Nanami exhales while Higuruma chuckles. “So that’s why that ass looked so good tonight,” he murmurs, taking a handful of it for himself. “You should be forbidden from wearin’ dresses and pencil skirts around us, y’know. You make it very hard to concentrate on much.”

One of his big hands glides down your asscheeks to slide between your inner thighs. “But you know that, don’t you?” he whispers. His thick fingers slide against the wet cloth of your thong while Nanami feasts on your tits, molding and massaging them while his lips coat your nipples in saliva. “Oh, fuck,” you moan, tilting your head back at their ministrations.

“Naughty little thing,” Higuruma tuts, still rubbing you. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You must’ve needed this from us, hm?” He presses his fingers up, rubbing your clit in circular motions. Your moans grow louder, leading Nanami to capture them with his mouth.

“You need to quiet down, baby,” Higuruma says, humored. “You’ll have the entire party comin’ up to see why our good little intern is makin’ so much noise.” Nanami pulls away to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I bet she wants that,” he whispers. “Bet she wants everyone to know what she’s doing to us.”

“I’m sure they do,” Higuruma chuckles. “This ain’t the first time we’ve walked around the office hard as rocks for her.” He rubs you a little harder, making you bite your lip at the sensations. Jealous, Nanami glares at his partner. “That’s enough, Hiromi,” he growls. “You need to share. You’re not the only one here.”

Higuruma glares back, but allows the blonde to take over. You watch with shaky breath as Nanami slowly kneels down, staring up at you as he does. “I wanna taste you,” he confesses. “I wanna make you feel good. Will you let me?” Delirious from the foreplay, you nod and in an instant, your leg is hiked over his shoulder and he is sloppily French kissing your pussy.

“Now look who’s bein’ fuckin’ greedy,” Higuruma growls, impatient. “I need a taste too. Scoot over.” “We’re both gonna tongue fuck that pussy now,” he whispers. “When you need to cum, you let yourself do it, got it?”

Once again, you gush at the tone of his voice, much to Nanami’s enjoyment. “Y-Yes, sir,” you whimper. Then all words cease to exist when Higuruma kneels behind you. For the next couple of minutes, your world is blinded by pleasure as you receive dual cunnilingus from your two bosses. “Oh, shiiiit!” you groan, grasping Nanami’s head and Higuruma’s hand on your hip just to hold onto something.

You feel as if you’re on a rollercoaster, getting pulled this way and that, your stomach fluttering from the bumpy ride and the rush. Your stomach flutters and your heart pounds with every grip of Higuruma’s hands on your ass holding you steady; every lap of Nanami’s tongue against your clit. Higuruma is busy sliding his tongue along your slit, his nose rubbing against your ass…which feels oddly good too!

Everything they do feels good. Your juices and their spit collide, mixing together and making everything way more stimulating and sensitive than normal. You grip Nanami’s blonde hair, pushing him closer to your clit, your breathing coming out in huffs. You can feel that knot in your core tightening the more your lawyers lick, lap, and suck at your sloppy, juicy little pussy, drinking away as if they’re both starving for you.

You don’t realize how loud you are until you hear yourself moaning throughout the empty office. “O-Oh, fuck!” you wail. “I’m gonna cum! You’re gonna make me—“

“Wait,” Higuruma hisses, suddenly shooting a hand up to cover your mouth. He stands up so fast that he scares the shit out of you, almost as if he teleported. “I hear footsteps.” Your heart explodes in your chest and Nanami immediately stops his pussy-eating to listen too.

There, outside in the hallway, you hear footsteps and muffled laughter. Neither one of you moves or even breathes, standing still as statues in the dark. Luckily, the voices and footsteps disappear when a door opens and closes, leaving you in silence once more. Higuruma looks down at Nanami, still shaken but also very horn. “Let’s get her on the desk,” he suggests, his gaze lustful. “She needs somethin’ for that mouth if she won’t shut the fuck up.”

A smile that you’ve never seen before grows on Nanami’s face, his glasses foggy and nearly falling off of his face. Quickly, he stands and scoops you up without a word, wrapping your legs around his waist. You squeak as you’re picked up, your heels dangling from around his hips. He is fast transporting you from the floor to the desk that is luckily free of any files or papers.

Nanami places you on his desk and takes off his glasses before proceeding to duck between your thighs. As he begins lapping at your cunt again, Higuruma comes over to your side, his groin at eye level. Ziiiiip goes his fly and out comes his big, thick, hard cock. Your body and pussy throb at the sight of him.

He stares down at you, lustful and demanding. “Open your mouth for me, baby,” he demands, taking off his suit jacket. “Put those pretty lips on me.” He rapidly begins uncuffing his sleeves and unbuttoning his top, revealing his mouthwateringly broad, hairy chest you want to nuzzle. You do as he says and wrap a hand around him to stroke him as you wrap your lips around his shaft.

Higuruma smiles…and he barely does that, so you must be doing a good job. “That’s it,” he groans. “Such a fuckin’ slut for me.” He wraps a hand in your hair and pulls you closer as he uses his other hand to pull his pants down farther, exposing his firm, plump ass. You become handsy, using one hand to feel up his body and delicious happy trail while you use the other to run your fingers through Nanami’s blonde locks.

You feel like a princess and a slut all at once, receiving the best of both worlds. Finally, that urge to release comes again and you whimper and slobber all over Higuruma’s cock as you get close. “Cum for me, darling,” Nanami groans into your pussy. “Do as you’re told. Cum all over my fuckin’ face right now.”

With a high-pitched squeal, you do, leaking and creaming all over Nanami’s tongue. He greedily laps you up as you write and shake on his desk, much to Higuruma’s enjoyment. He loves watching you ride out your orgasm with his dick in your luscious mouth, but fuck, is he jealous watching Nanami eat you out. “Don’t be greedy, Nanami,” he growls. “Give me some.”

Nanami rises from between your thighs, his hair a mess and his lips coated in you. Higuruma grabs him from the back of his neck and smashes their lips together. Right in front of you. You gape at them, shook and totally confused as they sloppily kiss, swapping spit and your cum between their mouths.

You had no idea they had a “thing” going on, but then again, you wouldn’t think you’d know. Nanami and Higuruma are very private people. But shit, is it hot to see them make out in front of you for only your eyes only.

When they pull away, Higuruma smirks down at you. “Look at this naughty girl gettin’ off to us,” he snorts. “You won’t go tellin’ people about us, right, baby?” You shake your head as best as you can with his cock still sliding in and out of your mouth, making him groan at the vibrations.

Nanami watches, quickly stripping off his jacket and shirt to expose his beautiful muscles and chest pebbled in fine, blonde hair. “I can’t fuckin’ take much more,” he huffs. “I need to fuck you now or I’ll lose my mind.” He begins toying with your tits, massaging one while Higuruma plays with the other. “Tell me you want that too. Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

Higuruma pinches one of your nipples, causing your mouth to open wide on a gasp and his big cock to slip out. “Need you,” you gasp out. “Both of you. I don’t care how! Please just fuck me!” You’ve never been so fucking horny in your life. You feel as if you’ll die if you don’t cum again now.

The two lawyers look at each other, both contemplating how to maneuver this as if you’re a case they can’t quite figure out how to win. “You go first,” Higuruma suggests. “I wanna fuck her throat a little more.” Nanami doesn’t need to be told twice, his eyes molten with lust. “Bend over,” he demands and you do, assuming the position.

The two groan at the sight of your plump ass exposed over Nanami’s desk, your heels still on. They both give your ass an open-palmed smack, making you gasp at the pleasurable sting. “So good at taking orders,” Nanami murmurs in your ear. “I like that. That’s what good girls do.” He gives your cheek a peck before finally, he slides his cock against your pussy and slowly slides himself inside of you.

You both gasp at the sensations, your pussy walls squeezing around him as they become accommodated to his size. He is thick and long, making you feel so full and so stretched. Nanami murmurs sweet nothings in your ear as he coaxes you to rub your clit, making you wetter. Once you’re finally relaxed is when he proceeds to grab your hips and fuck your shit up.

His desk shakes slightly as he pistons into you, his hips slamming into your ass, causing the sound of skin slapping against skin to echo throughout the room. Your moans and cries are loud and clear, possibly audible even to the party. “Fuck!” you loudly moan. “Oh, my God, yes!”

Another cock slaps against your mouth and slides in, not stopping until it is in your throat. “Uh-uh, baby,” Higuruma chuckles. “Too loud. Little slut just can’t help herself, can she, Nanami?” His partner is too busy ramming your cunt to answer, doing his best to hold back his moans and gasps.

Higuruma snorts. “Neither can you, apparently.” Nanami glares at him, silently telling him to fuck off as he presses his front into your back, pushing himself deeper. “Push back on me, darling. Fuck me back.” You do as he orders, tossing your ass back into him and pushing yourself farther onto his wonderful cock. “Good girl!” he moans. “Needed this for so long. Needed you so bad.”

He murmurs and babbles into your shoulder, suckling on it as he pounds into your wet heat over and over again. It doesn’t take you long for you to feel the urge to cum again as Nanami’s balls slap against your needy clit, stimulating you further. “M’cwumming!” you whine around Higuruma’s cock just as that second intense wave washes over you.

“Good girl,” Nanami grunts, holding your shaking body close as your pussy walls grip and stroke him. “Such a good, good girl for me.” He slows his pace but continues to fuck you, edging you and making your orgasm last even longer. Your head feels dizzy and your thighs are slick with cum, but they’re not done yet.

“Let’s switch,” Nanami tells Higuruma. “I need to feel her mouth.” Higuruma looks ready to fuck a hole in a wall with the wild look he has in his eyes. They slowly pull out of you and switch spots, Higuruma now behind you while Nanami is in front. Just as quickly as they switched, they slide back into your holes again.

“Shit, baby,” Higuruma hisses, gripping your hips in his big, calloused hands. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. I can get so deep.” His hand wraps around your throat while Nanami fucks it, groaning at its tightness. “You want it deeper, don’t you?” he teasingly asks. “You want me to fuck this pussy till it cums again?”

“Mmm-hmm!” you desperately whine. Nothing sounds better to you right now. You are drunk off of the pleasure and these two sexy men, needing their cocks and cum like you need air to breathe.

The two begin to fuck you in tandem with each other, one pulling out while the other pushes in, filling up one of your holes. You have never loved being used before, feeling like an office slut for them. Maybe this can be one of your duties—sucking and fucking them when they are stressed at work. Wouldn’t that be so nice? Your body certainly thinks so.

Higuruma’s heavy balls slap against your clit as he pistons into you, making the desk shake. “Fuck, baby!”he grunts. “You’re gonna make me cum soon.” Nanami lets out an agreeable moan, fucking your throat. “M-Me too,” he stammers. “You’re gonna be our good little assistant and take our cum for us, darling?”

Before you can even think about answering or trying to, you hear something. Knock, knock, knock. “Um…Mr. Higuruma?” someone calls outside the door. “Mr. Nanamin, are you in there? It’s Itadori!” Instantly, the two lawyers grow still and anxiety pushes your hormones out the door.

“Shit!” Higuruma hisses. He clears his throat, doing his best to sound like he wasn’t just pumping you full of his cock. “Y-Yes, we’re in here,” he calls. “Do you need something, Itadori?”

Yuji Itadori is by far one of the cutest and sweetest interns in the firm, so you don’t feel too angry about being interrupted. Just extremely sexually frustrated. “One of the lawyers sent me up here to fetch you,” Itadori explains. “They’re about to start the anniversary speech in about fifteen minutes!”

Slowly, Higuruma and Nanami begin to fuck you again, moving tortuously slow. You can feel yourself growing closer to orgasm and do your best to keep quiet, glad to have something in your mouth. “We’ll be down soon,” Nanami replies. “Thank you, Itadori.”

“You betcha!” Itadori chirps. “Oh, and if you see Y/N, tell her that the cake is out! I saved her a slice!” Then off he goes, his footsteps disappearing down the hall and the ding of the elevator slicing through the silence. Once he’s gone, you all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Now then,” Higuruma growls, “let’s make this little slut cum before we get caught.”

Your bosses make do with the time they have and fill your holes with each vigorous, pounding thrust that makes both your mouth and pussy salivate. The office is filled with the sounds of your hushed moans, creaky desk legs, and the light slapping of skin as Higuruma fucks and fucks and fucks your pussy like a machine.

When he finally feels you squeezing around him, he slides one hand down between you to rub your clit. “Cum for me,” he urges you. “Give it to me, baby. Cum on that dick now.”

Maybe it’s the way he talks you through it or how Nanami sounds fucking your face or the fact that you’re on a time crunch, but the third orgasm quickly crashes down onto you as despite its slow buildup. It is just as tense as the first two, making you whine around Nanami’s cock as your cunt massages and strokes Higuruma off.

“Fuck!” he grunts. “I’m about to cum too. Where you want it, baby? Tell me now before I make the decision for you.”

“O-On me!” you gasp out, still in the throes of your orgasm. “Do it on me! Anywhere you want!”

Quickly, Higuruma pulls his cock, sobbing wet with your cum, out of you while Nanami ruts into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. Their sexy, deep moans and grunts of release fill the air as each hot load of cum coats your ass and your tongue.

You shudder and deliriously giggle as they cum, feeling all of that pleasure and the high from your orgasm collide. As your orgasms pass, you three pant and huff in the darkness, recovering from the activity.

Clearing his throat, Nanami pulls out of your mouth, allowing you to swallow his load. Meanwhile, Higuruma takes some tissues from the desk and sops up his cum up from your ass. Though it is sweet, it is also very, very awkward. ‘Of course, it is, you slut!’ you critically think. ‘You just fucked your fucking bosses!’

Once Higuruma finishes, he tosses the tissues away and steps away to allow you to freely move. You stay laid across the desk, not wanting to look up and see the regret in their eyes. You clear your throat, trying to ease the awkward tension. “Well, that’s one way to celebrate a job offer,” you breathlessly say.

It works. The two lawyers begin to laugh, their deep, rumbling chuckles appealing to your ear. Finally, you look up and find them smiling. “Yes, it is,” Nanami chuckles, eyes and cheeks aglow. “You were amazing, darling.” His pet name and the praise makes your stomach flutter like a school girl’s when she sees her crush.

“Hope you don’t go givin’ that to any other employer in your future,” Higuruma chuckles, his body and forehead glistening in sweat. Your eyes drink in his body, committing his and Nanami’s to memory.

Your stomach flips, glad to see that things aren’t awkward or weird anymore. You move to sit up on Nanami’s desk, facing both of your bosses. “Oh, trust me…I won’t. I doubt I’d have any employers as sexy as you two.” You stare up at them through your lashes, earning two sweet kisses on the lips in response as if they are your boyfriends. Not your bosses.

”The feeling is mutual,” Higuruma sighs. “You have no idea how long we’ve wanted to do that with you.” Nanami hums in response, gently moving a strand of hair behind your ear, but it’s really just an excuse to touch you. Despite the tenderness, you can’t keep denying the pink elephant in the room. “So…what now?” you ask.

The two lawyers stare at you blankly, obviously not quite getting what you mean. Higuruma laughs, already buttoning up his shirt. “Well, if you mean in the present tense, I suggest we all get cleaned up and go back to the party before someone comes lookin’ for us again.”

Nanami pulls his pants up, fastening his belt. You watch, doing your best to swallow that lump in your throat. That isn’t what you meant….but what else could you mean? Surely, you don’t think this can be anything real or official. Friends with benefits or fuck buddies, sure. But actually dating your bosses? Your employers and mentors? That would be a tale for the entire firm to gossip about.

So you hang your tail between your legs and push away your disappointment. “Oh…yes, of course,” you softly say. “We definitely should. Uh…can one of you help me with my dress?”

You stand and turn around for Nanami to help you tie your dress behind your neck. You do the rest, hiding your face from them as it flushes with embarrassment. You don’t want them to see you cry if you do. You can’t tell what you’ll do off of the Brüte champagne. After you finish dressing and checking your hair to make sure it doesn’t look too suspicious, the lawyers first check the hall to see if it’s empty.

Then they lead you down the hall to the elevator. None of you speak. The air is tense again with silence and your shoes clicking across the floor, the gravity of your decision swirling in the air like cigarette smoke. Pungent, heady, and inescapable. You feel regretful of your decision immediately despite how good and right it felt in the moment. You wouldn’t be surprised if Higuruma and Nanami revoked the job offer tomorrow morning.

You press the elevator button and the box luckily comes pretty quick. The lawyers let you in first before moving in behind you. Higuruma presses the button to the lobby and the doors close. Now in close proximity to them again, you’re aware of both men standing on either side of you, facing ahead. You clutch your purse to your stomach, biting your lip to avoid blurting something dumb.

“If you meant “what now” as in what about us, I hope you realize that this isn’t just a fling for us,” Higuruma says, his deep voice filling the tight space. “It can be if you want it to be, but if you’d like this to be more official, I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Your mouth falls agap as you gape at him. He stares back, his eyes intense and unmoving.

“Me either,” Nanami adds. “Excuse my language and call me a selfish motherfucker, but I can’t say the idea of seeing you with another man other than my partner doesn’t tick me off.” His fingers dance across your lower back, giving you shivers. Delicious shivers that only grow as the fact of the matter processes in your mind: this is real now.

Better say this now than never then. You slowly take their hands in both of yours, your heart stuttering. “I’d like that too,” you shyly admit. “But maybe we can keep this on the low for now? Just until I start my new job, at least.”

Ding the elevator goes as you finally arrive to the lobby. Nanami smiles, running his thumb along your knuckles. “If that’s what you want, Ms. L/N,” he teases. “See you after the speech.” Higuruma gives your hand a squeeze before he releases it and fixes his tie just as the doors open onto the lobby.

As you walk out of the elevator, you feel two hands open-palm smack you against your ass. You squeak, hiding your smile as the two lawyers stride away to the stage entrance to the ballroom as if nothing happened.

You take another entrance, walking through the one that cuts into the middle of the ballroom. You immediately find your intern group standing by the stage waiting for the speech to begin and strut over to them, unable to keep your hips from swaying. It is as if your lawyers amped your confidence up to about one hundred.

Yuki turns to you, a slice of cake in her hand. “There you are!” she announces. “Look, Yuji’s cute ass left you some cake! Where the hell have you been?”

You give her a smile and take the plate from her, needing something sweet to end your night off right. “I just got a job offer.”

THE END.

#higuruma x black!reader #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #black coded reader #black writers #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #nanami x black!reader #my works #my one shots

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myokk · 2 days ago

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WIP Tag Game

Thank you for the tag @okeydokeylackey !!!! I LOVED YOUR SNIPPET & everyone should DEFINITELY check out your art/writing (I know I always love seeing it on my dash🥹🫶)

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you’re currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

***DISCLAIMER THESE ARE ALL TYPED UP STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND UNEDITED BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH***

Oneshot:

A beetle slowly makes its way across Sebastian Sallow’s desk.

The classroom is silent - save for the scratching of quills furiously calculating the Arithmatic probability of who will be the next Minister and the quiet murmur of his professor as she helps Hobhouse (how did he even get into the N.E.W.T. level?) - and Sebastian is going absolutely mad.

He counts how many seconds it takes for the beetle to reach his abandoned quill (fifteen). But, when it takes its seventh step after making it over the quill (an auspicious sign), Sebastian slams his hand down on top of it.

The loud noise echoes through the silent classroom and Sebastian hears her snickering coming from behind him as the whole class turns to see what has happened. His ears turn red, he wishes he could jinx her somehow, and yet he is terribly curious to see what she has sent him this time. Sebastian hopes that everyone has gone back to their equations and stops staring at him, because now that it’s in his hands, his fingers are itching to open it. His hands eagerly - shamefully eager, if you ask him - unravel the note he’s crumpled up in his hands - almost a shame that he destroyed the beetle, it was one of her better creations - and Sebastian soon curses his haste.

His ears would be an even deeper shade of red were his blood not currently draining to a different part of his body. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he continues reading the note, his eyes flying across the tiny note once, twice, three times before he crumples it up and adds it to the graveyard of the other notes she has been sending him all day. The words fuck my soaking cunt flash up at him and he adjusts his schoolbag so that if anyone walks past and looks into it, they won’t suspect a thing.

You see, this has been going on all day. Sebastian knew that when his seventh year started, it was going to the culmination of their academic rivalry, but he never expected this. That witch has made taunting him her personal vendetta, and it’s working.

Sebastian can’t get her out of his mind.

FIC - CHAPTER 25: (honestly I might delete this scene or save it for later)

She wanted him to hate her.

Hatred wasn’t what she saw in his eyes now, though.

Almost as if she were watching herself from afar, not in control of her body, Eloise came to a stop in front of Sebastian and looked down at him. The green light was highlighting his face and he looked ethereal, otherworldly. She watched her hand reach out and touch his cheek - hesitant, unsure - and when he didn’t jerk his head away as she expected - as she deserved - she moved to sit down next to him in the tiny space. Her knees bumped into his just like their noses bumped against each other as she moved her face towards his. Still, he didn’t move away.

She felt his warm breath fan across her lips. Maybe they stayed like that, lips not-quite-touching, for an eternity; maybe it was only a second. Eloise was only aware of Sebastian’s intoxicating presence, of the way his breath hitched when she finally bridged the gap between them, of the way her heart surrendered itself to him. This kiss was nothing like what they had shared before. It was hesitant, soft, sweet. His hands came up to her face, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss.

Eloise didn’t know what had gotten into her - she was supposed to be avoiding Sebastian, hating him, and yet she couldn’t pull herself out of his embrace. She was melting into his touch, his thumbs brushing themselves down her cheeks, her neck, fingers going through her hair, over and over as if to reassure himself of her presence, his lips moving languidly against hers. Eloise sighed into his mouth, almost-smiling but not-quite: she was nervous, as complicit as he was in this kiss, maybe even more, considering she had been the one to reach out first. But then -

Sebastian pulled away from her, puzzled, his hands moving back to cup Eloise’s face. He was saying something, rough thumbs gently brushing away the thick tears rolling down her cheeks. When had she started crying?

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @holdmymallowsweet @writing-intheundercroft @morelikeravenbore @sav-less @gothic-lottie @kay9leo @celestial--sapphic @libellule-ao3 @anomalyaly AND ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO IT IM SERIOUS !!!!!!!!! I CAN NEVER THINK OF WHO TO TAG & I WOULD LOVE TO SEE LITTLE EXCERPTS OF YOUR WRITING🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

#I literally just zone out and blab and then later on I have to edit it and wrestle these words into making sense😭😭😭#but here a tiny bit of what I’ve been working on lately💓💓💓#maybe it’s interesting maybe not😆#& I don’t talk with many writers on here so if you want to do it seriously🥰🥰🥰 consider yourself tagged #i also want to make the oneshot kind of math themed bc a) I have a math degree and b) it’s arithmancy class duh #but I’ll just abandon that whole thought soon😆#hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy

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jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 3 days ago

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Crazy in Love

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Doyle!reader

Warnings: guns, Ian Doyle, faking death, cussing, psycho lesbians.

"She's alive?" I asked the tears falling faster than I could register "Hey" there she was, standing with a sheepish smile "You're fucking with me, fuck you all" I stormed past her. I had mourned her, my wife who I had buried, her mother not in attendance and all this time Hotch and JJ knew?

I grabbed my purse from under my desk angrily, I should've been happy to have my wife home if only I didn't have to go through everything I had done in my grief. Our apartment hadn't felt the same since she left now to find out she didn't die at all. I wanted to burn everything in my path, the only people I trusted lied to me and consoled me- they held me in the hospital through everything.

The drive home was short and silent. The apartment hadn't truly been cleaned; her things were laid where she left them last, just in case she came back for them. This wasn't the first time Emily had lied about something either, this was just the worst one in the years we had been together.

Later that day Emily returned home "Baby?" her voice made my knees weak but I still stood waiting for her "You lied. You lied and you lied and you lied and I, the fucking idiot that I am believed you. Well, guess what? I'm not that person anymore. I will pull this trigger, and I will kill you.''

My hands shook as I held her gun. The grief made me manic. "No, you won't, baby; you love me." She held her hands out as she stepped closer. "I will, Emily. I've worked enough cases to know how to get away with it, too." Emily stood still. We both had a deep history—a story full of lies back when her hair was lighter and her smile a little brighter. Everything was a pile of lies.

Lauren Reynolds and Y/n Doyle.

"Pull the trigger" Emily warned as her feet moved slowly until her chest hit the barrel, the muzzle digging into her skin slightly "Do it Y/n, pull the trigger" she whispered. I closed my eyes as my hands shook again "I hate you" I muttered "I hate you and everything you put me through" I cried softly before I moved to hold the gun more steady.

"I love you, Y/n Y/m/n Prentiss." I felt her lips on my forehead before I opened my eyes again to see her, those dark coffee eyes I loved and missed so much. "I love you too, Emily," I pulled the trigger, making her gasp as I laughed, watching the panic in her eyes as she realised what I had done. I stepped back as she grabbed her chest, moving her fingers around, digging into her flesh almost. "Y/n/n," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"The safety is on, ever pull anything like that ever again and I will pull the fucking trigger no safety to protect you. understand?" I spoke leaning in to kiss her. "You're a psycho bitch" she laughed wrapping her arms around my neck "And yet you walked right to the gun" I chuckled before kissing her.

I met Emily when I had turned nineteen when she was Lauren going after my older brother Ian, trying to take him down and she had until he had come back claiming her from me. He wasn't after me, all these years later and it was still clear she meant more "I don't hate you" I whispered looking at her more tenderly.

"I know" she smiled.

#imagine #wlw #angst #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #lauren reynolds #lauren reynolds x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x oc

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keep-both-eyes-on-trump · 1 day ago

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I want to talk about another post I saw the other day.

It was from a Catholic user and they were describing a time in which they overheard a group of men, democrats presumably, talking about how Christians, and especially Catholics, are evil. They described sinking in their chair and hoping their friend would not call attention to or out them as Republican and Catholic. Described how they've managed, so far, to keep other people outside of close friends from finding out that they're Catholic. Described the hurt and anxiety and fear they felt. It was very poignant, and I'm sure it was a very unsettling experience.

Which is why I didn't reply or reblog and am, instead, writing this.

Because, although I am neither Republican or Catholic, I can recognize myself in that post.

I recognize myself from family Thanksgivings when the topic of politics come up and suddenly nearly thirty people around me are loudly discussing their support for Trump, distaste for Biden, and hatred of Democrats who are all lying, demonic, scum of the earth while I try to hide in a corner and down my wine and hope no one addresses me, the lone college graduate who came back too "liberalized."

I recognize myself from when I was listening to my cousin at my sister's birthday party detail how disgusting and repulsive she found her gay high school principle while my mother, aunts, and other cousins all just nodded thoughtfully and tossed out some form of agreement. The crime this gay principle committed? Having a family photo of him and his husband and their child on his desk. My family doesn't know I'm queer. I, too, remember roaring in my ears and my chest tightening as I sank in my seat and swallowed mouthfuls of water in an attempt to wash away my anxiety.

I've known I'm queer for years and I've kept that from my family.

Because every comment, every remark, every agreement that queer people are disgusting, repulsive, wrong, and sinful echos in my head anytime I think about telling someone.

These experiences? They're not unique. There is a long history of people who have had such experiences all their lives and there is likely to be many more to come.

So, if you've had a moment like this, a moment where you've felt hurt or shamed or frightened because of the words another person used to describe a group that you belong to, I want you to take a moment and be mindful of the words you use to describe others.

The Watcher

#democrat #republican #republican party #democratic party #donald trump #us politics #trump #harris #kamala harris #joe biden #biden #queer #lgbtqia

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daydreamtofiction · 2 days ago

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The Feature XXIII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Ben and Quinn's relationship continues to flourish, but an unexpected encounter threatens to throw a spanner in the works.

Chapter Word Count: 6.3K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

The sun sat low behind the skyline, making the clouds blush, drenching everything in a gleaming golden hue. You sat with your legs crossed under the long table, laptop open in front of you as the conference room slowly filled with people, the murmur of conversation and scent of coffee drifting in with them.

The chair beside you creaked and a hand quickly reached over to mash on your keyboard, forming a line of gibberish across the blank word document. You rolled your eyes, smacking the top of Nick’s hand before turning to him with an unamused glare.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Not like you to be the first one at a meeting.”

“Mm, well I’ve been coming into the office to write. Been here all day,” you replied, sighing as you glanced back to the empty page on the screen. “Can’t focus at home. Too many distractions.”

“Tall, rich, handsome distractions…”

“No,” you said bluntly, though there was a part of you that secretly agreed with him. “I just… If I try to write at home I just end up watching TV or falling asleep or… suddenly realising I haven’t seen my passport in a year and turning the place upside down to look for it.”

“How’s it going?”

“I found it, it was in an old makeup bag in my bathroom cabinet.”

“Not the passport, dick head, the writing.”

“Oh.” You sighed. “Well I had a few edits I needed to do for the gala article, then I wrote a listicle about moisturisers. Thrilling stuff.”

He nodded. “You’re still fuming about your op ed, aren’t you.”

“Yep.”

Julia stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large windows. You watched as she lowered the blinds, shielding the room from the bright evening sun as she began to speak.

“Hello everyone,” she began, her tone cheerful yet commanding. “Thank you all for coming in. Just a quick one today to delegate some coverage pieces.”

You placed your fingers on the keys of your laptop, eyes fixed on her as she moved to the head of the table, Leo McGrath’s advice still ringing in your ears.

“Let’s see,” she said, licking her thumb and flicking through a folder in front of her. “I need someone to cover an exhibition at the London Fashion and Textile museum this Friday-”

“I’ll do it,” you said.

She arched her brow sceptically, before shaking it away and scrawling your name down with her pen. “Okay great. Then we also have a launch party for Roe - some influencer’s new makeup brand apparently-”

“I’ll do that too,” you said.

A few of the other writers glanced at you in confusion, your willingness to volunteer so surprising that they couldn’t help but stare.

“Okay…” said Julia suspiciously. “And Draft’s been invited to a Q&A for-”

“I’ll do it.”

“Quinn, you haven’t even heard what it is yet,” she said, holding back the urge to snap at you.

You heard Nick chuckling quietly to himself. You ignored it and gave a shrug.

“Just… feel like taking on more work, that’s all,” you said.

“Right, well the beauty launch and the Q&A are on the same night,” she replied. “One in Chelsea and one in Mayfair. So are you planning to teleport between them?”

A murmur of reserved laughter rippled around the table.

“Fine, well someone else can do the Q&A,” you said. “Or, y’know, I’ll figure out the teleportation thing.”

Julia rolled her eyes, turning her attention to someone else.

“You’re going to send her into early retirement,” Nick whispered to you.

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m an editorial assistant’s worst nightmare.”

You returned to your desk after the meeting, scrolling through pages of reviews to figure out which moisturiser would take the number one spot on your listicle. It was mind numbing, pointless, filling you with the temptation to find the worst rated cream and give it a glowing write up, just to mess with readers, see how many complaints you could rack up.

Your phone buzzed on the desk. You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the glare of the computer screen before looking down at it, your mood immediately shifting to something less weary.

Are you still in work? It read.

I am, you replied, catching a smile before it spread across your face.

Are you almost done?

I can be done whenever I want. Why?

I’m outside the building.

Your heartbeat quickened, and you grimaced to yourself in embarrassment. Yet still you packed up quickly, shoving everything into your bag and rushing to the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift.

You stepped out onto the street, the air cold as it brushed across your skin, despite the glorious sky. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you glanced up and down the busy street, brow furrowed as you searched for him amongst the sea of pedestrians.

A familiar black car sat idled further up the road, wheels bumped up on the kerb, tinted windows shrouding the driver in darkness. You made your way over to it, peering down as the passenger window lowered, just enough to reveal Ben smiling at you from the driver’s seat.

“What’s this about?” you asked.

“I fly out tomorrow morning, wanted to see you before I go,” he replied.

You felt your cheeks warm as you stepped closer to the car, glancing around at the bustling street. “This was risky of you.”

“Only if you don’t hurry up and get in.”

You slipped into the car and closed the door quickly, throwing your bag into the backseat as he began to drive.

“I didn’t think you were leaving until Wednesday,” you said.

He shook his head. “I got my days mixed up, it’s tomorrow.”

Your lips curled into a pout, like a disappointed child. He glanced over at you and gave a soft laugh, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh.

“You know, there’s still time for you to change your mind and come with me,” he said.

You exhaled a cynical laugh through your nose. “Yeah, I’ll just drop everything to follow you on your press tour.”

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “It would be nice to have you with me. Think about it; fancy hotels, big beds, deep bathtubs, me, completely at your disposal…”

“Hm, tempting. But I have to work. Not all of us can just jet off whenever we feel like it.”

He let out an exaggerated puff of air. “Who needs work? You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.”

“Shut up.” You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “You don’t mean that.”

He chuckled. “I know I don’t. But in all seriousness though, it would be nice to have you with me. You could write on the plane.”

“Stop it,” you laughed. “I’m not coming.”

He pulled into the carpark of a hotel you’d always admired but never been inside. It was breathtaking, a blend of grand architecture and modern details; glass and stone, steel and marble. It was a place celebrities went for drinks or a private brunch without having to worry about mere mortals and prying eyes, a threshold you’d never held the status to cross.

It felt bizarre to walk with him so openly, to stroll through the foyer side by side without fear of being spotted; no flashing cameras, no screaming fans, no nosy reporters. An employee led you into a lift, and you couldn’t help but flash a suspicious glare at Ben as you passed each floor, wondering how long he’d had all of this planned.

You stepped out on the top floor, following behind Ben as he made polite smalltalk with the employee on the way to your room. You found yourself fixing your hair and straightening your clothes as you went, as though the building itself was judging you; offended that you could walk its carpets in a pair of trainers, grace its corridors in some well-worn jeans and an old cardigan.

When Ben opened the door to the suite, you felt your breath still for a moment. It was bigger than your entire flat; bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchenette and large, open living area. Beyond a set of glass doors was a private terrace. You stepped out into the fresh, cool air, taking in the London skyline as it wrapped around the entire balcony.

The terrace was framed with warm, glowing lights and draping greenery, the city like a glittering tapestry as the sun began to disappear below the horizon. A table stood in the centre, a bottle of champagne resting inside an ice bucket beside it.

You turned to Ben. “This is… subtle.”

He smirked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. "You like it."

“Says who?” you teased, brushing past him to lean your elbows on the railing, taking in the view.

He followed, his hands finding your waist and pulling you gently back against him. “Me.”

Your mouth twitched with a smile. “If this is all a ploy to make me say it back…”

“You think I brought you here to trick you into saying you love me?” he asked, his tone soft yet playful, lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t need to hear it, Quinn, I already know you do.”

The words made your stomach flutter, but you refused to let it show. “Bullshit.”

He chuckled, spinning you around to face him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You found yourself staring up at him in awe. He was so confident, so certain. It had been a week since he’d said those words, yet he didn’t seem to care that you still hadn’t said it back; his ego unbruised, like he knew you too well, understood you better than anyone ever had.

Your protest died in your throat when his lips grazed your temple, lingering there as he pressed his body against yours, hands sliding down to your backside.

“This isn’t fair,” you murmured, your fingers dancing over the buttons of his shirt.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, lips trailing down to your cheek, your jaw, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck.

“You. Being so… smug.”

“I’m not smug,” he said, though the glint in his eye contradicted him. “Can’t a man treat his girlfriend to a nice evening without being accused of ulterior motives?”

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “There you go again, saying we’re a couple.”

“Because we are.” His grip on you tightened, his voice deepening. “If I asked you outright, you’d make me beg. And I’m not above begging, but I’d rather save that for… other things.”

You felt yourself growing hot as his lips found yours, forcing yourself to break away to mutter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he countered softly, tilting your chin up with his finger and kissing you again. “If you weren’t mine, you wouldn’t keep coming back to me.”

He deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other gripping the railing behind you. You slid your hands up to his face, feeling yourself melting into him, excitement and anticipation rippling in your core.

For a man who’d been so strict in his abstinence, the past week had completely unravelled him. He was insatiable, his touch lingering even in the most innocent moments, his kisses turning deeper and hungrier with little provocation. He’d taken every opportunity to make up for the time you’d lost, and you’d welcomed it gladly, savouring the ache that would follow you in the aftermath.

He broke away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Dinner will be here soon,” he whispered.

You exhaled a laugh. “You ordered for me?”

“I know what you like.”

You slipped away to one of several bathrooms, taking off your cardigan and zhuzhing your hair until it sat just right. It was easy sometimes to forget who he was; the money he had, the power he wielded, the status he held that didn’t just surpass yours, but eclipsed it altogether. Whenever it hit you, it would make you feel uneasy; the imbalance throwing you off kilter, making you wonder what he saw in you, why a man who had the world at his fingertips would let himself fall for a single grain of sand.

When you returned to the terrace, you found him sitting at the table as a waiter lay out a spread of food in front of him; steaming plates and pretty side dishes, a basket of your favourite bread and the dessert you’d been craving for weeks. The smell drifted through the air towards you, making your stomach rumble, your mouth water with hunger.

You hovered in the doorway as the waiter placed down the last few plates, tucking a tray under his arm when he was done and pushing a large trolley back towards the suite. You stepped aside to let him pass, allowing yourself a moment to take in his face, the name on his badge. Perhaps it was cynical of you to assume he’d go running to the papers, narcissistic even, to think he’d care to.

Ben stood up as you made your way over to him, pulling out your chair for you with a charming smile.

“This looks amazing,” you said as you sat down, admiring the food in front of you.

He kissed the side of your head and returned to his seat. “Champagne?”

“Sure.”

“So,” he began, popping the cork in his fist. “Guess what happened today…”

You narrowed your eyes, cocking your head slightly.

“I am officially divorced,” he said, almost beaming at you as he filled your glass. “I got the final order this afternoon. Decree Absolute. It’s done.”

“Oh wow, congratulations.”

“Congratulations?” he replied, jokingly mocking your voice. “I’m free, Quinn. No more contractual obligations, no more interviews pretending my marriage was anything other than a glorified business transaction. I can finally move forward. With you.”

You stifled a smile, instead tapping your finger against your lips with a contemplative hum. “I don’t know. Now that you’re a single man, the excitement’s sort of gone.“

“Oh is that so?”

“Mhm. I mean, where’s the thrill in sneaking around if it’s not with a married man?”

He smirked, his eyes flitting to your mouth as you took a sip of champagne. “You need the thrill, hm?”

You nodded.

“Well you know what would be thrilling?”

“What?”

“Coming to America with me tomorrow.”

You threw your head back and let out an exaggerated groan, making him chuckle as he began to eat.

“Was worth a try,” he mumbled.

You talked and ate until the sun went down, until the cold puckered the flesh of your bare arms and numbed the tip of your nose. You sat with your legs outstretched beneath the table, resting comfortably between Ben’s as you listened to him speak - not about work, or divorce, or the two of you - but about his family, his childhood, the things that made him happy and the last time he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

In the moments you were reminded of his fame, it was easy to feel starcrossed; like there was an entire ocean between you and no way to common ground. But then the moment would pass, giving way to a warm laugh or a tender touch, and suddenly in that ocean would be an island, where you both resided as equals; your own private paradise.

His hand had found yours across the table, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles as he continued a sweet anecdote about his mother. You’d never been very tactile, finding the hand-holding and arms around shoulders completely embarrassing, the chaste kisses and legs brushing under tables far too soppy. But here you were, chin resting on your fist, the other hand in his, gazing at him as he spoke, without a speck of desire to pull away.

You laughed softly as you watched him bring a glass to his lips, somehow missing his mouth and spilling champagne down his shirt.

“I’m not drunk, I swear,” he laughed, releasing your hand to pick up a napkin and dab at his chest.

“What’s that, like a tenner’s worth of champagne you just spilled?” you teased.

He laughed again, picking up the bottle and looking at it with a hum. “About… forty quid?”

Your smile dropped. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“What?” He shrugged.

“You’re saying we’ve been drinking a £2000 bottle of champagne?”

“I think it’s closer to three,” he said casually.

“Oh my god! Wh- I- Well then how fucking expensive was all of this!?” you gestured to the terrace, the food, the suite beyond the doors. “Jesus this is like the watch fiasco all over again.”

“Which I notice you still haven’t worn…”

You glared at him.

“Quinn, it’s fine,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I wouldn’t spend it if I didn’t want to.”

“But why on earth-”

“Why do you feel like you’re not worth it? Like money spent on you is somehow a waste?”

“Because…” You settled back slightly in your chair, eyes flitting around in thought. “Because it is.”

His smile faded, his eyes creasing at the corners as he gazed across the table at you. “Do you really believe that?”

You shrugged, a defensive edge sharpening your posture. “I do.”

“Well you’re wrong,” he countered bluntly.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued quickly.

“I know this imbalance between us bothers you. I know you’re independent, and you don’t want to feel like I’m trying to buy you or show off or make you feel indebted to me. But that's not what this is." He gestured to your surroundings, the city lights twinkling in the distance. "If anything, this is me showing you that you’re not a waste - not of my money, or my time, or my affection - none of it’s wasted on you.”

His sincerity was disarming, how quickly the evening had gone from joking and banter to complete seriousness. You tried to remain neutral, but your eyes betrayed you with a vulnerable glaze, making his face soften, his hand squeezing yours more firmly.

“You are so deeply rooted in my life now that I don’t see any of this as frivolous,” he said. “I just see it as… being with you. No different than sitting on the couch in front of the TV.”

You sighed.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t think I can get away with denying this is a relationship anymore, can I.”

He laughed. “No. No, you can’t.”

You laughed too, rolling your eyes when you saw a smile creeping across his face.

“This- us-” he said. “It’s far beyond the secrets and the sneaking around and worrying what strangers might say about me in the fucking papers. I’m not saying I’m ready to go dragging you down red carpets with me, but I like to think that you see it… getting there, maybe, one day…”

You drew in a deep, cleansing breath through your nose, trying to soothe the nerves creeping into your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “Whether you say it back or not, it doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, Quinn.”

You gazed across at him for a moment, at the warmth in his expression, the vulnerability in his voice. You swallowed past a lump in your throat. “That’s… unfortunate for you,” you said.

He dropped his head with a deep, throaty chuckle. “I don’t know,” he replied, eyes meeting yours again. “I feel quite fortunate… Most of the time.”

You scoffed, taking a sip of your - extremely expensive - champagne.

He gestured with his head for you to come to him. You stood up and walked around the table, settling in his lap and draping an arm around his shoulders. He held you close with a hand on the small of your back, the other reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face as you leaned down to him, lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss.

“You’re cold,” he whispered, running his hand up and down your bare arm.

“I’m fine,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You stood in the living area, staring up at a painting on the wall, head cocked to one side as you wondered if anyone would notice if you stole it. You shook the thought away as the sound of voices and rattling dishes emerged from the terrace, glancing over your shoulder to see the waiter from earlier wheeling away the remnants of your dinner.

Ben thanked him as he left, shutting the door behind him and sliding the chain lock in place. He spun on his heels to look at you from across the vast suite, though his large strides carried him over to you in moments.

You ran your fingers over the pale yellow stain on his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you wondered if you’d ever tire of his embrace, if he would ever tire of embracing you. You hoped not.

“I have the suite for the night,” he said. “But if you’d rather go home, I can take you. I know you don’t have anything with you so I understand if you wouldn’t want to stay.”

“Hm, my tiny, messy flat or this stunning hotel with you,” you replied, pretending to deliberate with yourself. “What a difficult decision.”

He laughed, kissing you on the cheek before stepping past you.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

“Bed,” he replied simply. “Are you coming?”

“Bed? It’s only half nine…”

He raised an eyebrow as he backed up slowly towards the master bedroom, waiting for the penny to drop.

“Oh,” you finally said.

“Yeah,” he replied, reaching out his hand in a gesture for you to join him.

The car idled quietly on the road outside your flat building, the blue morning sky clear and bright, promising a warm day. You knew you had to leave, to climb out and get ready for work, but every time your hand so much as brushed the door handle, Ben’s lips found yours again.

Your laugh came breathlessly as you finally pulled back, lips blushed and swollen from his endless kisses. “You’re going to miss your flight.”

His smile was lazy and unapologetic as he yielded, dropping his head slightly with a gentle sigh. “Can I call you when I get to my hotel?”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll allow it.”

He leaned in, and you couldn’t help but kiss him again, feeling his smile against your lips.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he muttered, his hand sliding through your hair.

You laughed softly. “I’m sure I’ll manage. I took on a ton of work to keep myself busy.”

He chuckled, but you quickly swallowed the sound with another kiss, leaning into him with more fervour.

His hand dropped to the side of your face, the other firmly gripping your thigh; his touch making your stomach coil, the orgasms he’d given you last night still echoing in your core. So many orgasms you were sure you’d still be reeling for the next few days.

You forced yourself to break away again, shaking away the fluster warming your cheeks. “Okay, you really are going to miss your flight if you don’t go.”

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch lingered, stroking your temple before trailing down to your jaw.

“Last chance,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

You hesitated as you looked at him. There had been no pressure in his voice, no coercion in his expression, only a gentle invitation, and you could see in his eyes that he already knew your answer.

“Not this time,” you said, the corner of your mouth curving into a small smile.

He gave a smile that matched yours, like the subtle shift in your answer hadn’t gone unnoticed. No longer a flat refusal or a guarded deflection, but something warmer, an unspoken ‘someday’.

“Okay,” he said, leaning in for one last kiss. “I’m going to miss you.”

You smiled faintly, your usual sarcasm faltering as you replied. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“Two weeks,” he reassured, though you were uncertain which one of you needed it more. “Just two weeks and I’ll be back.”

“Yeah, for three days,” you countered. “Before you have to go again.”

“Well, we better be sure to make the most of those three days.”

You nodded, finally reaching for your bag and opening the door.

You climbed out and closed it behind you, turning around to lean down and meet his gaze through the open window.

There was a mournfulness to his expression as he looked at you, like it was physically paining him to let you go. And you understood, because you felt it too; already longing for his return before he’d even left.

The back of your tongue felt heavy with the words you’d refused to utter, almost like they belonged there, ready to pour out of you like an impulse, as natural as a ‘goodbye’. But something made you swallow them, forcing them back down your throat with a sad smile.

“Have a safe flight,” you said.

His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving yours. “Bye, darling,” he said, his voice carrying the same forlorn weight as yours.

“Bye.”

You stood on the pavement as he pulled away, watching the car until it disappeared down the street. Only then did you suck in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh. You remained there a moment longer, staring at the quiet, empty road before finally turning to go inside.

You stared up at the distinctive orange building of the London Fashion and Textiles museum, accents of bright blue, vivid yellow and hot pink decorating its exterior. You pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the large poster hanging near the entrance - Ornamented: The Art of Embellishment in Fashion - as a healthy crowd filtered inside.

You meandered leisurely through the opening of the exhibition, taking pictures and scrawling quick notes in your book, the extra weight on your wrist catching you off guard whenever you raised your pen to the paper.

The watch face gleamed beneath the soft lights of the museum, the gold bracelet strap shimmering every time you moved. It had sat safely in its box, tucked away in your underwear drawer since Christmas. Every now and again you would take it out just to look at it, perhaps even put it on, but you would always stow it away soon after, like a child secretly trying on her mother’s expensive clothes.

But you were Ben’s girlfriend now. A fact that made your stomach turn with fear and excitement whenever you thought about it for too long. And as his girlfriend, it somehow felt right to wear a piece of him when he wasn’t with you.

You walked up to a display encased inside a large glass cabinet; an array of intricately beaded flapper dresses from the 1920’s. Time had discoloured some of them, loosened some seams and lost their sparkle. But still, you found yourself almost pressing your nose to the glass, admiring the meticulous patterns and letting your mind wander to the women who might have worn them.

You crouched down to the ground, resting on your haunches to steady your notebook on your knee as you scribbled your thoughts. You were making a note of the designer’s name from a nearby placard when footsteps approached you, heels clicking on the concrete floor and stopping at your side.

“Quinn, isn’t it?”

You glanced up to find Faye Dennehy glaring down at you, her tall stature even more imposing from your hunched position below her. You felt your lungs empty, your heart thumping in a hollow chest as you rose to your feet, blinking at her a few times before snapping out of your stupor.

“Yes, it is. And you’re… Faye, right?” you replied.

It was clear that you both very much knew the other’s name. But if she was going to pretend otherwise, then so were you.

“It’s nice to see you with your clothes on this time,” she said, her light, airy tone masking the sharpness of her words.

She didn’t know you could be mean. Extremely mean. Brutally, mercilessly, remorselessly cruel. She also didn’t know that you were currently pressing your lips together as a courtesy to her, holding back the venom trying to force its way out.

You gave a weak, obviously fake chuckle. “Yeah that was… quite the morning, for all of us.”

She nodded with a wry smile before turning her attention to the dresses. You let your eyes trail the length of her; the long a-line skirt and perfectly tailored blouse, the pointed toe heels and long, bouncy blonde hair. You couldn’t deny how chic she looked. She always looked chic.

Bitch.

You shook the thought away and looked down at your notebook.

“So you’re here for your magazine?” she asked.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead looking back up at her and clearing your throat. “Yep.”

“Mm. Well I’m sure you’ll give the exhibition a glowing review. You seem very good at painting things in a favourable light.”

You smiled. “Ben already told me you didn’t like the feature I wrote about him.”

“Oh he did?” She nodded, peering through the glass at one of the dresses as she spoke. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t like it. It just came across a bit… disingenuous.”

“Disingenuous. Sort of like… PR relationships…”

You noticed the muscles in her neck flex, but she remained calm, returning her gaze to you. “Sort of like that, yeah.”

You closed your notebook and hugged it to your chest before moving towards the next exhibit.

“Is that a Jaeger-LeCoultre?” Faye asked as you stepped around her.

You spun on your heels to look at her, a blank expression on your face.

“The watch,” she said.

“Oh.” You glanced down at your wrist, then back to her. “Yeah, it is.”

She allowed a slight smile, letting out a short, contemptuous hum. “Expensive.”

You feigned a clueless expression, doe-eyed and innocent as you shrugged at her. “Is it? I wouldn’t know, it was a gift.”

“How thoughtful of him,” she replied bluntly, emotionlessly.

“I never said who it was from…”

“Well,” she laughed. “I doubt anyone else you know could afford something like that.”

You found yourself holding back again, biting the inside of your bottom lip until it tasted of iron. “Enjoy the exhibition,” you said, feigning kindness as you gestured around you. “I’m sure this theme’s right up your street. We both know how much you love embellishments.”

You walked away without waiting for a response, blowing out a puff of hot breath and fanning yourself with your book until you reached the next display. On a small platform stood a row of mannequins, each one draped in a stunning jewelled sari. You squinted to read the placard beside them; the history, the significance, the craftsmanship that went into them.

But you were soon disturbed again, letting out a huff before turning to Faye again.

“Are you following me?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“I don’t know what you think you know about my marriage,” she began, speaking quietly, her tone curt. “But when he inevitably gets bored of messing around with you, I hope you have enough integrity to keep it to yourself.”

“I have no intention of ever exposing you, Faye.” You shook your head. “But I’ll be sure to let Ben know you think our relationship is doomed to fail.”

“Relationship,” she giggled.

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Is that what you’re calling it? A relationship?” she scoffed.

“What else would it be?”

“You’re the fun, Quinn. The wild oats he sews before he decides he’s ready to settle down.” She gestured to your watch. “You’re the one he spoils, keeps sweet, flies out to whatever country he’s in because he feels like a quick fuck.”

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, but the words were bitter and torturous. It made the back of your neck tingle, your ears burn, stomach twist.

“And I don’t blame you,” she shrugged. “He’s a celebrity. Who’s going to turn down the opportunity to have a fling with a handsome, charming actor? But what happens when that novelty wears off? When you realise how… wrong for him you are?”

People were passing back and forth around the exhibition, buzzing with conversation, brushing shoulders, gathering at displays and moving on to the next. But the place might as well have been silent, bare, just the two of you in an empty room.

You gave a clipped laugh, though no smile accompanied it. “How on earth would you know if I’m right or wrong for him? You don’t know me.“

“No but I know him,” she countered assuredly. “I know that he wants children, and he wants them soon. That’s one of the main reasons our marriage ended. Are you willing to give him that?”

“Well actually, I’m three months pregnant right now, we’re very excited,” you replied dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “No you’re not.”

“Of course I’m fucking not,” you said quietly, rolling your eyes.

“And when he wants you to be, what then? When he comes to you a year from now and says ‘Quinn, I really want to be a father, and I’m not getting any younger’. Is that going to fill you with excitement, or dread?”

You kept your face expressionless, but your heart was beginning to race, her words travelling right to the place where they stung the most.

“He wants to live equally between here and America, did he tell you that?” she continued. “Are you willing to pack up your whole life and follow him back and forth? Give up your career? Live in houses you have no equity in? Drive around in a nice car you didn’t pay for?”

She straightened her posture, chin raised with indignation. “Quinn the kept woman,” she taunted. “The trophy wife that the media never actually cares to learn the name of because she’s unimportant, insignificant when compared to him.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat, though you couldn’t tell if it was made of sadness or pure rage. But still, you found a way to compose yourself, checking over your shoulders before stepping closer to her.

“I know it must hurt,” you eventually said. “To be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. To be married to him, to convince yourself that ‘maybe with time he’ll see we’re meant to be’.” You lowered your voice, leaning in to speak slowly. “Yet still, after two years, the only time he’d willingly touch you was when there was a camera there to catch it.”

Her face hardened, her eyes never leaving yours.

“And I don’t blame you either, Faye. If I were you, I’d want to hurt the woman he actually loves too.”

She forced a smile, blinking away what seemed to be tears forming in her waterline. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m warning you.”

She turned away, beginning to walk off before stopping and looking back at you.

“I may not have liked what you wrote in that feature,” she said. “But the way you wrote it wasn’t half bad. I just think it’d be a shame, for someone with so much potential to end up known only as the one that came after me.”

You held her gaze until she finally turned around, disappearing into the crowd with a flick of her hair.

You stood there for a moment, frozen, staring down at the spot where Faye had stood. The buzz of the exhibition faded back in, a cacophony of excited voices, camera shutters and footsteps. But it was still muffled, like there was a bubble around you, separating you from the rest of the world. Faye’s words echoed in your mind, breaking through the armour you’d built around yourself and burrowing down to the quietest corners of your soul, the places you didn’t like to visit.

Quinn the kept woman. The one that came after me.

You wondered if she was right, if you could ever be satisfied living a life that always had to bend to the shape of Ben’s. He had never denied the pitfalls of his fame, never sugar coated the demand of his work or hidden his desire for a family, for children. Were you really holding him back from finding someone to share all of that with?

You took a shaky breath, closing your eyes to soothe the itch behind your lids, and with trembling hands, you opened your notebook and forced yourself to carry on to the next display. A collection of gowns embroidered with floral motifs, their petals moulded from delicate beads and sequins that seemed to bloom beneath the soft light. You traced the edges of one with your eyes, jotting down notes with uneven, messy handwriting.

Your watch caught the light again, the gold surface glinting like a mocking wink. You almost wanted to take it off, but instead you fiddled with it for a moment, recentering the face in the middle of your wrist.

By the time you finished your tour of the exhibition, your notebook was full, but you could barely remember anything you’d written in it. You slipped it into your bag, hoisting it over your shoulder as you walked toward the exit and out into the late evening air.

The sun was still shining, but there was a bite to the breeze that made you shudder. You pulled a cardigan from your bag and shrugged it on before taking off down the street towards your car. You pulled your phone from your trouser pocket, looking up Ben’s name, thumb hovering over the call button as you walked. But you never pressed it, unsure what you would even say, where you would start.

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act-nat-ural · 1 day ago

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5+1

Five times Shoyo Hinata thought of confessing his feelings to you and the one time he did.

1. Early in the school year, during practice:

Hinata and Kageyama were desperately working to improve their quick set. They were practicing their timing, making sure everything was perfect. You, one of the team managers, were already busy packing up the equipment and about to help Yachi fold the net.

Hinata was trying to focus, but every time he glanced at you, keeping his mind on volleyball was hard. The way you moved, your laugh, how you always kept everything organized—he couldn't help but admire how effortlessly you balanced everything. There were times he caught himself wishing you were paying more attention to him rather than the volleyball itself. But he never said it aloud.

2. Late-night studying with you:

Hinata was struggling to concentrate on his textbooks. He yawned and rested his head on the desk. You were sitting across from him, helping him out with his studies, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting a warm light on your face.

“Sho, if you want to pass your exams, you’re gonna have to lift your head,” you teased with a smile.

He whined but reluctantly sat up, blinking to stay awake. As he glanced at you, something felt different. It wasn’t just that you were pretty—he had always thought you were. Tonight, though, there was something about the kindness in your smile, the way you didn’t shout at him like his other tutor, and the way you looked at him that made his heart beat faster.

“Is there something on my face?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widened, his face burning. “No!” he stammered, immediately looking down at his notes to avoid eye contact. But his mind kept drifting back to you, and he struggled to focus on the work in front of him.

You chuckled and slid a little closer to him, sitting beside him on the couch. “You don’t have to act all shy, Shoyo. You’re gonna pass, I promise.”

He managed a weak smile, his heart racing. It was one of the times he almost blurted out how much he liked you, but it felt so sudden, and he didn’t have the courage to say it.

3. After the big match:

The team had just won an important match, and the gym was buzzing with excitement. Hinata was practically bouncing with joy, high on adrenaline from the victory. As the players gathered to celebrate, he noticed you at the side, smiling and clapping for the team.

His heart fluttered. He wanted to run up to you, tell you how amazing you were for always supporting them, but the words never quite came out right. He caught your eye and grinned, but the moment passed too quickly. Still, in the back of his mind, he thought about how perfect it would be to confess to you after a big win.

4. Your birthday:

It was your birthday, and the team decided to throw a small surprise celebration after practice. The gym was decorated, and everyone gathered around to sing happy birthday to you. Your face lit up, and Hinata couldn’t help but watch you with a soft smile. There you were, the person he had been thinking about for weeks, standing in front of everyone, glowing with happiness.

He was almost certain that this was the perfect time to tell you how he felt. It was your special day, after all. But when he saw how happy you were with everyone around you, he decided to keep his feelings to himself. He didn’t want to spoil the moment. Instead, he gave you a small, shy birthday wish, his heart pounding in his chest as you thanked him with a warm smile.

5. Going to a movie together:

A few weeks later, you suggested going to see a movie. Hinata eagerly agreed, though he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. This was the first time the two of you would hang out outside of volleyball practice, and he didn’t want to mess it up.

Sitting in the theater, the lights dimmed, and the movie began, but Hinata could barely focus on the screen. Every time you laughed at something, his heart skipped a beat. The way your eyes lit up with excitement, the way you nudged him when something funny happened, made his stomach flip.

He thought, This is it. I want to tell you now. But as the credits rolled and you both stood to leave, he realized he was still too shy. Maybe next time, he thought.

6. Walking home together:

The cool night air surrounded them as they walked home side by side, the silence between them comfortable yet filled with unspoken words. Hinata’s heart pounded in his chest. He had been trying to summon the courage to tell you how he felt for what seemed like forever.

Finally, after a few minutes of walking in silence, he stopped, turning to face you. “(Name),” he started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while.”

You looked at him, your expression soft. "What is it, Shoyo?"

He took a deep breath, his hands fidgeting nervously. "I… I like you. I think I’ve liked you for a while now."

You paused for a moment, looking at him with understanding. Then, with a small, gentle smile, you spoke. "I know."

Hinata froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You… you knew?”

You chuckled softly. "Yeah. I’ve noticed how you act around me. You don’t have to say it, Shoyo. I like you too.”

His heart soared. "Really?"

You nodded, taking a step closer. "Really."

And just like that, all the tension in his chest melted away. The nerves, the fear of rejection—it all vanished. He grinned, his cheeks turning a little red as he realized that, despite everything he had feared, you felt the same way.

For the first time, he felt truly confident in his feelings, and with you beside him, walking home under the starry sky, he knew this was only the beginning.

note: sorry I forgot to post this last night :( my bad. Thanksgiving break is almost here so expect some more posts!

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq x reader #hq #haikyuu x female reader #fem!reader #hq drabble #hinata shoyo #hinata shoyuo #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shouyou #hinata shōyō #shoyo x reader

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shinne55 · 1 day ago

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**Silent Confession**

Victor Grantz x Reader

Summary: Victor receives an anonymous letter on Valentine's Day.

Words in a conversation come and go: lies that hurt and secrets between paragraphs. Speaking in person is too complex. That’s why Victor took this job—nothing can escape in a letter. There are no hidden meanings; everything can be said from the depth of the heart. So, as a postman, he has the faithful task of delivering each letter to its destination.

It’s an honest and satisfying job. Happy, sad, bitter, or innocent faces hide behind every writer and their recipient. For the young man who didn’t speak, a letter is the purest and most sincere thing, more than an entire face-to-face conversation.

During the holidays, when the letters fill the mailbox, the busier he gets and the less time he has. Christmas, New Year, and birthdays follow, but above all, Valentine’s Day. A complicated date for a small postman, but highly appreciated by those who wish to find love. Knowing that within each envelope there is a destiny in motion made his young heart flutter.

Even though Victor had worked in his community for several months, he didn’t know the people by their names but by their letters.

The mother who writes with beautiful handwriting, pressing the pencil firmly as she writes to her husband and children away from the city.

The little ones who presumably write to Santa with scribbles and drawings.

And the lovers with their colored papers and perfumes.

On Valentine’s Day, the latter group increases noticeably.

During one of those nights, when he arrived home with his companion, Wick, a small dog that follows him everywhere, changed out of his uniform, and got ready to sleep, right after hanging his jacket and emptying his bag, a letter fell to the floor. Immediately, his eyes widened, and he looked inside his bag. It was the only letter that had slipped in the entire day, stuck with a cheap seal on the wall. A small square letter in a vermilion envelope with no name or address.

His eyebrows furrowed, and, determined to violate the author’s privacy, he opened the letter.

**To the postman

Thank you for your hard work**

No sender, no signature. An anonymous letter.

Was that it? A letter for him?

A thank you that would seem crude and silly to anyone else, but to the young mailman, a true feeling of recognition struck his chest, and immediately his cheeks turned peachy with happiness.

That night, he lay on his bed, thinking about the author. Whether it was a joke or not, he didn’t care. It moved him enough to appreciate the message. He slept with the letter open on his nightstand, and in the following days, when he returned home tired from work, he would look at that letter on his desk, under the bedside light. And his chest swelled with confidence.

The next of many letters came two weeks later. Same paper, same handwriting, and no sender.

**Dear postman

I don’t know if my letter really reached you. But I truly hope it did. Thank you for your service, without you, the community would have no real connection.**

The boy could feel the interaction as a small comfort or recognition, making him feel that his effort and dedication didn’t go unnoticed. If only he had their name, he would write them a thank-you letter. Sadly, many of these letters were taken from the mailbox. And very few were delivered directly to him.

Victor is, among many of the postman in his town, just another worker, and he didn’t have much speaking ability. He relied on listening and reading lost letters and pleasant conversations. Even so, he didn’t go unnoticed by some. Over time, he earned the trust of the older writers and neighbors who had the habit of writing almost daily and waiting for his response. So, thanks to that first letter, perhaps, Victor gained more confidence.

A couple of months later, with a one-sided connection on his part, and after several failed attempts to identify the address of the sender, he gave up and settled on reading them when he left work. A routine of preparing a cold glass of milk on the small table next to his bed, taking a couple of sips while reading these letters, which over time became longer. With little everyday things like the weather, funny town events, and annual celebrations. Until, weeks before Christmas, the last letter arrived.

**To the Dear Postman Victor**

He smiled. After several months, they had finally used his name in the letter, and that one-sided connection became more intimate. Sometimes it started with, *"My favorite postman,"* or a formal, *"Dear Victor."* All very polite until the author began recounting their day-to-day life. He knew much more about her life than his own. Everything except her name.

Calmly, with his dog snoring at the foot of the bed, he continued reading:

**"I’m sorry for sending these strange letters for so long. The truth is, I just wanted someone to talk to."**

Victor stopped reading and straightened his back against the headboard of the bed:

**"My mother passed away months ago, and my father three years ago. I’ve felt so alone, but the idea that someone would read one of these letters, and that it would be you, brings me comfort. But it’s also likely that I scared you or someone else. I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again."**

No more letters arrived.

Was something happening to her during these months when she didn’t write? Was she feeling lonely and planning to do something drastic?

For many days, he was afraid. He knew loneliness and what it did to people firsthand. But it felt far worse knowing he couldn’t do anything to help her change her mind.

He waited a day, then a week, but that vermilion-colored paper, with those homemade seals, didn’t appear in any mailbox in the city. Victor was the only one responsible for collecting letters in that area, so it didn’t make sense for them not to show up.

“Are you looking for someone who lost her mother this year?” an old woman from the bakery he regularly visited asked. “Hmm, there’s a girl, yes. She hasn’t been seen lately. She usually comes to shop during the week. On Tuesdays, I think.”

*During the week—that’s when my shift begins, and I pick up the letters,* Victor thought.

Despite being reserved, the concern on his face and his written manner prompted the woman to share more details.

**[Who is she?]**

It was good he had his notebook on hand to communicate. Even though his hand trembled, and his writing was messy, the woman understood what he wanted to ask.

**[YN]**

**[Where does she live?]** he wrote quickly. Wrapped in his winter uniform and a scarf, he hid his nervousness with the cold.

“On Central Avenue, four blocks down.”

He grabbed his pencil again and wrote:

**[Do you know if she has any relatives or friends in the city?]**

The question puzzled the woman, and she hesitated to answer.

“You look like a good boy. You remind me of my grandson. No, she lives alone as far as I know. You know, he wasn't a... very good man. The poor girl has been accompanying her mother in mourning ever since. ”

Victor was already running, fast, faster than when he tried to deliver late packages or when chasing Wick for stealing his parcels.

He abandoned his usual calm demeanor and ran toward the address the woman had mentioned, clinging to hope. And there it was—a small house with a well-kept garden separating Victor from her. It was winter now, and a layer of snow covered everything in pristine white—the streets, rivers, and even her garden.

*Should I do this?* He didn’t know her in person, but after ten months of letters, he felt like he had known her his whole life.

Even so, he knocked gently, not brave enough to ring the doorbell further ahead.

Although she might not feel the same. Although she might think she was bothering him, Victor waited for her letter every day. He wanted to know about her life, every little detail. He wanted to hear her laugh, cry, and see her in person.

And even if they had never met before—

“Hello?”

He wanted to be by her side.

What words could he offer? What could he say when he had never spoken to her before?

“Victor?”

As he stood there, sweating, lungs and brain on the verge of collapsing, he stopped and saw her—you—for the first time. Just as he had imagined and more. His words couldn’t describe the wave of emotions he felt seeing you there, safe.

You were surprised it was him. He didn’t know your name or your address. That’s why you never included it. You had overthought it, assuming it would be awkward—and it was.

When Victor extended his arms with several letters in hand and a determined expression, your face shifted to concern and embarrassment.

“So, you read them all. I’m sorry.”

Quickly, he held the letters tightly to his chest, and his expression seemed to tell you not to apologize. Victor leaned down, his gaze full of tenderness, more so than Wick’s by his side. Somehow, the way his eyes reminded you of summer leaves and his hair of sunlight made you feel undeserving of something so good.

“You don’t know anything about me, you only know me through those silly letters.”

He shook his head, his eyebrows raising in protest. *Silly? Not at all.* When you saw him take out his notebook and scribble something with a pencil, you were puzzled to read it.

**[I know the girl who loves iced coffee at night, who loves animals as much as I love Wick.]**

“Please, go. You’re not doing any good staying here.”

You were about to turn and shut the door when Wick bit at the fabric of your pants. You tried shaking him off, only for Victor to grab your wrist.

His mouth trembled, his lips pressing together before forming anything more than a murmur. It felt cruel to turn your back on someone who, despite his disability, was trying to help you.

“I… like you.”

No one had ever heard him speak. People assumed he couldn’t. He spoke clumsily when it came to you, but he spoke. His voice, breathless yet soft, like cream in coffee, melted your heart to hear it.

“No! It’s impossible. No one could love me. You’re lying.”

Why wouldn’t anyone love you? Who had made you believe that? If someone thought they could never be loved that way, Victor assumed it would have been him—not someone like you.

He searched his pockets, his gaze panicking until Wick barked and placed an envelope on the ground. Victor patted his head and handed it to you.

Vermilion—the color of your letters. However, this one had a sender.

**To YN, from Victor.**

**[You opened your heart to me, YN, in a way no one else ever has. And now, I have to give you mine.]**

“Victor…” You clutched the letter.

He gave you a broken smile, encouraging you to read it fully.

**[You will live a long life, YN, watching the sunset every evening. You won’t ever be alone again. I just need one thing.]**

The letter ended there.

“But what is it that you want?”

He pointed to himself. He placed his hands, loosely balled into fists, over his heart, as if hugging something precious. Then, he took your hands and intertwined them over your chest.

“I don’t understand… Why? Aren’t you tired of hearing from me and reading about me?”

He wrote something else in his notebook:

**[I could listen to you my entire life.]**

You didn’t fully understand, but with him, words weren’t necessary.

**[I’ve met many people in my life, but none like you. I found you, YN. I won’t let you go. I love you.]**

You felt foolish. Every emotion you’d suppressed spilled out like crystalline pearls. You couldn’t say anything, but you hugged him like you’d always been searching for him, while he had been waiting for you.

In that moment, Victor knew he had found love in your silence.

#victor grantz x reader #idv postman #idv x reader #identity v x reader #idv x you #identity v

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kristannafever · 1 day ago

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Big Sky Ranch

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: M WC: 1829

In the foothills off of the Rocky Mountains, resides a generational Ranch known to all in the area. Kristoff, a humble hand on that ranch, works hard and enjoys his simple existence. It isn't until a new woman starts at the diner that be begins to acknowledge his loneliness and plans to ask her on a date. When his plans are foiled by a rival group of men, it sets events into motion that plunge Anna and Kristoff into getting to know each other through some very unexpected situations and their relationship blossoms as their lives begin to change.

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A/N: This had been my passion project for over a year, and is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. It is inspired by the ranch setting of Yellowstone and the rural area in which I live.

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Anna had only been working as a waitress at the diner for a week, and she was quickly learning what the biggest perk of the job was.

It was the cowboys.

She’d moved to the small town only a month prior, desperate to get as far away from the city where her sleazy ex-fiancé was. It was the fresh start she needed after wallowing about that cheating asshole for months. Truly dark times they had been.

After finding a basement suite to rent since she wasn’t sure how long she would be there before she moved on again, she got the job at the diner, and was truly starting to enjoy life again. And that was in large part due to the clientele.

The town was surrounded by ranchlands. Large farms spread out in all directions, and the roads were ruled by pick-up trucks and farm equipment. Many times, Anna had gone for a drive to clear her head and she’d come upon some large tractor-thing, and she’d have to squeeze around the slow-moving vehicle in the wrong lane, or wait until it pulled into a pasture. Even so, she never minded too much, because she enjoyed the drives and admiring the lovely scenery against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains.

And every day, rain or shine, groups of men came in for breakfast or lunch. Most of them in the full cowboy outfit; cowboy boots, jeans, roper or plaid shirts, and cowboy hats. And no matter the size or shape of them, they were all ruggedly handsome in their own ways.

And decent! Anna had never met so many decent men. They were all extremely polite and respectful. They held doors and said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘ma’am’, and they always tipped generously even if they only had a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.

Anna truly did love her job, even if was a lot harder work than sitting behind a desk all day like she’d been doing when she worked at that insurance company with her ex.

That asshole could rot in hell.

Now Anna had her eyes open for a cowboy. A lot of them didn’t wear any wedding rings, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t married. She’d asked one of the other waitresses and was told they don’t wear them for safety, not wanting them to get caught in ropes or machinery. And the ones that did wear them, wore those new rubber ones that could break if they got caught in something. It made perfect sense to Anna. Although it certainly made it harder to tell who was and wasn’t attached.

Which was why for the time being she just had her eyes open. She never outwardly hit on any of them for fear of hitting on a taken man. She just hoped that one day, one of them might just ask her out. And until then, she would more than happily take in all the eye candy.

*****

Kristoff yawned as he got out of his truck and stretched out his tired back. Him and Sven got up extra early and treated themselves to breakfast whenever they could, and right now they had a short break before calving season when their days were a little less long.

The air was still chilly with the last of winter’s tenuous hold, and their breath came out in white vapors as they walked through the parking lot. At least the snow was mostly all gone, and while that meant that him and Sven’s work load was going to ramp up, it was hard to argue with the sun shining bright after six brutally long months of snow-covered ground.

As soon as they stepped into the diner, Sven gave him a nudge with his elbow.

“New girl,” he said under his breath, and flicked his head in her direction as they walked to a booth along the front windows.

Kristoff glanced her direction then turned to Sven and gave him a hard stare. Ever since he got engaged, Sven had been trying mercilessly to set Kristoff up with someone and it was starting to get on his nerves. The girl was really cute, sure, he just wasn’t interested. He was too damn set in his ways to be interested.

They sat in their favourite booth, took off their cowboy hats, and set them on the seat beside themselves. Kristoff ran a hand through his hair a few times, shaking out the hat line, and the new waitress came over straight away and set menus on the table.

“Morning, gentlemen.” She smiled brightly. “What can I start you out with today?”

“Coffee, black, and a water,” Kristoff said.

“Same here,” Sven said, “please.”

“Coming right up.” She gave them another bright smile and walked away.

“City girl,” Sven mused.

“Yup.” He’d heard her accent too.

“She don’t have a ring.”

“Sven-”

“Come on, man. You livin’ like that ain’t healthy. All alone in that cabin. You should move back to one of the main houses.”

“You know I don’t like being around people too much.”

“You like being around me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one exception and you know that too.”

“You could make another exception,” Sven flicked his head to the counter where she was pouring them coffee, “for her.”

“If you don’t cut this out, I’m gonna strap you to that nasty old bull out in the east pastures.”

“Ole’ Bruce?” Sven laughed. “That bull don’t got any fight left in him.”

“I beg to differ,” Kristoff stated. It was only a month ago that mean old brute had him scrambling for the fences when he charged Kristoff. And of course, no one had been around to see it and they all told him he was making shit up. That bull had it out for him, Kristoff knew it.

The waitress came back with the drinks and they ordered their usual; the cowboy breakfast. It came with two eggs, three strips of bacon, a pair of sausages, hash browns, beans and two slices of toast. Both him and Sven would eat it all and be starving by noon.

They ate quickly and Kristoff pulled his wallet out of his back pocket since it was his turn to pay. The waitress came back with the bill and a card machine which Kristoff waived off because he always paid with cash. He gave her a pretty nice tip since she’d kept their water and coffee cups full. He hated it when he was halfway through his meal and he had nothing to drink because the cups weren’t topped off.

On the way out, when Sven wasn’t looking, Kristoff glanced in the waitress’s direction. She had her copper hair in braids, and actually, was very attractive. He always had been a sucker for freckles. If he was interested in a relationship, he might ask her out, but he was more than content not having to deal with what came in having that sort of thing.

*****

Anna watched the pair of cowboy’s head back to their big dually in the parking lot. They’d been the best-looking ones yet. Especially that blond with the big nose and the pretty brown eyes. He was very handsome. And built! The guy’s biceps were giving that roper shirt a serious quality control test. She felt a little flustered to suddenly think about what being with a man like that would be like. Her ex had been on the skinnier side and nowhere near as tall. Not to mention never really left her satisfied. She had a feeling that the handsome blond cowboy sure wouldn’t disappoint.

He didn’t really say much, he left her a very nice tip, and he did say thank you when she dropped off their breakfast, even if he didn’t say please when he ordered it. Anna hoped she’d see him again soon and found herself hoping that he was single and looking.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sven suggested breakfast again the next morning and Kristoff damn well knew why. Still, it was hard to argue against a big brekky that he didn’t have to make himself. They drove to the diner and sure enough, the attractive waitress was working.

They sat in the same booth and she came over a moment later with coffees and waters. It impressed him a little that they didn’t have to order, even if was presumptuous of her.

“Same as yesterday, gentlemen?” she asked, after she’d set their drinks on the table.

“You bet,” Sven answered.

“And are we sticking with sunny-side up eggs and rye toast?” Both men nodded. “Perfect. I’ll have that right out to you.”

Kristoff found himself watching her walk away. She sure had a nice smile. Very friendly. Good for getting better tips for sure. And those eyes were something else.

“You should ask her out,” Sven persisted in a hushed voice.

He turned to Sven and scowled. “No.”

“Why not?”

Kristoff shrugged and couldn’t really come up with a good answer.

Sven heaved a big sigh. “You know what, I give up. You’re hopeless.”

Kristoff sneered. “Like you pointed out, she’s a city girl. Only one way a relationship with her is gonna end up, and that’s me being dumped after a week.”

“Maybe if you would just try-”

“That’s enough,” he said, very serious. “I’m not in the mood.”

Sven scoffed. “Fine, whatever.”

Kristoff looked down at his hands and started to dig some dirt out from under his thumbnail. Sven had no idea what he was talking about. Kristoff had always tried. He did his best, even though he was pretty damn clueless about romance. Which seemed to be why none of the ladies he’d gone out with stuck around long. He did try, and it was never enough. It had left him jaded about dating.

Their meals came out quickly and they ate even quicker to get a head start on their day. It was going to be another long one, meaning come Friday night, both of them would be more than eager to blow off some steam at the saloon.

*****

Anna gathered up the tip the other cowboy had left on the table. It was still very decent even if he wasn’t as generous as the blond. Neither of the men seemed like they were looking for a date, so Anna gave up on thinking that either of them were single. Like most of them, they were probably taken, leaving Anna wondered what she had to do to bag herself a cowboy.

Another waitress had been talking about going to a saloon by the highway at the edge of town on Friday evening for some dancing and asked Anna if she wanted to tag along too. She accepted, giddy at the chance that perhaps she might have her opportunity there to get herself a date, even if she was warned that the crowd could get pretty rowdy.

Next Chapter

#Big Sky Ranch #Cee wrote this mess #kristanna #kristoff #anna #kristanna modern au #I am not going to list all the trigger warnings #this fic is novel length and there are too many to put on here #as always read at your own risk #i 1000% wrote this for myself and decided to share #if you read it I really hope you enjoy

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hahnshands · 1 day ago

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~ trouble ~

agathario college roommate AU stories

context: Agatha Harkness is an outgoing, people person who fits into every room steps into and every group she talks to, on the other hand her roommate Rio Vidal, could not think of anything worse than being that kind of person, she would much rather focus on her artwork as she is studying art but having Agatha as a roommate is proving to me a little more challenging than she first thought when Rio notices herself drawing a very familiar face…

pairings: agatha x rio extrovert!agatha x introvert!rio popular!agatha x artist!rio

Authors note: i’ll be updating this every now and then :)

The second Agatha Harkness walked into their shared dorm room on move-in day, Rio Vidal knew she was in trouble. Trouble because Agatha exuded the kind of cool confidence that made people want to orbit her. Trouble because Rio, the self-proclaimed queen of her own quiet solitude, the tortured artist, knew she needs to pass this year to graduate and it didn’t look like she was going to have a distraction free dorm room.

It didn’t help that Agatha’s side of the room was already immaculate—her bed made with precise folds, her books alphabetized, and a lavender-scented diffuser softly puffing away on her desk. Meanwhile, Rio had a half-unpacked suitcase on her bed and an open box of paints that she’d immediately forgotten about the second she found her sketchbook.

Agatha was eyeing the chaos on Rio’s side of the room with a bemused smile, “You’re one of those people”

“And you’re one of those,” Rio had shot back, waving a paint-streaked hand at the perfectly arranged lavender diffuser.

Agatha just laughed, brushing her sleek dark hair over her shoulder. “Stick with me, Vidal. You might learn something.”

A month into the semester, Rio was beginning to suspect Agatha had some kind of secret powers. There was no other explanation for how she managed to ace every class, charm every professor, and still find time to breeze into their room at night with perfectly styled hair and some wild story about how she’d ‘influenced’ the coffee shop barista into giving her a free latte.

“All I did was ask politely,” Agatha said one evening, lounging on her bed and flipping through a novel that Rio was certain she wasn’t actually reading.

“Sure,” Rio replied, smirking as she bent over her sketchbook. “You ‘politely’ hypnotized them into thinking you deserved it.”

Agatha quirked an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of witch.”

“Hey, if the pointy hat fits…”

Agatha’s laugh was low and throaty, the kind that sent a weird little shiver up Rio’s spine. She ignored it, focusing instead on the sketch taking shape on the page.

“Are you ever going to show me what you’re drawing?” Agatha asked after a pause, her tone light but curious.

“Nope,” Rio replied without looking up.

“Oh, come on,” Agatha said, leaning over the edge of her bed. “I’ll bet it’s brilliant. Is it me? You’ve been staring at me an awful lot lately.”

Rio’s pencil froze mid-stroke. Her brain scrambled for a retort that wouldn’t give her away. “You’re flattering yourself, Harkness.”

Agatha slid off her bed, crossing the room with that effortless confidence she always carried. Before Rio could protest, Agatha plopped down beside her on the floor, close enough that Rio could smell the faint lavender clinging to her sweater.

“Let me see,” Agatha said, her voice soft but insistent.

“No,” Rio replied, clutching the sketchbook to her chest like a lifeline.

Agatha tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually. I always figure things out, my love.”

Later that night, long after Agatha had fallen asleep, Rio sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the sketch. It wasn’t finished, but the likeness was unmistakable—Agatha, with her sharp features and sly smile, caught mid-laugh.

Rio sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Trouble,” she muttered to herself.

PART 2

If Rio thought living with Agatha was going to get easier, she was delusional.

Further into the semester, Agatha’s relentless teasing had become as regular as Rio’s late-night sketching sessions. Every time Rio thought she’d found a way to ignore her, Agatha would up the ante—stealing glances at her sketchbook, throwing dramatic compliments her way, or offering entirely unsolicited critiques of her work.

“You know,” Agatha said one afternoon, sprawled on Rio’s bed like it was her own, “I’m starting to think all this brooding over your art is just an excuse to stare at me.”

Rio looked up from her canvas, her charcoal smudged fingers poised mid-stroke. “I’m sorry, what?”

Agatha propped her head on her hand, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder like she’d walked out of some impossibly chic fashion shoot. “You’re always hunched over that thing when I’m in the room. I’m beginning to think I’m your muse.”

Rio rolled her eyes, but her heart betrayed her by racing just a little too fast. “Don’t flatter yourself, Harkness.”

“Why not? You seem to do enough of that for me,” Agatha replied, her grin sharp and smug.

Rio muttered something under her breath and turned back to her drawing. The charcoal on the page was starting to smudge—Agatha’s sharp jawline softening at the edges—but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The truth was, Agatha had become a fixation for her. Not that she would ever admit it. Agatha’s confidence was already insufferable enough; the last thing she needed was for her to know she was the source of half Rio’s sketchbook.

“Come on, let me see,” Agatha said, swinging her legs off the bed and landing lightly on her feet.

“No,” Rio said automatically, shifting her body to block the canvas.

Agatha moved closer, her lavender perfume wrapping around Rio like a net. “Why not? Afraid I’ll fall in love with your depiction of me?”

“I’m afraid your ego will implode and take out half the campus.” Rio shot back

Agatha laughed, her voice low and throaty, and leaned over Rio’s shoulder. Her proximity was maddening—close enough that Rio could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “You’re blushing, my love.”

“Am not,” Rio lied, hunching lower over her drawing.

Agatha reached out and gently tugged on the end of Rio’s ponytail. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. You know that?”

Rio dropped her charcoal with a frustrated sigh. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m having this much fun,” Agatha replied, grinning. She perched on the edge of Rio’s chair, her knee brushing against Rio’s thigh.

Rio glared at her, though it lacked any real heat. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re still blushing,” Agatha teased, tilting her head as if studying Rio’s expression. “What’s the real reason you won’t let me see your art?”

For once, Agatha’s voice wasn’t mocking. The curiosity in her tone was genuine, and it caught Rio off guard.

“I just…” Rio faltered, her gaze dropping to the half-finished sketch. “It’s not ready.”

Agatha’s expression softened, though the playful glint in her eyes remained. “You’re such a perfectionist, Vidal. I’ll bet it’s stunning already.”

Rio hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the canvas. There was a part of her—a small, reckless part—that wanted to let Agatha see. That wanted to watch her reaction, to hear what she’d say about the way Rio had captured her in charcoal. But that same part also knew how vulnerable it would make her feel. And Agatha had a way of making vulnerability feel like a game she was destined to lose.

Agatha seemed to sense her hesitation, because she stood and stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll wait. But don’t think I won’t find a way to sneak a look eventually.”

Rio huffed a laugh despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Agatha replied, her voice light but her gaze lingering just a second too long before she turned and flounced back to her bed.

That night, long after Agatha had fallen asleep, Rio sat cross-legged in the center of the room, her sketchbook balanced on her knees. She flipped through the pages, stopping at each drawing of Agatha.

There were so many. Too many. Agatha reading, laughing, gesturing with her hands as she recounted one of her outrageous stories. Each sketch was a fragment of Rio’s growing fascination—a fascination she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully understand. Finally, she stopped on the latest one. Agatha’s face, her smile just shy of wicked, her eyes glinting with something Rio could only describe as dangerous.

Rio picked up her pencil and leaned closer to the page, her hand moving almost of its own accord. She hated to admit it, but Agatha had been right about one thing: she was her muse.

PART 3

Rio had just finished a sketch and was debating whether to call it a night when the door to their dorm swung open. Agatha stumbled in, cheeks flushed, her hair slightly messed as she leaned heavily against the doorframe, a bottle of something amber-coloured dangling precariously from one hand.

“Riooo, my love,” she slurred, her voice thick with alcohol and mischief.

“No,” Rio said, not even looking up from her sketchbook.

Agatha blinked, taken aback by the interruption. She wobbled a little before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her with her foot. “Rude. I haven’t even told you what we’re doing yet.”

“I don’t need to know,” Rio replied. “The answer’s no.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, as if deeply offended. “You’re no fun.”

"Well, some of us want to graduate.” Rio muttered, flipping the page of her sketchbook while refusing to look at her.

Agatha groaned dramatically and flopped onto Rio’s bed, half spilling onto her lap. Her sweater had slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth, freckled skin, and her dark eyes gleamed with something both reckless and knowing. “Come on, Vidal. It’s Friday. There’s a party downstairs. I’ve got alcohol. You need alcohol.”

“I need you to stop throwing yourself onto my bed,” Rio said, attempting to nudge her off. “And go to your bed.”

Agatha ignored her, propping her chin in her hand and looking up at her with a lazy grin. “What’s wrong? Scared you might have fun for once?”

Rio sighed, putting her charcoal down. “I’m scared you’ll get us kicked out of this dorm because you decide to drunkenly yell at the RA again.”

“That happened one time,” Agatha said, rolling her eyes. She tilted her head, letting her hair fall artfully over one shoulder. “Don’t you ever get tired of sitting here with your little pencils, sketching away while the rest of the world is having a good time?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I am tired of watching you do it; I can see you slowly turning into a hermit,” Agatha declared, sitting up and grabbing Rio’s hand. “Up. You’re coming with me.”

Rio started to protest, but Agatha pulled her to her feet with surprising strength for someone so tipsy.

“Agatha—”

“Nope. No excuses,” Agatha said, cutting her off. Her grin widened as she tugged Rio toward the door. “Atta girl, You’re not hiding in this room all night, my love. I won’t allow it.”

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived, the dorm basement vibrating with music and packed with bodies. Strings of cheap fairy lights flickered over the crowd, and the smell of beer and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air.

Agatha weaved through the crowd like she owned the place, still clutching Rio’s hand. She stole two red cups from a nearby table, handing one into Rio’s hand. “Drink. Loosen up.”

Rio grimaced at the cup. “I don’t even know what’s in this.”

“Exactly!” Agatha said, already halfway through her own drink.

Rio took a tentative sip and immediately winced. It was sugary and strong—the kind of mix that promised a headache in the morning.

“God, that’s terrible.” she muttered.

“Terrible but effective,” Agatha said, stepping closer. Her voice dropped to a teasing murmur. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t handle it.”

Rio narrowed her eyes. “I can handle it just fine.”

“Prove it,” Agatha said, raising her cup in a mock toast.

Rio huffed but downed the drink, the alcohol buzzing warmly in her chest as Agatha watched with an infuriatingly smug grin.

A few drinks later, Rio found herself on the edge of the dance floor, swaying awkwardly as Agatha pulled her closer.

“Relax, Vidal,” Agatha said, her hands on Rio’s shoulders, her voice thick with amusement and drink. “It’s just dancing.”

“I don’t dance,” Rio muttered.

Agatha laughed, her breath warm against Rio’s ear. “You’re doing it right now, darling.”

Rio rolled her eyes, but her heart was racing. The alcohol made everything feel fuzzier—lighter—but Agatha’s proximity made her feel like she was on fire.

“See?” Agatha said, her hands sliding down to Rio’s waist as they moved to the music. “You’re not bad at this.”

“That’s just you,” Rio managed, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

Agatha grinned, leaning in closer. Her dark eyes sparkled under the dim lights, and the scent of her lavender perfume mixed with the alcohol on her breath. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” Rio said, her cheeks blazing.

“Liar,” Agatha whispered, her lips barely brushing Rio’s ear.

Rio swallowed hard, her mind spinning. Agatha’s teasing was relentless—the way her hands lingered on her waist, the way her voice dipped into something almost intimate.

“Do you always stare this much?” Agatha asked, her grin turning sly. “Or is it just me?”

“I’m not—”

“Well… You are.” Agatha interrupted, her voice soft but insistent.

Rio’s hands fidgeted at her sides. The alcohol was making her bolder, but she still felt out of her depth—her first time this close to another woman, to someone like Agatha, who radiated confidence even when drunk.

“I…” Rio started, but her voice trailed off.

Agatha tilted her head, studying her with a faint smirk. “What, Vidal? Cat got your tongue?”

Rio couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed her.

It was clumsy and unsure, a burst of confidence fuelled by frustration and alcohol. Agatha froze for a fraction of a second, and Rio immediately panicked, starting to pull back.

But then Agatha’s hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed her back. This time it was deliberate, confident, with that same teasing edge Agatha brought to everything.

When they broke apart, Rio’s face was on fire. "I—uh—I didn’t mean—”

Agatha laughed softly, her forehead resting against Rio’s. “Relax, Vidal. It’s not the end of the world.”

Rio groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Oh, believe it,” Agatha said, smirking as she tugged Rio’s hands away from her face. Her expression softened—just slightly—and her voice dropped. “For the record, not bad.”

Rio blinked, her heart still racing. “Really?”

Agatha chuckled, stepping back and taking Rio’s hand again. “Come on, let’s get out of here before you combust.”

They left the party together, the cool night air hitting them like a splash of water. As they stumbled back to their dorm, Agatha glanced over at Rio with a smile that was almost genuine. “Not bad at all,” she murmured.

By the time they reached their dorm, the buzz was wearing off, replaced by a different kind of dizziness. Agatha let go of Rio’s hand to fumble for her key, her smirk still firmly in place.

“Stop hovering,” Agatha teased, shooting Rio a sideways glance as she finally unlocked the door.

“I’m not hovering,” Rio muttered, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and refusing to meet Agatha’s gaze.

“Sure, darling,” Agatha said, stepping inside and flicking on the light. She turned, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes raking over Rio with a dangerous kind of amusement. “You’re very convincing.”

Rio froze in the doorway, every nerve in her body on high alert. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Agatha asked innocently, tilting her head.

“Like you’re—” Rio faltered, the words catching in her throat.

“Like I’m about to kiss you again?” Agatha finished for her, her voice low and teasing. She took a slow step forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Or are you planning to surprise me again?”

Rio’s cheeks burnt, and she stammered, "I wasn't—"

Agatha’s laugh was soft but rich, and this time it lacked some of its usual edge. “Relax, Vidal. You’re so wound up. It’s kind of adorable.”

Rio crossed her arms, trying desperately to regain her composure. “You- You can’t just say stuff like that and act like it doesn’t mean anything.”

Agatha’s smirk faltered—just barely, but Rio caught it. For a moment, the tension between them hung heavy in the air, charged and uncertain. Then Agatha sighed, stepping back and flopping onto her bed.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” she said, her tone quieter but still playful. She glanced at Rio, her expression unreadable. “Or maybe it does. What do you think?”

Rio hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. The weight of the night—the drinks, the dancing, the kiss—pressed down on her. She didn’t know what to think, let alone what to say.

Agatha seemed to sense her turmoil because she rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. Her smirk returned, softer this time. “Don’t overthink it, Vidal. You’re cute when you’re awkward, but you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Rio let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you kissed me,” Agatha countered, her grin widening.

Rio groaned, covering her face with her hands as she mumbled, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Agatha said, her voice warm with laughter.

For a moment, silence settled over them, broken only by the hum of the desk lamp and the faint sounds of music still drifting up from the party downstairs. Rio finally dropped her hands, glancing at Agatha, who was watching her with that same maddeningly unreadable expression.

“Goodnight, Harkness,” Rio said, retreating to her bed and pulling the blanket over herself in one swift motion.

Agatha chuckled, leaning back against her pillows. “Goodnight, Vidal.”

As Rio closed her eyes, she could still feel the ghost of Agatha’s lips on hers, the scent of lavender lingering in the air. She told herself she’d deal with it tomorrow and figure out what it all meant, or maybe pretend it hadn’t happened at all, but deep down, she knew Agatha wouldn’t let her forget.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x rio #agathario #rio vidal #marvel #oneshot #wlw #lesbian #college au #lgbtq #marvel one shot #agathario one shot #agathario au

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