#World Kitchen is fantastic too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stllmnstr · 2 months ago

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sure thing – part one.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part one word count: 12.9k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I’m SORRY, blonde boxer jungwon because yes I think that does warrant a warning, I had to split this into 2 parts because post block limit got me everyone say BOOOOO TUMBLR!!!!!!

note: this is what happens when you watch the no doubt music video and then also listen to too much chase atlantic. ALSO let me duck before the sacred monsters readers start throwing tomatoes at me I PROMISE I am working on part 4 I just... had this idea and it would not leave me alone. but cheers to another fantastic enhypen release (daydream and no doubt are both on repeat for meeeeee) and to my first jungwon fic. enjoy!

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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

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The printer is jammed.

It takes a very exaggerated eye roll and an embarrassing amount of self control to refrain from kicking the damn thing. Besides, you’re pretty sure your previous wording was too kind.

Because a more accurate depiction of the situation would be:

The printer is jammed. Again.

You’re not sure which cruel deity is responsible for the creation of Monday afternoons, but you’re sure they’re laughing at you now. Dressed in business casual and praying against all odds that the clock hanging on the office wall will start ticking a little faster, you almost wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Spare you from your misery

And it’s not like a jammed printer is the end of the world. From a logical, unbiased point of view, you’re sure it’s nothing but a small, easily solvable problem.

But it’s four pm on a Monday afternoon and you’ve had back-to-back meetings since you clocked in at eight this morning. The only real break you had lasted twelve minutes. Most of which were spent dabbing coffee stains from your blouse after Terry from accounting knocked into you in the staff kitchen.

Your head is pounding and your feet are aching and your bladder is overly full and your left bra strap is starting to dig into your shoulder in a way that is entirely too overstimulating.

And you really, really just need this report to print.

After all, your boss made it very clear that you would not be clocking out for the day, no matter what hour of the evening it is, until said document is laid on his desk. Never mind the fact that you weren’t made aware of this demand until a handful of hours ago.

So yeah, the printer jamming – again – does kind of feel like the end of the world.

The screen is still flashing with an angry reminder to fix the paper jam in Tray 2. The instructions are starting to blur a little as you furiously blink away hot tears.

You won’t cry at work. You won’t.

But your exhaustion is catching up with you, and the first thing it usually takes with it is your control over your emotions.

The more you try to will them away, the more insistently they want to escape.

Bent over the printer, you’re in the middle of trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of A4 when the first tear finally does escape. It falls in a thick, wet train down the length of your cheek, settling for a moment at the base of your chin before dripping, a little pathetically, right onto the stack of papers in the printer tray.

Your hands go slack on the sheet you’re warring with.

For a moment, all you can do is sigh. Hang your head and hope some higher power takes pity on you.

Stressed, burnt out, overworked. This was not how you thought you’d be spending your early twenties. But a salary is a salary, and fighting with an inanimate object on the worst day of the week keeps your lights on and your stomach full.

Hunched over, you’re suddenly glad that the printer is kept in a separate room outside of the main office space. That there are no witnesses to your slightly pathetic meltdown.

Save for a few, it’s not like you care all that much about what your coworkers think of you. But the last thing you need to add to this day is a fresh bout of humiliation.

Just one more minute, you tell yourself. One more minute of silence before you pull yourself together and finish dislodging the stupid piece of paper.

It must be at least 4:10 by now, which means you have less than an hour to go. You can do it. You can. You just need one more minute of silen–

“Everything okay?”

The sudden intrusion is so startling that your head jerks up in a subconscious reaction. Only, of course, to be met with the open printer tray you’re currently trying to troubleshoot.

The clunk that echoes through the tiny printer room as your temple comes in direct contact with hard plastic is almost as loud as it is painful.

“Ah,” you wince, hand instinctively flying to the side of your head.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, ____.” You’re not sure if your hesitation comes from embarrassment or the fact that you head is still spinning. Either way, you’re slow to move as you look up at your sudden audience.

Over your shoulder, Yang Jungwon has nothing but apologies written all over his delicate features. Brow pulling into a concerned frown, he’s quick to kneel to your level.

If anyone was going to find you like this, you suppose you’re glad it was him. A recent hire fresh out of university, Jungwon has carved out a quiet kind of reputation for himself in the office.

His presence isn’t commanding, but it is steady. The kind of person that you never see get worked up or angry or even annoyed no matter how many last minute deadlines are assigned or how many printers get jammed when he really needs to use them.

And from what you’ve gathered, he mostly keeps to himself. It’s not from a lack of effort on your coworkers’ behalf. You know firsthand that he’s been invited to multiple post work gatherings and weekend events.

His popularity doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even with his quiet demeanor, he has a striking presence. One that makes you curious, leaves you wanting to know more.

Never mind the fact that he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Still, despite their efforts, you also know that he’s politely declined each and every invitation without ever giving any real explanation.

In all honesty, you’ve always just assumed there was a girlfriend he was eager to run home to.

But even that is nothing more than a mindless assumption. After all, you’ve only had a few interactions with him, and nothing beyond the typical small talk all office workers develop a talent for.

Even now, he makes the simple button down and slacks he’s wearing look like they came right from a runway.

You’re not quite sure why, but it almost makes you want to cry harder.

At the very least, you’re pretty sure you don’t need to worry about rumors of you having a minor meltdown in the printer room spreading through the office. Jungwon might be a hot topic of office gossip, but he’s not one to spread it.

“I am so sorry,” he repeats, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His words are spilling out a bit too fast, blurring into each other around the edges. “I just saw you in here, and I couldn’t tell if you were okay or not, so I wanted to–”

“Jungwon,” you interrupt. There’s no kind way of telling him that his rambling is only making your headache worse. That it’s only making your tears fall faster. Instead, you abet his misplaced guilt. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

A bit shakily, you muster up your most convincing smile. But your smudged mascara, slightly puffy eyelids, and still visible tear track suggest otherwise.

Jungwon’s brow just pulls together a little further. “Are you sure?” He’s unconvinced. Taking a wary glance at the printer tray, he looks back to you with concern in his eyes. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“Really,” you force another weak smile. “I’m sure.”

“Can I at least take a look at it?” Guilt is still written plain as day across his face.

Assuming he’s referring to the printer, you nod before taking one big scooch to the side. Within the confines of this tiny room, it only puts you closer to him.

And it takes less than a second for you to realize your assumption was wrong. Because Jungwon doesn’t reach for that stupid piece of A4 still jammed inside Tray 2 or even the printer tray that just nearly concussed you.

No, instead, his long fingers trek a steady path towards your hand. The one that still rests against your temple. Gently, he pries it away, replacing it with his own careful touch.

You’re all but immobile as gentle fingers press lightly against the side of your face, adjusting it slightly. His fingers are cool, soothing as he turns your injury towards the overhead light.

Pliant in his hands, it’s all you can do to watch as his brow furrows in concentration, eyes scanning over your skin. Taking the skin of your bottom lip between your teeth, you pray he doesn’t notice the sudden heat in your cheeks.

From this angle, with this proximity, you can practically count his eyelashes. They’re long, you notice. Long and wispy where they frame his dark eyes.

“No broken skin,” he finally asserts. You can feel his breath against your skin. It takes nearly all your concentration to suppress the shiver that threatens to trace your spine. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. There’s a bit of swelling, too. Keep an eye on it these next few days, and let me know if it doesn’t go down on its own.”

You’re not exactly sure if Jungwon – quiet, gentle Jungwon – would be the first person you’d go to for first aid advice, but you nod anyway.

And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden urge to cry again. But somewhere between the pain in your head and the soft probing of his fingers against your skin, emotions are starting to bubble beneath your stoic facade.

It’s subtle, barely perceivable, but you can feel your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

Much to your unending humiliation, you’re not the only one who notices.

You’re not sure how he does, but he does.

“Hey,” Jungwon tries. His hand is still on your face. His voice is impossibly soft, and it only makes you want to cry harder. You feel like a skittish kitten he’s trying to lure in from a rainstorm.

His lips part as if he’s going to continue. They fall shut again before he can.

Something in his brow softens. Concern is replaced with empathy.

Hand falling back to his side, he suddenly changes the subject. “You’re in the marketing department, right?”

Lips still trembling, you turn your eyes towards the floor before giving him a small nod.

From this angle, the only thing you see are his shoes. Standard leather work shoes, they’re slightly scuffed where they rest against the carpet.

They still look formal, of course. Nothing that would raise any eyebrows in a professional setting. And from far away, you’re sure they appear pristine.

But from this close, you can make out all sorts of rough edges. Little marks and dents and scuffs that serve as evidence of where he’s been.

“Why don’t you head home for the day,” Jungwon suggests gently from above you. “I’ll let your team and your supervisor know that you’re not feeling well.”

You take a deep breath, do your best to make sure your voice is steady before you respond. Shaking your head, you point out, “It’s almost the end of the day anyway–”

“Exactly,” Jungown nods, kind but firm. “There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Actually,” you grimace, trying not to let the truth inspire another round of tears. “I need the report I was trying to print. I have to turn it in before I leave today.”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re worried that Jungwon will keep offering you too much kindness, so you rush to fill it. “It’s fine, though. I think the paper jam is almost fixed, and I already sent the report to the printer, so I’m sure it will come through in a minute–”

“Perfect,” Jungwon interrupts again. “I’ll take it to your boss, then. Alan, right? I’ve spoken with him before. I’ll also let him know that you went home for the day.”

“Jungwon, you don’t have to–”

“I know.” At the interruption, your eyes snap back to him. There’s an intensity in his eyes when you match his gaze. Something so sincere that it’s hard to look away. Even though you know your eyes are still shiny with tears you wish you’d hidden better. Even if the stress and exhaustion and weariness are probably written plain as day across your features.

“I know,” he repeats. “I want to. Go home and get some rest, okay?”

It’s probably stupid, to agree so easily. But something in his eyes has you believing, even if just for a moment, that everything will be just fine if you do what he suggests. That all of your concerns and worries will work themselves out and you’ll be able to come into the office tomorrow feeling refreshed for once. For the first time in a long time.

So you nod. You let him help you up off the floor and don’t bother hiding your face as you wipe the last of your unshed tears from your eyelashes. It probably only smudges your mascara further, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about that, either.

The printer is still jammed and your report isn’t turned in and you’ll have to walk past your entire team back to your desk to get your things on your way out.

But for this fleeting moment, those worries feel small. Distant. Manageable. Able to be tucked away and saved for later.

You still don’t know much about Jungwon. The only knowledge you have comes from speculation and wishful thinking. But now, more than ever, you really wish you knew something of substance.

But you have no idea how to tell him that. Don’t know if you even should. So instead, you say what you can.

“Thank you, Jungwon.”

For a moment, all he does is smile. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. Makes them sparkle a little brighter.

His voice, like the rest of him, is gentle when he says, “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

Despite the fact that it accounts for roughly eighty percent of your job, you prefer to avoid your email inbox like the plague.

Most days, by the time you do get around to checking it, it’s already jam packed with unreasonable requests and last-minute changes and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors.

When you sit down at your desk on Tuesday morning, you’re extra reluctant. After the printer fiasco yesterday, you’re feeling particularly sensitive to all of the potential bullshit. And you have the distinct feeling that a rather nasty message about leaving the office early unannounced is surely waiting for you.

But the inevitable can only be delayed so long. With a wince and a final swig of coffee, you muster the courage to give the mail icon on your desktop a double click.

The top of your inbox is filled with the usual nonsense. A request for a meeting tomorrow morning on a project idea you’ve had finalized for months. An RSVP form for the optional, but highly encouraged, upcoming staff party. A reminder from your boss that final quarterly reports need to be submitted by Friday at the latest.

A few lines down, though, something out of the ordinary catches your eye. Checking the time stamp, you see that it was sent right as the day started.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Contemplating for a moment, you frown. The first floor of Vesselsoft is no stranger to printer jams. They’re typical occurrences, not major problems to be resolved via email. You didn’t think there was a printer issue to follow up on.

But it’s far more intriguing than anything else on your work account. So, ignoring all of the other messages, you open the email from Jungwon.

Good morning ____,

I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to let you know that the workroom printer jam has been fixed, and your report was delivered safe and sound yesterday evening. I also wanted to check in and see how your head is feeling.

Best,

Jungwon

You reread it. Once. Twice.

It’s a simple message, all things considered. But it has you searching for subtext where there likely isn’t any. If anything, this serves as a confirmation of what you already knew about Jungwon.

He’s kind. Considerate. The type of person that would help you fix a jammed printer and check in on you the next morning. Right when he clocks in.

The type that could probably tell that your head was the least of your concerns yesterday, but still chooses to ask how you’re doing without drawing excess attention to it.

For a moment, you almost wish he would make a habit of attending after hours work events. You have the distinct feeling that sucking up to your superiors would be a little less awful if someone like him was around to do it with you.

From: You

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Good morning Jungwon,

Thank you for resolving that printer issue! And thank you for checking in. My head is feeling much better today.

Thanks again,

____

After a final once over, you press the send button, watching as the animation shows the message flying out from your inbox.

You imagine it flying into his. It’s subconscious, the way you start to picture what his face will look like when he sees it.

You know he’s in the programming department, which is on the same floor as your office. Honestly, you’re a bit surprised you haven't seen him around more.

Will he smile, you wonder. Will he have that same, gentle fondness in his eyes he seems to carry with him everywhere?

You don’t get an answer to that particular question, but you do learn that Jungwon is an incredibly prompt communicator.

It’s barely been ten minutes before your inbox is chiming again.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Sure thing, ___. Glad to hear it.

Jungwon

You can’t hide the small smile that threatens to turn the corners of your lips upward. It’s not like he’s done anything particularly groundbreaking. But even bits of kindness have become a bit of a rarity for you these days.

You can’t think of anyone else in the office that would insist on sending you home thirty minutes early and offer to finish up your work for you. You can’t think of anyone else who would have navigated yesterday’s fiasco with as much gentle care as he did.

You can’t remember the last time someone bothered to consider you. To lighten your load when they noticed you starting to sink under the weight of it.

So you’re smiling. Despite the fact that it’s still a Tuesday morning and you have a long week ahead of you. Despite the fact that you’re still very much locked into a job you mostly despise.

Mentally, you make a note to give some gesture of your gratitude. To do something that will brighten his day a bit, too.

But you don’t know him. Don’t know how he takes his coffee or if he has a favorite brand of ballpoint pen or if he could use an extra favor from someone in the marketing department. All the sorts of things that coworkers do to show a little bit of appreciation.

But the universe, at least in part, seems to be on your side today.

When you head into the staff kitchen for your mid-morning coffee refill, you find it already occupied.

It’s a bit ridiculous, the way you suddenly feel flustered. Have the urge to smooth your hair, fix your blouse.

He has his back turned to you, and it takes you nearly half a minute of contemplation to decide whether or not to say something. In the end, the decision is made for you.

Your phone lights up with an urgent request that you check over the second half of the report you – well, Jungwon – submitted last night.

Sighing, you turn away from the kitchen. Your second cup of coffee, and a conversation with a certain programmer, will just have to wait.

You do, however, notice one last thing before you go. Watching silently, you can’t help but smile a bit as you watch Jungwon add two sugar packets to his mug.

Sweet, you think. Just like him. And now you have at least one bit of information to work with.

After submitting the edits on your report, you decide to use your recently earned knowledge. Deciding that he’s worth the splurge, you open the delivery page of the cafe down the street, the one that’s ridiculously overpriced but undoubtedly makes the best coffee in the area.

And when you order it in his name, a hot coffee with two sugars, you ask the barista to attach a note.

Thank you again for yesterday. I hope this is how you like your coffee!

An hour later, your inbox chimes with another message.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Thank You

You’re too kind, ____. Thank you for the coffee. How did you know just how I like it?

All the best,

Jungwon

If his words make you smile a little too hard, well, you figure no one ever has to know.

The universe, however, would seem to have other plans.

Of everyone in the marketing department, you find your coworker Grace to be the most bearable. A few years older than you, she was by far the most welcoming when you joined the team.

And you have the sneaking suspicion she has just as much disdain for your supervisor as you, even if the two of you have never openly discussed it.

Unfortunately, she does have the fatal flaw of never being able to finish her work day without getting herself involved in someone else’s business. For the most part, you’re spared from her nosiness.

Mostly because your life doesn’t carry the same flair for drama that she loves most. But today, she decides to give it a shot anyway.

Standing behind your office chair, she nearly startles you out of your seat when she asks, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

Closing the email as quickly as you can, you turn to face her.

“No one.” It’s too rushed, too evasive. She sees right through it.

“Mhmm.”

Heat rising in your cheeks, you double down. “No, really.” Scrambling for a lie, your eyes land on one of your desk photos. One that shows your childhood cat, affectionately named Mr. Snuggles by your elementary school self. “I just heard from the vet that my cat is feeling a lot better. I was worried she was really sick.”

It’s a bold faced lie. Mr. Snuggles has been dead since your third year of high school.

“Ah,” Grace says. Her features fall slightly as she realizes she won’t be getting a worthy scoop from you. Realizing that’s probably not an appropriate reaction, she forces a smile. “That’s great! I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you nod, hoping it will mark the end of the conversation.

But Grace isn’t quite ready to let it go. “That does remind me, though. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Uh oh.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?” You’re not sure how a sick cat would remind her of your dating life, but you suppose there are larger mysteries to be solved.

And on second consideration – oh. Is it really that obvious? “No,” the syllable drags as you attempt to tread carefully. “Why?”

Grace shrugs, but the conversation feels more calculated than nonchalant. “I was at my friend’s baby shower a couple of weeks ago, and her younger brother just moved back to the city. He’s been living abroad since high school. He’s around your age and a total catch. I didn’t talk to him much, but he reminded me of you a bit. I think the two of you would get on.”

“Oh,” is all you say. Your uncertainty must be written all over your features, because Grace is quick to continue.

“No pressure, of course. But let me know if you’d like me to pass his number along.”

Do you? It’s been ages since you went on a date. And even longer since you went on a date with someone you’d describe as a total catch.

And apparently, your single-ness is painfully visible to the people around you if Grace was able to pick up on it so easily.

Besides, it might be nice, you think. To have a conversation with someone that isn’t about quarterly reports or upcoming deadlines or jammed printers.

But then your mind wanders to the last conversation you had about a jammed printer. To a set of pretty, dark eyes and a pair of gentle hands.

To a string of email conversations that don’t really mean anything. But you almost wish they did.

It’s messy, you think. Far from ideal. JUngwon might not be in your department, but he still works just down the hall. Inter company relationships aren’t forbidden, but they do carry a certain amount of risk.

Jungwon isn’t petty. He wouldn’t make your life a living hell if things were to end badly. But you might start feeling awkward in the staff kitchen and you might have to start timing your walks to the parking lot so that they don’t coincide with his.

Small adjustments. Minor inconveniences more than anything.

Besides, it’s all conjecture.

You can count the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon on your fingers, and the majority have been channeled through your work email.

It’s hardly romantic.

But even as you try to see things from a detached, logical perspective, one thought keeps swimming back to you.

You think you could talk about jammed printers forever, as long as it was with him.

Sighing, your heart can’t decide if it wants to sink to your stomach or crawl up your throat at the realization.

Turning back to Grace, you just offer her a tight smile. “I’ll let you know.”

…..

In the coming weeks, your coincidental run-ins with Jungwon start to become more and more frequent.

First, it’s the two of you just so happening to need a coffee refill at the same time. When your path cross in the staff kitchen, you raise an eyebrow at the sugar packets he adds to his mug and he shakes his head as you take a long sip of your plain, bitter drink of choice.

Then, it’s the morning in the parking lot when the two of you just so happen to arrive at the same time, pulling into adjacent parking spots. His smile is gentle, albeit a bit sleepy, when he bids you, “Good morning.”

Your heart flutters a bit when you return the sentiment. You do your best to ignore it.

Next, you stumble across him in the staircase on an otherwise quiet afternoon. This time, however, he’s already deep in another conversation. Or, you realize at second glance, trying very hard to wiggle his way out of another conversation.

For all intents and purposes, Jenna from the legal department is a sweet girl. A bit overbearing at times and doesn’t always take well to being told no, but she’s harmless for the most part. Smart and driven and you admit a little glumly, quite pretty.

Even underneath the overhead fluorescents in the stairway, she manages to avoid looking washed out.

They’re already talking by the time you get there, and the only thing you catch is the tail end of their rather one-sided conversation.

“It’s a great place, really,” Jenna insists, smiling a little too brightly. “And the food is to die for. They’re always running really unique specials. I think you’d really like it.”

And you could just turn around and pretend not to have seen anything. You could just take the elevator instead. In fact, you probably should.

But suddenly, it’s as if your shoes have been filled with lead. Feet frozen to the earth, all you can do is watch.

“Oh,” Jungwon reaches for the back of his neck. “Thanks for thinking of me, Jenna, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

“Oh, really?” she pouts. “Is there another night that would work bett–”

“Jungwon!” Your voice is too loud, reverberating off the walls of the stairway in a way that has two pairs of eyes immediately darting towards you. And interrupting had seemed like a good idea a few seconds ago, but now you realize your fatal mistake.

You have no plan. No idea what to say next.

Still, you force a smile. “Just the person I was looking for.”

You don’t think you’re imagining it, the immediate wash of relief that colors Jungwon’s features.

“Hey, ___,” Jenna waves, a bit dejectedly. She doesn’t exactly look pleased to see you, and you can’t really blame her. “Could you give us a minute? I was just in the middle of–”

“Sorry, Jenna,” you shake your head. “This is kind of urgent.”

“Right,” Jungwon nods, looking at you again. “We’d better go then.”

“But I–”

“See you around, Jenna.” You’re tone is too bright as you spin around, making a beeline back towards the door. A flicker of satisfaction warms in your chest when you realize Jungwon is right on your heels.

He waits until the two of you are back in the empty hallway, closed door serving as a barrier between you and Jenna, before he speaks.

Looking at you, he quirks his head to the side. “So, what’s the urgent thing you need help with?”

Oh. Right.

Sighing, you decide honesty, or at least partial honesty, might be your best bet.

“Sorry,” your smile is sheepish, “did I read that wrong? There’s nothing urgent. I just…” you trail off, searching for the words. “It just looked like you might have needed an exit.”

For a moment, he says nothing. The silence gives your mind too much room to spin

Maybe you did read things wrong. Maybe he was enjoying a perfectly pleasant conversation with perfectly pleasant Jenna. Maybe he was looking forward to going to a nice restaurant with her and trying all sorts of unique specials and–

“Thank you.”

“What?”

Jungwon’s eyes soften. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost describe his expression as… fondness. “An exit,” he clarifies. “I did need one. So thank you.”

“Right.” Your voice is suddenly breathless, and you can’t think of a good excuse for it. Feigning a nonchalance you don’t feel, you wave off his gratitude, “Anytime.”

“Careful,” Jungwon warns, but the same hint of teasing, the same glimmer of affection, is still there. “I just might take you up on that.”

“It’s a good thing I meant it, then.”

Jungwon’s features soften into a smile. A small one, meant just for the two of you. Reaching up, he pushes a stray strand of hair from his eyes.

It’s only natural that you follow the movement. His hands are nice, you think. Long, lithe fingers, and–

You frown, eyes zeroing in on the knuckles of his right hand.

Bruises, you realize. Dark, purple bruises span the length of his knuckles. Angry and mottled and from what you can tell, recent.

And so many. You can’t imagine what he could have possibly done to earn them.

Gaze still trained on the injury, your eyes widen. “Are you okay?”

It’s Jungwon’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“Your hand,” you nod at it. “Are those bruises?”

“Oh.” He shrugs, brushes it off like it’s nothing. But his hand falls to his side, obscured from your sight, all the same. “Yeah, I just slipped the other day trying to hang a picture in my apartment. The frame caught me funny when it fell.”

“You… slipped.”

Your disbelief must be apparent, because Jungwon is quick to add, “My hand slipped, really. My phone started ringing, and it caught me off guard.”

“Ouch,” you grimace. “That sounds like it hurt.”

Again, Jungwon shrugs. But his eyes are doing that thing again. Sparkling. “It’s not so bad.”

“Still,” you insist. “You should be more careful.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. It’s just the two of you, alone in a dimly lit hallway. His gaze is trained on yours. The distance between you is respectable, appropriate. Suggests that the two of you are coworkers and nothing more. But you have the distinct feeling that he’s not entirely talking about hanging pictures when he says, “I probably should.”

…..

The next morning, Grace is the first person you see as you walk into the office. And she’s already waiting for you. As soon as you come in, she hands you a coffee with an apologetic smile.

“Uh oh.” You hang your coat, accepting the cup from her hands. It’s not unusual to receive coffee from a coworker, but it usually comes as a form of consolation. “What’s this for?”

“It’s from Alan, actually.”

Your lips flatten. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s not that bad, really.” Grace’s smile is less than convincing. “He just wants us all to get together this Friday night after work at that bar down the street. Y’know, to network.”

You groan internally. There go your plans for a relaxing Friday at home.

“How is it networking if it’s just our team? We see each other every day.”

“That’s the other part,” Grace nods towards the cup in your hand. “Didn’t you notice he pulled out all the stops? That’s from the shop down the road. The one that charges eleven dollars for a small latte.”

“Oh god,” you groan, this time audibly. “What else does he want?”

“We’ve all been strongly encouraged to invite people from different teams around the company.”

You suppress a strong urge to roll your eyes. “Of course we have.”

Privately, you think that if Alan wants to network so bad, he should be responsible for creating the guest list himself. Outwardly, you just sigh.

As if you didn’t have enough on your plate already. Now you need to schmooze some other poor employee into wasting their Friday night talking about work.

Sitting down at your desk, you take a sip of your coffee. It is admittedly delicious. The thought only makes you want to bang your head on your keyboard even more.

The problem of finding a plus one follows you all the way through the afternoon. All the way to the workroom, where you once again stumble into a certain blonde programmer that’s beginning to feel like part of your daily routine.

This time, Jungwon is alone.

He’s frowning at the printer, brow furrowed.

“Don’t tell me it’s jammed.”

When he sees that it’s you, his features immediately soften. He smiles and something tugs at your heart. It’s enough to have you forgetting about Friday night, even if just for a moment.

“No, thankfully. My computer just doesn’t seem to want to connect to this printer.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Send it to me, and I’ll try printing from mine.”

Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just go up to the accounting department and try their printer.”

“Jungwon,” you level him with a look. “You are the last person to be telling me I don’t have to do you a favor. It’s really no problem. Just send it over.”

“Okay,” he finally relents.

Waiting for it to ping through on your end, an idea suddenly strikes you. You’re not sure if it’s a good one or if your judgment is starting to be warped by all of the toner cartridge fumes, but here, in a quiet workroom with nothing but Jungwon and a half-working printer to keep you company, you find a bit of your bravery.

“I know this probably isn’t your idea of a perfect evening,” you start. Your words feel too loud in this tiny space. “But the marketing team is getting together after work for drinks this Friday night. We’re also encouraged to branch outside of our department and invite other company employees, so if you’re free, we’d love to have you.” The more you say, the worse it sounds to your own ears. Why would anyone, much less Jungwon, want to come to a work event for the marketing team. Suddenly embarrassed you even brought it up, you find yourself rambling. “The bar is actually pretty nice. It’s not super fancy or anything, but it has, uh, really great chandeliers. It’s a nice ambience, and–”

“___.” Jungwon interrupts with the sound of your name.

“Yeah?” You’re trying not to sound too hopeful, but you have the distinct feeling that you fail miserably. Despite your hesitance, you realize something.

You want him to say yes.

You want him to give you a different response than he gives everyone else. A different response than he gave Jenna.

You want him to say yes, even though no one wants to go to a work event for the marketing team on a Friday night.

You want him to say yes anyway, because it’s you.

“I’d love to, really.” He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck. “But I’m busy Friday night.”

Short. Succinct. To the point. He doesn’t spare any extra details.

You already knew it was a long shot. But it stings all the same.

You wanted to be the exception to the rule. Someone that would finally get him to say yes. Or at the very least, someone he would bother to give an actual reason for his absence to.

“Oh.” Your voice is smaller than you mean for it to be. “Of course!” And now it’s too loud, too bright. You can’t find the happy medium, can’t find your natural tone. “I’m sure whatever it is will be way more fun, anyway.”

Jungwon just gives you a small smile, not bothering to affirm or refute your assumption. Not deigning to add any more details.

It kind of makes you wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“Well, I should probably get back to my desk.” You don’t know why you’re scrambling for excuses. Jungwon clearly doesn’t feel the need to provide any. “Did everything print okay?” You nod towards the small stack of papers in his hands.

Jungwon is still looking at you. His lips part, as if he wants to say something. Brow creased, it’s as if he’s at war with himself. As if he can’t decide what to say or how to say it.

After a beat, his mouth falls shut again. He gives a minute shake of his head. You watch as his hair sways in time with the movement.

“Yeah,” he tells you. But he still hasn’t bothered to look down at the document between his fingers. “Everything printed fine.”

“Okay.” You nod again. “Good.” Your voice sounds hollow in your ears. “Well, I’ll see you around, then.”

I’ll see you around?

It takes all of your willpower not to cringe outwardly. It’s the most awkward, stilted thing you could have possibly said, but you’re not sure how else to fill the stifling silence.

“Of course,” Jungwon nods. “Have a good day, ____.” The worst part is that he looks like he genuinely means it. “And enjoy your Friday night.”

“Right.” Your smile is feeble, doesn’t reach your eyes. “You too.”

You’re so caught up in your own humiliation that you don’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes either. “Sure thing.”

…..

Changing your clothes in the last stall of the office bathroom kind of feels like a new low for you. But by the time Friday evening comes around, the last thing you want to do is attend a mandatory – scratch that, highly encouraged – work event at a bar still wearing your blazer and slacks.

The jeans and sweater you replace them with are still nice by any standard, but they’ll feel a bit less stifling after a handful of drinks.

Grace, at least, seems to have the same idea. Deciding she’s by far the most bearable person of the evening, you slide down next to her in the booth.

Of course, that thought only makes you think of another person you’d invited. Someone whose absence feels especially notable as you nurse the remnants of your first cocktail.

You don’t really want to get drunk tonight. You don’t want to be here at all.

You put in your forty hours of work this week, and the only place you want to be is at home in a pair of sweatpants.

The only person that would have made it a little more worth it made it very clear that he had better things to do. The details of which, of course, he didn’t bother to share.

The thought spurs you to take another long sip.

You don’t want to get drunk. But you don’t want to think about him either.

Besides, Grace doesn’t seem to share your reservations.

It’s barely been forty minutes when she pulls out her phone, thoroughly tipsy, and decides that you are the best person to help her sort through her list of matches on her favorite dating app.

“He’s cute, right?” She flashes her phone screen towards you.

He is. You nod and tell her as much.

His eyes might not sparkle very much. And his hair might not fall perfectly over his forehead. And he might not furrow his eyebrow in concentration whenever the printer in the workroom gives him a hard time –

No.

Tonight is not about him. He made it very clear that he had no interest in being here tonight, and the last thing you’re going to do is spend the evening fixated on him.

Grace, at least, seems willing to help on that front.

“Oh,” she suddenly interjects from your side. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to show you a picture of my friend’s brother. You know, the one I mentioned a couple of weeks ago?”

It’s a bad idea, probably. You’re still feeling slighted and bitter and no matter how many times you tell it not to, your mind keeps wandering to Jungwon.

Despite your reluctance, the cocktails are catching up with you. There’s a pleasant, slightly numb haze in your mind. It makes resistance feel futile.

All you do is nod, and Grace starts searching for his social media profile. It takes her a few more tries than it would sober, but she does eventually find it.

“Here,” she says, offering her phone to you. “His name is Jay. He grew up here until he left to go to an international high school. He’s been living abroad ever since, but he recently moved back. Their dad is pretty high up at a software development company. I think he came back because he landed a job there too.”

You do your best to absorb the information, to nod along with what she says, but in all honesty, you’re quite distracted.

Jay is quite distracting. His feed is well-curated without being overbearing. Covered in travel photos, unbelievably flattering candid shots, and stunning nature pictures, he immediately piques your interest.

Not to mention the fact that he’s stunning. Maybe not quite as stunning as –

No. Again, you refuse to go there.

You’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the photos or the spite that makes it suddenly feel like a good idea, but you’re telling Grace to pass your number along to Jay before you can think better of it.

And if nothing else, at least he doesn’t seem like the kind of person that will make you wonder. Or even wait for long.

You’ve barely gotten home, mind mostly clear even if it is still a bit muddled from the exhaustion of a long week, when your phone screen lights up with a notification.

It’s just a string of numbers for now, but you’re quick to create a new contact.

Hey, the message reads. This is Jay. Grace gave me your number. I hope that’s alright!

A few seconds later, another text comes through.

Jay: How do you feel about art exhibitions? There’s one opening this weekend right next to one of the best coffee spots in the city. I’d love for you to join me.

It’s simple. Straightforward. Not something you’ll search for subtext or pick apart for weeks.

And it’s easy to respond to.

You: That sounds great! I’ll look forward to it

…..

Another week at work passes with the same monotonous, sluggish flow as any other. But this time, it’s interspersed with messages you’ve started to look forward to.

You’ve just sat down with your third cup of coffee on Monday morning when the first one chimes through.

Jay: Good morning, ___. I hope your Monday is off to a better start than mine.

A second message comes through. This one is an image. One that unmistakably shows a stack of papers covered in a dark brown stain you recognize all too well.

You: Oh no!

Pausing for a moment, your teeth worry at your bottom lip. Deciding to go for it, you send your own picture in return.

The image of your full coffee cup goes through, along with another message.

You: I think it might be. My coffee is still in my cup, at least

It takes him less than a minute to respond.

Jay: Black coffee! Oh, you mean business. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I always have to add sugar and cream to mine.

You can’t help the smile that starts to spread over your lips. Sugar and cream. An aversion to bitterness. It reminds you of someone else that always adds a little sweetness to their –

Shaking your head, you force the comparison away. Putting the other man firmly out of mind, you decide to return Jay’s lighthearted message with one of your own.

You: Don’t tell anyone, but this is my third cup of the morning.

Jay: Third cup of straight black coffee. Whew, remind me not to get on your bad side today.

Jay: Speaking of which, do you always drink it black or could you be persuaded into something a little sweeter?

He’s talking about coffee, yes, but it feels just a little bit like flirting. Biting at your lip again, you decide there isn’t much to lose.

Besides, it’s kind of… fun. You can’t remember the last time you were well and truly flirted with.

You: Depends who’s asking

Jay: Hmm

Jay: I’ll have to work on my persuasion skills then

Jay: The place I’m taking you to on Saturday has an insanely delicious caramel latte, and I need to know what you think of it

You: Tempting

You: But I’m not sure I’m convinced

Jay: I’ll work on that, then

You can’t hide your smile this time.

A minute later, two more texts ping through.

Jay: Duty calls, unfortunately

Jay: The rest of my Monday is stacked, so if I am slow to respond to any messages, that’s why. Enjoy the rest of your day, ___

He’s straightforward. Communicative. You appreciate the notice. The fact that if you do send another message without a response, you won’t have to waste your day wondering why.

You: Ugh, don’t you hate it when you actually have to work at work?

You: I hope all goes well! Enjoy the rest of your day too, Jay

Setting your phone down, you return your gaze to your computer screen and unfortunately very full inbox.

Your focus, however, remains half-occupied by a message thread sitting dormant on your tucked away phone.

…..

Jay’s messages begin to become a highlight of your work day. Despite the fact that there’s often a large lapse in time due to both of your busy schedules, you start to anticipate every text he manages to send.

And they only serve to build more excitement around your upcoming date.

By the time Thursday comes around, you’ve all but mentally clocked out for the week. Refilling your water bottle in the staff kitchen, your mind is so occupied that you almost run right into the person coming through the door the same time you’re leaving.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was–”

“___.” The sound of your name stops you in your tracks. “Breathe,” Jungwon is smiling, but there’s a hint of concern there, too. “You’re okay.”

“Jungwon,” you exhale. Your frantic apology begins to subside, replaced by an overwhelming surge of self-consciousness as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You haven’t spoken to him, haven’t even seen him, since he rejected your invitation last Friday.

He’s not trying to pick at old wounds, but it still stings a bit when he asks, “How was Friday?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, “It was a typical work gathering.” Then again, it occurs to you that he might not know. Since he never bothers attending any of them.

Not that it really matters. Besides, you’re lying a bit anyway. Typical work gatherings don’t usually end with you setting up a date. Not that you want Jungwon to know about that either.

You can't pinpoint exactly why, but the thought of him knowing doesn’t sit with you quite right. Besides, it’s not like he’s ever shown any interest in your personal life, anyway. He would find it weird, most likely. Annoying, if you were to divulge any details.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry again that I couldn’t come.” Just like that day in the workroom, he reaches back to scratch at his neck. You have the distinct sense that he’s the one who suddenly feels a bit awkward. “Friday nights are…” he trails off, “Friday nights are hard for me, usually. I’m always pretty free on Saturday mornings, thought, so if–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Oh god. Your intention certainly wasn’t to make him feel guilty for having a social life outside of the office. Suddenly worried that you read the situation all wrong, you’re quick to assure him, “You don’t have to come to anything that you don’t want to. And especially if you have plans already. I just asked you because my supervisor wanted us to invite people from other departments.”

If his face falls slightly, you’re too caught up in your own rambling to notice.

“And, you know,” you continue, “since you helped me that day with the printer.”

“The printer,” he echoes, voice suddenly hollow. “Right.”

“Right,” you echo. The room falls into silence again, and this time, it’s weighted with a horrible awkwardness neither of you can shake.

“Well,” you finally say, holding up your bottle. “I got my water, so I’m gonna head back to my desk.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you around?” It’s just as stilted as it was before, but you’re desperate for any way to exit this conversation.

“Yeah,” Jungwon repeats. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

By the time Saturday morning comes, you’re a mess of anticipation and frayed nerves.

You’re early to arrive at the address of the coffee shop Jay sent you a few nights ago, but he’s already there waiting for you. And his social media might have painted an impressive picture, but one look tells you that it still doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Jay is gorgeous.

Almost as gorgeous as –

You kill the thought as soon as it comes. This day isn’t about him, and comparisons will do you little good.

Instead, you refocus on your date.

He’s polished and put together in an effortless sort of way. The kind of person that you see once in passing and then can’t stop thinking about for the rest of the week. His features are angular, sharp. But they soften into a warm smile the second he lays eyes on you.��

In the end, it doesn’t take him much convincing at all to persuade you to try the caramel latte. And he’s right. It is absolutely delicious.

It was easy to fall into a natural rhythm over text, and your face-to-face conversation flows even better.

He tells you about life abroad and all of his favorite parts of living in another country. He tells you about his family and what he missed most about this city he’s learning to call home again.

He listens, actively, while you tell him the more mundane details of your own life. His questions are well-timed and never feel like interruptions.

His kindness doesn’t feel like a facade. His interest doesn’t feel like a cheap trick to get what he wants from you and then disappear without a word.

And when it becomes painfully apparent at the art exhibition that he’s far more well-versed in the subject than you, he doesn’t make you feel stupid. Instead, he takes his time explaining each piece. Highlights the aspects that would be most interesting to someone without any kind of background in art.

He’s kind, considerate, and the day passes by in a blur of fleeting glances and shy smiles. At the end of it, he offers to drive you home and opens your car door for you. Small gestures that make you feel seen, considered. Valued.

When he says goodbye with a hug that doesn’t last nearly long enough, the smell of his cologne is something you hope will linger as long as the memories of the day do.

It’s easy, you think, as you watch his car drive away from your window. Jay is someone that’s easy to be around, to spend time with.

And when he messages you later that night, reiterating his enjoyment of the day and asking to meet again, he’s easy to say yes to.

…..

You’re not sure how, but the only person that seems even more excited than you about you and Jay is Grace.

Despite the fact that your communication as of late hasn’t involved anything scandalous, she feels the need to rehash every detail until she’s heard it one hundred times.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell her that the last text message he sent you wasn’t anything to swoon over. In fact, it was rather short and unexciting.

Jay: Have you seen my ring by chance? I remember wearing it that day I was in your car, and I haven’t been able to find it since then.

But Grace won’t hear it. You’re not exactly sure what she heard from Jay’s sister, but she spends the rest of the coming week hounding you over the details regardless.

The staff kitchen is hardly the place for conversations about your personal life, but the setting doesn’t seem to bother her at all. Instead, she pretends to be busy washing an already clean coffee mug while she asks again, “So you went out for the first time last Saturday, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“And then you got dinner together Wednesday night after work?”

“Yep.” You’re pretty sure she’s already asked the same question at least six times.

“And he’s planning to take you out again this Saturday?”

“Right.”

“My god, you two are practically married.” She punctuates the absurd claim with a wistful sigh.

“We most certainly are not.”

“Okay, but you literally just met, and you’ve already seen each other twice with plans for a third.”

She does have a point there. Never mind the fact that you haven’t dated anyone in a while. It is a quick timeline, no matter how you look at it. But you’ve been itching to spend time with him ever since your first date, and Jay seems to be on the same page.

It feels fast, yes, but it doesn’t feel forced. For you, that’s what matters most.

That, along with the fact that a certain someone has been noticeably absent from your mind the more time you spend with him. For now, you’ll choose not to read too much into that.

“God,” Grace sighs again. “I miss going on dates.”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you go on one a couple weeks ago?” You distinctly remember helping her set it up that night at the bar after work.

“Well, yeah, but I mean good dates. You know, getting properly wined and dined and all that. I guess I’ll just have to live vicariously through you.”

“We went to dinner once, and there was hardly any wine involved.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. All I’m saying is you’re lucky to be seeing someone that actually puts in effort for your dates and doesn’t just take you to the closest bar to his office and hope that buying you a handful of drinks means he’ll get lucky.” Pausing for a moment, she looks up, eyes landing somewhere just over your shoulder. “Right, Jungwon?”

Immediately, it’s as if you’ve been submerged in ice cold water. Because there’s no way she said–

“Jungwon?” Turning around, you’re put face to face with the last person you wanted to overhear this particular conversation.

“Hey, ___.” There’s a smile on his lips. Small as always, but something feels wrong about it. “Grace,” he nods at the girl over your shoulder. “Sorry,” he’s still looking at her, “were you asking me something?”

“No, we were just leaving, actua–”

Grace pays you no attention. “Just telling ___ how lucky she is that her man actually puts effort into their dates, since it feels like such a rarity these days.”

“He is not my man.” The glare you send your coworker is lost as Jungwon turns back to you, eyes wide, gaze indecipherable.

“You’re dating someone?”

“I…” The easy, most available answer is yes, but you’re having a hard time getting it out. And there are other semantics involved.

Are you dating? Not really. That usually indicates some kind of commitment, exclusivity. Going on dates might be a better way to put it. But clarifying that miniscule distinction for Jungwon feels strange for some reason.

“My friend’s brother,” Grace supplies unhelpfully from the corner. “What can I say? I’m a natural born matchmaker.” Her proud smile is lost on the both of you. You’re only looking at each other.

“Oh.” Jungwon’s voice is small, hollow. “That’s nice. I��m happy for you.”

You want to scream, just a little bit. Or maybe cry. You can’t make up your mind.

And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden, overwhelming surge of guilt that begins to build in your gut. You can’t even decipher who it’s directed towards. Towards Jungwon? Towards Jay? Towards yourself?

Grace, despite her self-proclaimed talent for setting up dates, is apparently incredibly inept at reading the room. With no prompting but her own, she’s pushing forward. “He lived abroad for a while and just moved back to the city, which is like, the perfect scenario for going on dates. And he’s always had a flair for romance. I remember–”

“Well,” you interrupt, desperate for an out, “we better get back to the project we were working on—“

“What project?” Grace, it would seem, is determined to be anything but helpful.

“You know,” you glare at her, “our project.”

“Right!” She looks sheepish, finally catching the hint. “That project.”

Turning back to Jungwon, you can still see the rigidity of his features. The tension that has yet to ease. “I’ll…” you’re not sure how to part ways now without making things worse. But it feels wrong to just leave without saying anything. For the third time in the span of days, you tell him, “I’ll see you around.”

And for the third time, he agrees, “Yeah.” This time, however, his eyes still flickering with annoyance, shoulders still set with residual frustration. “Sure thing, ___.”

It’s what he always says, you realize. But this time, it’s missing that easygoing, genuine lightness he usually says it with.

This time, it sounds like rejection.

Yours or his, you’re not entirely sure.

…..

You manage to avoid Jungwon for the rest of the week. It’s ironic, almost. You were so worried about pursuing a potential relationship with him because you wanted to avoid this exact scenario.

Now, a handful of dates with someone who is very much not him tucked under your belt, you still feel the need to turn and walk the other direction whenever you think you hear his voice or get a glimpse of blonde hair.

But the office is only so big, and there are only so many corners to duck into. Barely a week has passed the next time you unwittingly bump into him.

“Oh,” you startle slightly, walking into the workroom and already finding it occupied. And of course you’d run into him here, of all places. Kneeling in front of the printer, his brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries to dislodge yet another paper jam.

“Sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for exactly, but it feels warranted regardless. “I’ll just leave, and—”

“___,” he cuts you off with the sound of your name. Looking down at him, you're met with the expanse of his back. A button down shirt tucked into dark pants. Standard work attire that has no business looking this ridiculously good on anyone. “You’re fine. You don’t need to leave. Just give me a second, and the printer’s all yours.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. If the lack of a verbal response bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he busies himself with the jammed printer, muscles of his back flexing slightly underneath the fabric of his shirt as he tugs at the stubborn papers.

Cheeks heating slightly, you force your gaze elsewhere.

“There,” he says after another minute of adjustments. Standing to full height, he turns to face you. “All fixed.”

Looking up at him, you’re about to offer a quiet thanks when your eyes land on his right cheekbone. Specifically, the fresh cut that spans the length of it.

The gasp the spills from your lips is entirely without permission. But you can’t quite help it. The wound is quite superficial, surface level at most, but it mars his otherwise perfect skin in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Without your permission, your fingers start to reach towards the injury. They make it halfway before you remember yourself, before you regain your sense of reality. Your hand falls limply back to your side.

“What happened?” You breathe.

Jungwon’s brows draw together in confusion for a moment before a flicker of realization dances across his features.

“Oh.” He exhales, fingers tapping against the broken skin of his cheekbone lightly. “Nothing. I just, er, fell the other day.”

“You fell,” you echo. Like all of his other excuses, it’s vague. Flimsy at best.

“Yeah,” he confirms with a slight nod. Again, he says, “I fell.”

It’s evasive. And it feels like more than just an explanation for his injury.

It feels like confirmation of the distance between the two of you. His final assertion that you’re nothing but a coworker to him. Someone that he tells edited versions of stories to, someone that he keeps firmly planted an arm’s length away.

Fine. If he wants to give you shitty excuses for his Friday nights and his absences at work events and now his injury that very obviously did not come from a fall, that’s just fine with you.

After all, he’s nothing but a coworker to you either. The upcoming date you have planned with Jay is enough to prove it.

“Well,” you tell him, forcing a smile. The fake, disproportionately bright kind that you only ever use with your coworkers. “I hope it heals quickly.”

And then you’re brushing past him, making your way towards the printer as if he’s nothing but an obstacle in your path.

Collecting your freshly printed document, you turn and walk out the door without so much as a backward glance.

…..

Sliding into the passenger seat of Jay’s car Thursday evening, you feel the stress melting from your shoulders the second the door shuts behind you.

This is something else he makes easy: forgetting about whatever woes you managed to acquire after a long day of work. Jay just smiles as you sit down next to him, turning down the volume on the radio as he asks about your day.

Tonight, the two of you are headed to one of your favorite diners. Somewhere where you can chat and laugh and relax over a pile of french fries and obnoxiously gaudy decor.

But before you turn down the street that leads to the restaurant, Jay asks if the two of you can make a quick stop.

“I left my bag at the gym last night,” he explains apologetically. “Do you mind if I swing by and grab it real quick? It’s on our way.”

You reassure him that it’s no problem, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you are parked outside of a rather nondescript, faded building.

Frowning slightly, your eyebrow quirks up in surprise. Although he hasn’t outright disclosed anything, from what you’ve gathered so far, Jay’s family is quite well off. The kind that pays for expensive memberships at bougie gyms with saunas and swimming pools. Not the kind that frequents dark, run down gyms in the middle of a random residential area.

Pulling his key from the ignition, Jay turns to you. “You can wait here, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” You’re already unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’m tired of sitting, anyway.” You really are. Plus, you have to admit that you’re kind of curious.

You fall into step at his side as the two of you make your way towards the building. The closer you get, the more decrepit it appears. Paint is peeling from the exterior, leaving it an odd, mottled brown color riddled with rust marks.

Even the sign, Kang’s Gym, is small, faded, and only visible once you’re nearly to the entrance.

Jay steps in front of you, holding the door open for you to enter.

The inside, you realize as you step in, is in no better shape than the outside. The wall closest to you is lined with weightlifting equipment that looks as if it were pulled from past decades.

Padding is torn in places, and questionable stains cover the place, accumulated from years of use.

You’re about to ask him outright why on earth he patronizes such a run down place when your eyes land on the far wall of the gym. There, you think you find your answer.

There’s no weightlifting equipment or cardio machines. Instead, the majority of available space is filled with several sets of boxing rings. Like the rest of the gym, they’re equally faded and worn with years of use.

But the lighting in that part of the gym is noticeably better. Far brighter, more intentional. As if the rest of the gym is just for show and that is the true purpose of this building.

You’re suddenly overcome with the urge to take a second glance at your date.

He has a lean, athletic build, yes. The kind that you assumed came from some kind of regular exercise regiment and not his office job.

But boxing wasn’t exactly what you expected.

Jay turns to you. His expression gives nothing away, holds no indication that this is anything out of the ordinary for him. “I think I left it over by the locker rooms.”

Encasing your hand in his, he leads you towards the rings. Several of them are occupied, mostly by one-on-one sparring matches.

Walking past the first one, the two men inside the ring turn to look at you and Jay as you pass.

“Hey, man,” the first one offers with a nod of recognition that Jay returns. As his eyes slide over to you, they widen slightly in surprise. Gaze falling to your intertwined hands, the man just shakes his head slightly before returning to his sparring partner.

Moving past them, you shake the odd interaction from your mind.

You spare fleeting glances for the rest of the people you pass. For a moment, you try to imagine Jay in the ring instead of them. It’s an odd contradiction with what you’ve come to associate with him.

Easygoing. Considerate. Even tempered. They’re traits that feel at odds with the kind of stark physicality required in a boxing ring.

Then again, the more you consider it, the more you start to make sense of it. Jay is all of those things, yes, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else.

A quiet intensity he carries with him. Something he has control over. Something he can channel when needed.

The more you think about it, the easier it is to picture him in the ring, throwing precise, calculated punches until victory rests on his square shoulders.

You’d be lying if you said the mental image didn’t pique your interest. You’re about to ask him if he’ll let you watch next time he’s in the ring when a flash of color in the last boxing ring, the one closest to the locker rooms, catches your attention.

It’s unlikely. It feels impossible. Even more so than the thought of Jay in a boxing ring. But as you draw closer, you confirm your suspicions.

After all, you would know that shade of blonde anywhere.

It takes everything in you not to stop dead in your tracks. But even as you continue forward, hand still encased in Jay’s, your eyes are trained solely on the space between Jungwon’s broad shoulders.

It’s almost inhuman, the feline agility that he moves with. He’s smaller than his opponent, but he’s faster. Lighter on his feet.

The punches he throws are dizzyingly accurate, and his sparring partner seems to think the same. A muted thud is followed by a string of expletives that become more clear the closer you get.

“Jesus, Jungwon.” The man across from him is still a bit breathless as he recovers from having the wind knocked out of him. “Bad week at work or something?”

“C’mon, Heeseung.” It doesn’t sound anything like the Jungwon you know. Gone is the quiet friendliness you’ve always heard from him. His voice is still gentle, but it carries an unmistakable command. “Stop going easy.”

“I’m not,” the other man – Heeseung – argues. “What has gotten into you? It’s like you’ve been insane since that match last week.”

“Whatever,” Jungwon scoffs, shaking his head. “Let’s just take five.”

“Make it ten,” Heeseung goads across from him.

Jungwon sends him a warning glare, but says nothing. Instead, he reaches for his water bottle at the corner of the ring, leaning against the ropes that enclose it.

All you can do is watch, suddenly fascinated by the way sweat darkens his hair, trails down the length of his neck. Jungwon gives a quick shake of his head, sending his hair scattering over his forehead as he leans further into the ropes behind him.

Tipping his head back, his throat works against a swallow as he takes a long drink from his water bottle.

Jungwon sets his water bottle down, turning towards Heeseung like he’s about to say something else when movement catches his attention.

More specifically, your movement. His eyes fall on you, and for a moment, you’re rendered just as immobile as him. His gaze widens in recognition and then suddenly, he’s standing.

Long strides eat up the length of the boxing ring as he crosses it, every step bringing him closer to you. With a distinct sort of grace and practiced ease, he jumps over the side of the ring, landing on his feet just as you and Jay pass him.

With a hand on your shoulder, he stops you both in your tracks. His touch is gentle, but commanding. It leaves little room for argument.

“This is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Jungwon’s eyes are molten lava. If you thought that day in the staff kitchen was the most visible emotion he was capable of mustering, you were sorely mistaken. The Jungwon that stands in front of you now is simmering with it, vibrating with barely contained emotions.

At your side, Jay turns back. With your hand still enclosed in his, Jay’s gaze goes straight towards Jungwon’s hand on your shoulder.

“Jungwon,” he nods coolly.

Jungwon ignores him entirely. His gaze is still trained directly on you.

Glancing between the both of them, the tension between them is palpable. Over Jungwon’s shoulder, you can see Heeseung leaning against the edge of the boxing ring as if he can’t decide whether to intervene or not.

“Well,” you say, attempting to diffuse a bit of the rising animosity, “I guess I don’t need to introduce the two of you, then.”

This time, it’s you that Jungwon ignores. Turning to Jay, he’s all venom. “And you brought her here? What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, man.” Jay rolls his eyes. “We’re just grabbing my bag.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you left here,” he bites. “You know better than to–”

Shaking his hand off your shoulder, annoyance makes itself visible across your features. It’s one thing for Jungwon to be pissy towards your date, but it’s another entirely for him to assume that you can’t handle something as mundane as a boxing gym.

And if you're honest, the whole overprotective act just rubs you the wrong way. Why does he think he gets to ignore you all week at work and then act like he knows what’s in your best interest?

“I think I can handle watching people throw a few punches, Jungwon.” Your voice is all ice, and it changes his demeanor immediately. The anger begins to dissipate, leaving him with wide eyes that beg for your understanding.

The frustration is still there, though. “That’s not what I meant, ___.”

“I don’t really care what you meant.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you want it to be. For now, that’s enough. “Why don’t you go back to your friend and pretend like you never saw me. You’re good at that, right?”

It’s a low blow. And it has his features falling immediately, eyebrows slackening as if you’ve slapped him.

His voice is notably gentler when he says your name. “___…”

This time, it’s Jay that speaks. “I suggest you listen to her, man. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Jungwon wants to say more. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, in the way his shoulders still rise with tension. Finally, he relaxes. Just a fraction of an inch, but you know it’s over. At least for now.

He doesn’t say anything, but he does take a step back. And then another.

His eyes are still on you, even as Jay keeps walking, pulling you gently along with him.

By the time he finds his bag and the two of you make your way back out, Jungwon is nowhere to be found.

You can still feel eyes on you, though.

This time, it’s Heeseung’s gaze that follows you all the way out the door.

Back in Jay’s passenger seat, you turn towards your date, a million questions swimming in your mind.

“What on earth was that all about?”

Jay just frowns, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “How do you know him?”

“What?” Too confused to protest, you answer. “We work together.” Then you repeat, “What’s going on?”

Jay sighs, leans his head back against his seat. “He’s in marketing with you?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Programming. I don’t want to ask you again.” This time, you can’t help the expletive. “What the fuck was that?”

“We…” Jay trails off, searching for an explanation. “We know each other.”

“Yeah, no shit. How?”

“We went to the same middle school, before I left for high school. He was a year behind me.”

“And what?” You ask, trying to think of what kind of feud middle schoolers could possibly have that would warrant tonight’s interaction. “He stole your lunch money and you never got over it?”

“Not quite.” His lips are tight. “Look, ___. I know you can’t help who you work with, but Jungwon… he’s not who you think he is.”

“And you are?”

Jay turns to you, hurt clearly written across his features. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” you argue, doubling down. “What’s not fair is giving me vague half truths about my coworker and expecting me to just agree blindly while you evade all of my questions.” A moment of silence passes. Jay says nothing. Finally, you tell him, “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then I think you should just take me home.”

“Wait, ___–”

“I’m serious, Jay. I’m not about to go have dinner with you and pretend that this didn't just happen. Just take me home.” Softening a bit at the obvious distress on his face, you add a quiet, “Please.”

You won’t compromise your boundaries, but you don’t have it in you to be needlessly cruel, even if his evasiveness bothers you to no end.

Jay just sighs, pulling into an empty parking lot before turning around and heading in the opposite direction. Towards your apartment.

The rest of the car ride passes in stilted silence, neither of you willing to break it.

Jay is the first one to speak, but it’s not until you’re sliding out of his passenger seat, back turned towards him.

“Good night, ___.”

For a moment, you consider just ignoring him. But it feels petty, even for these circumstances. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he needs time to find a way to tell you the truth.

“Good night,” you tell him. But you still don’t look back.

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READ PART TWO HERE

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note: I AM SO ANNOYEDDDDD this was all supposed to be one long fic, not two parts, but tumblr's post block limit got me. Honestly I don't know how I avoided it this long. Anyway the second part is written and will be posted soon. In the meantime, let me know what you're thinking so far! As always, thank you for reading ♡

#jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #jungwon scenarios #enhypen scenarios

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parfaitblogs · 3 months ago

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baby it's halloween ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a mutual friendship leads to a run-in with your ex, and it's halloween, which means you can be anything. even normal with him right?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: garcia party in rossi HOUSE 💜. alcohol consumption. reader's dressed as a swan (stunning gorgeous amazing). pre established friends with benefits (don't fuck your exes). s10 bau team is there in spirit i think. crazy spare bedroom hookup. brief nipple play. oral (f receiving). fingering. p in v. he dresses you afterwards. porn with plot. oral fixation. soft dom!spencer. word count: 3.8k a/n: ex spencer reid makes a comeback. this is separate from bad idea right? but same pairing same sitch kind of same everything. LOL. thanks for giving me costume ideas guys. parfaitblogs revival!!! happy birthday spencer reid!!! happy halloween criminal minds tumblr!!!

"Penelope, what the fuck are you wearing?"

It was a very loud exclamation, over the sound of party music that certainly didn't match the overall theme of Halloween. It was only nine o'clock but the fox eared blonde in front of you had lip liner painting her chin, a pink flush on her cheeks barely hidden beneath a layer of makeup, and two cans of some multicoloured premixed vodka drink you weren't sure about trying (despite her holding one out to you).

"Fox costume. I'm Agnes! From Fantastic Mr. Fox!" Penelope says, cheerfully, urging you to take the drink she had in her hand, not relenting until you did.

"We agreed on swans," you huff, feeling awfully stupid now, in your all white costume, a pair of fluffy wings settled on your back.

Penelope looked genuinely apologetic for changing her costume idea on you with no warning, and so as she rambled about how she got excited after seeing fox makeup on her phone, you decided it wasn't actually that big of a deal. She finished her spiel with a comment about still technically matching because you're both animals, and it was enough for you to accept.

She led you further into the house. House, because she had convinced one of her coworkers to let her host a Halloween party at his, claiming her apartment was far too small for such a thing. Apparently he was very easy to convince.

It was a quick tour of where all the most basic of amenities on the first floor were, before she was shoving a shot glass of vodka into your hand, and encouraging you to take it.

So you did.

Perhaps it was a loosening up technique she was using in an attempt to keep you from ripping her head off when she began another conversation with you with the words,

"So, I need to preface before you get too drunk—" a sentence you really had never hoped to hear in your life "—that Spencer's here."

You're not too sure why your world begins to crumble around you at that fact. You figured he would be. In fact, when you were choosing the articles of clothing for your costume a week ago, you had the idea of Spencer Reid seeing you in mind. You had mentally prepared for seeing him. And yet; panic.

However, instead of making a scene about how anxious that thought made you, you force a small smile onto your face and murmur out, "That's fine."

"Are you sure?" Penelope presses. "You can hover around me the entire night to avoid him, if you want. I'll stay away from him. I'm really sorry for inviting him."

You didn't like that. "No. Pen, it's okay. He's your friend."

"So are you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at her words, a warm feeling spreading throughout it. But, ultimately, you were not the person who wants perfectly good friendships ruined because you're too scared to hold a relationship together.

"I'll get drunk enough and start talking to him anyways. It's fine," you reassure her.

And get drunk enough you did.

You had bumped into him a few times already, making awkward eye contact when you passed him on your way to the kitchen for another drink, or to the bathroom to fix your corset that felt like it was getting tighter every breath you took.

Yet here you were, stuck between the fridge and him, a collection of things you wanted to both beg him for, and cuss him out because of, sitting delicately on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right trigger word from him.

Unsuccessfully, for he was rocking back on his heels, clasping his hands around the glass of water he was nurturing, keeping the peace between you two and staying silent.

And you couldn't have that.

"Hi. How are you?" you chirp after closing the fridge, a can you were getting for Penelope and not yourself now settled between your hands.

"Hi. I'm good," he says, sending you an all too familiar tight lipped smile. One he always did when he was feeling awkward. "How are you?"

"This is really formal," you say, tilting your head to the side. "I'm good."

He nods his head in agreement, and you find every curse word you had ready to yell at him dissipate in an instant. "I like your costume. Swan?"

"Yes," you nod your own head, forcing the flutter of your heart to stop.

You weren't sure what he was when you had first arrived to the party, but a few short exchanged words between the two of you revealed the fake teeth he had settled in his mouth, confirming Penelope's earlier guess that he was a vampire.

Fitting, you had almost said then.

"I like yours too," you say after a few beats of awkward silence and you realising you hadn't said much after his compliment.

"Thank you."

It was an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room (your relationship, or lack thereof). An even more awkward interaction of him reaching behind you into the fridge to get out a drink for Morgan, and then a breathless apology when he had gotten a bit too close and you hadn't had a conscious enough mind to step back.

"I don't like this," you blurt out.

"What?"

"This. Us," you clarify. "Being awkward. Not talking. We talk fine when we hook up."

Because yes, there's that secret you were keeping hidden away from Penelope.

"We're preoccupied during that."

"I'd argue seeing each other naked once a week is much more awkward than bumping into each other drunk, at a party."

"I'm not drunk."

Right. You knew that. Spencer Reid didn't drink. It was why the cup in his hand was only water, and the alcoholic beverage in his other wasn't for him.

If you were any less buzzed you probably wouldn't say the unfortunately very embarrassing sentence you let leave your lips, that sounded a little foreign even to you.

"Then do we need to see each other naked tonight to make this not awkward?"

His lips parted and he froze, rightfully so. You weren't sure how you'd react to somebody asking you that either. It seemed awfully blunt for even you, and if you were any sane person, you'd probably be backtracking to take it back. Instead, you were just as frozen as him, fearful for how he would respond.

"No," he says, but there was a strain in his voice that told you otherwise. Thankfully, you had enough self restraint to not call him out on that.

"No?" you tilt your head to the side.

"No, we don't need to. Do you want to?"

Does it make you a horrible person to say yes? To take advantage of one of the many rooms littering the Rossi house, and use a situational run-in to have sex with your ex-boyfriend?

Probably.

"Yes. Do you?"

"I like how you look tonight."

Your heart rate speeds up. "That isn't an answer."

"Yes," he says. "I do."

The kitchen was left empty with a glass of water and two unopened cans on the countertop, that Derek Morgan was no doubt bound to discover when Spencer never returns. Followed closely by — probably — Penelope discovering the same about you. Which would probably lead to the discovery of the friends (were you friends?) with benefits situation the two of you had.

You've barely stepped into the spare room he had located before he's kissing you. Feverishly, devouring you whole, as your back is pressed up against the door. Your wings dug into your shoulder blades, the feathers tickling your arms, and yet you couldn't find it in you to care.

"Spencer."

His response to your plea of his name is to kiss you harder, fingers entangling in your hair, and you think if he pushes against you any more, you'll meld to the atoms of the door.

"You taste like alcohol," he mutters against your lips.

"Funny that."

"Are you drunk?"

"I'll remember this all in five minutes, if that's what you mean."

"Sort of."

His mouth detaches from yours, and there's a desperation in the way he kisses down your neck you don't think you'll ever get used to, no matter how many times he does it.

It was a heartbreaking reality of the difference between how he would have sex with you then, and now.

It's his grumbling that forces you to focus on him again, and not the comparative thoughts you have whirring in your brain. His fingers are fumbling with the lacing on your back, as he says, irritation you find almost hilarious in his tone, "I hate corsets."

"You said you liked it earlier."

"I liked it when I wasn't trying to take it off of you."

You smile. "I'll wear something more convenient for you next time."

"Yes. Thank you," he nods, successfully loosening the lacing enough so he could take the corset off of your body. "T-shirts are good."

"Duly noted."

"Or nothing. Nothing's better," he adds, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands dropping to your chest — completely bare, considering you couldn't justify the wearing of a bra beneath the corset.

"I'll ask the board."

You feel him smile against your lips, his hands cupping your chest, thumbs delicately running over your nipples to elicit a breathless whine from you. Ever so careful, he uses his thumbs to circle them, amused with just how easy it was to fluster you.

His lips trail down from your lips again, his hands dropping to your waist, using his hips to nudge you towards the bed.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you wince, although any pain dissipates as he murmurs a gentle apology and lowers the two of you to the bed.

It's quite amusing; the articles of clothing you're removing from your bodies. You didn't think feathered wings and a Dracula-esque cape piling together on the floor would be a sight you ever saw in this context, and yet.

"What do you want, honey?" he asks you, though your brain is a little preoccupied with his pulling of your skirt down your legs, fingers brushing against your skin. He forces your focus back onto him again with the calling of your name, and a kiss to your inner thigh.

"What're you willing to give me?"

"You know I'd do anything."

Your heart soars. Yes, you do know that. He loves to prove that feat to you.

"I don't know," you shake your head. "Whatever you want. You choose. My gift to you this Halloween."

It was a tradition you had started with him three years ago, on your first Halloween together. You knew how important the holiday was to him, and so you had bought him a plethora of decor for his apartment (on top of what he already had). You had helped him set it up, and later that week he had gifted you a charm bracelet with a pumpkin clasp. Every Halloween since, you bought him more decor, and he bought you a Halloween inspired charm for the bracelet.

This was your first Halloween where you weren't together.

"I didn't get you a charm."

"That's okay," you reply, earnestly.

"You're so wet," is voice is breathless, changing the topic of conversation awfully quickly. For his eyes had dropped to the only item of clothing you still had on, and his fingers had trailed far enough up your thighs to brush over it.

"Do something about it then," you retort, bluntly, and he smiles amusedly.

He probably murmurs something about you being a brat, but his hands were pulling your underwear down your legs, and you should not be expected to focus on two maddening things at once.

Thankfully, he does do something about it. And quite quickly, too. Wasting no time teasing like he usually does, instead attaching his lips to your core, tugging a moan from your lips.

His tongue licks a stripe up the centre of your folds, circling your clit, expertly so.

"Oh God," you whine out, breathlessly, head falling backwards and digging into the mattress beneath. Sinful as it was, Spencer's tongue on you did feel like the closest thing you'd ever have to a religious experience, a thought that had crossed your mind the many times he's done this before.

Once he's sure his tongue flicking over your clit had worked you up enough, you're forced into shock as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Lack of hand-eye coordination aside, he's well versed in the art of using two different body parts at once to make you come, and yet you're still writhing beneath him like it's the first time.

Sometimes it felt like it was.

"Spencer," you nearly cry out, if not for your hand flying to your mouth to muffle how loud you had anticipated you'd be.

He pulls his lips away at that, instead lifting his head to hover over yours, as he pushes a single finger inside you. Even when your eyes flutter closed and your head tilts back further, you can still feel his gaze on you, as if in awe of the way you looked.

"That was so easy," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "You really did want me to do this tonight, hm?"

Too wrapped up in the feeling of being touched by him again, all you can do is nod your head, and you feel him smile against your cheek.

"Yeah, I know, sweet girl."

He captures your lips again, swallowing a string of moans that leave your lips when he begins to move his finger in and out. Finger that becomes fingers, for he's pushing another one in, and you're arching your back up as you attempt to accomodate to the stretch.

"I know, I know," he repeats when your head jerks back as your lips part in another, this time silent, moan. "I shouldn't have missed last week, hey? I'm sorry I was out of state."

You want to tell him it's okay. That you didn't really mind being celibate for an extra seven days on top of the six the two of you leave between your nights together. Unfortunately, growing accustomed to a once a week cycle meant the interruption of it left you overwhelmingly easy to shatter with the simplest of touches. You did mind, so you kept your thoughts to yourself.

"Please," you ask him, almost pathetically, when he curls his fingers and your entire brain goes fuzzy.

"Please what, honey?"

You're not sure what. More of his fingers? His tongue back on you? You want it all. Yet, time was unfortunately of the essence, and you were acutely aware of the ticking alarm clock in view on the bedside table. You did not have the minutes to receive absolutely everything you wanted from him.

"Want you to fuck me," you murmur.

He breathes out a laugh. "I know. I'm going to, I promise. I just need to get you ready first, okay? How're you feeling?"

"Ready." Your voice is an impatient grumble, one that amuses him greatly, which frustrates you even more.

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, pushing his fingers back inside of you to elicit a sharp whine from your lips. "I want to do this a little longer, anyways."

"Spencer."

Your protest and attempt to bribe him with a kiss is hopeless, for he is continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, using your arguably selfish kiss to quiet every single sound you make.

It isn't until you're quite literally writhing beneath him and begging him with an incessant repeat of his name, does he pull his fingers out of you. Tapping your lower lip with them, you take his fingers into your mouth, despite your panting and attempts at catching your breath.

You want to close your eyes, but the way he's looking at you as you suck on his fingers is borderline ridiculous, and you should probably be locked up for just how attracted to it you are.

He trails his fingers out of your mouth after a few moments, but any desire to protest that is lost on you when your eyes catch his removal of his boxers.

He disappears from above you for only a minute, though he knows you too well and says, "I'm getting a condom," before you have a chance to start complaining about it. By the time he's returned, he's kissing you again, and you've forgotten all about your irritation.

The head of his cock pushes at your entrance, and you're already a mess. He's slow as he eases into you, and you're eternally grateful for it, because your entire body tenses up, and he's forced to pause, and ease your muscles with his hands kneading your thighs.

"I'm sorry," he says, genuinely, when your eyes squeeze shut, and you're back to remembering why you're not happy about the dreadful thirteen day celibacy he forced upon you. But he's so nice, and so apologetic, that as he bottoms out, your hands are wrapping around his neck to provide him with silent forgiveness.

He stays still for a few more moments, his lips tickling your jawline. His breath fans your skin, warm, and just as desperate as your own, which is comforting.

"Tell me when you're okay," he says, quietly, breathing out a moan when your walls flutter around him.

After a beat, you murmur, "I'm okay," and he pulls his hips back, before rolling them back into you, slowly.

You're a puddle of content and pleasure and love as he repeats the gentle motions of fucking you, moaning and squirming beneath him, despite his hands on your hips in an attempt to keep you still.

"Doing so well for me, honey," he tells you after a few minutes, and heat warms your cheeks at the compliment. He laughs at your bashful smile. "You feel so good."

He moves his hips a little faster, and you're moaning again, hands dropping from his neck to the mattress. At that, he picks up his ministrations once again. All up until all the tender, slow motions are gone, and he's listening to your throat produce broken whines and pleas, his own presenting breathless groans.

"Spencer," you gasp out at one particular thrust, and he's instantly repeating that same deep movement. "Oh fuck."

"Like that?" he asks you, tenderly, and you're frantically nodding your head. "God, look at you. You're so pretty when I do this to you, you know?"

Vulgarity — in any form — coming from Spencer Reid's mouth should sound foreign, and yet it doesn't. Though, perhaps you're too lost in the pleasure of just how good he feels to believe he's anything but perfect.

"I want to come," you tell him, a disguised plea.

"Okay. I can make that happen."

You know he can. He's proven it a thousand times, you're sure.

One of his hands drops to your cunt, fingers finding your clit and timing the circles onto it with his thrusts, until you're pretty sure there is no longer a coherent thought in your brain that isn't simply him.

If his aim was to turn you into a mess with very little time, he was excelling above average. Your hands had grabbed fistfuls of the duvet cover atop of the bed, your mouth producing nothing but a constant repeat of, "Please," and "Spencer," one after the other.

He wasn't surviving very well, either, you found. His breathing heavy and his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, until he was feeling your own walls clench around him with your stomach tying itself into a knot.

He forced his hips to keep moving, albeit much more messy now, as he moaned against your skin, his own orgasm wracking through his body, while still attempting to chase your own.

It didn't take much more than that, to be honest, and your entire body went boneless and shattered beneath him as you came too.

Jelly seemed like an apt description for what you felt as you relaxed in the bed and your nerves began to calm down, Spencer breathing heavily above you. Up until he was sliding out of you, and standing up on legs you could see shaking, perhaps just as much as your own.

He's disposing of his condom as you lay there, attempting to regain your breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling above you. He's shuffling around more than you'd expect for a simple trash trip, but then you feel hands on your ankles, and your head snaps down to find him kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently tugging your underwear back up your legs.

"I know it's not ideal," he says, when your face scrunches up as the piece of fabric lands back on your hips. "But I also know your skirt is too short to not wear these."

"I'll get over it," you reply, letting him redress you with delicate fingers that leave your entire body hot, with goosebumps rising on the skin.

"Yeah," he agrees, though half-heartedly, expert fingers clasping your bra back onto your body.

Once your skirt is back on, he helps you up into a seated position, helping to reapply the feathered head piece you had on.

It's oddly intimate, way he's kneeling in front of you, breath warm against your face as he clips the feathers into your hair. Your breathing hitches as his hands drop back to your thighs upon finishing, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Everybody's gonna know what we did," you say, quietly, for it was true. You two had been gone for too long of a time for people to not draw correct conclusions.

"They already know we do." Hook up.

"What? How?"

"You need to stop telling Garcia things."

Your face falls, and he smiles, sympathetically, thumbs drawing gentle circles on the skin of your thighs.

"At least you don't work with them."

"I guess there's that," you confirm with a small nod.

He's silent for a few more moments, simply staring at you and studying your face, before he sighs, and goes to pick up your corset.

"You need to go to the bathroom after this," he instructs you, though gently, motioning for you to stand up and turn around so he could do up the dreaded lacing.

"I know. Don't worry."

"Good," he replies, your skin tingling with every extra bit of pressure he put on your back as he laced up your corset. "You feel okay?"

"Yes," you nod your head. "Do you?"

"I do," he confirms for you, tying off the lacing and tapping your hip so you could turn back around.

You do, and your eyes flicker up to his face. "Do you also promise not to make me wait two weeks again?"

"I'll talk to the board."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut

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bbyjackie · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈'𝐒 𝐆𝐅 — ♡

one piece social media + dating feat: sanji

》 almost everyone wanted sanji's ver

♡ liked by sogekingg.usopp, FRAAANKY and 3.9k others

_ynln: hard launch

tagged: blackleg.sanji

theroronoa.zoro: what is he pondering so hard about 💀💀 (liked by nicorobin)

↳ blackleg.sanji: i was staring at a polaroid of the most beautiful, fantastic, gorgeous, jaw-dropping, mind consuming, pretty, lovely, enchanting, heart-throbbing, charming, attractive, cute, captivating, bewitching, stunning, irresistible, elegant, heavenly.. see more

↳ theroronoa.zoro: oh my god forget i asked

sogekingg.usopp: wdym your relo has BEEN hard launched since like four months ago 🤨🤨

↳ _ynln: sad 💔💔 i wanted to soft launch it but that was never possible

↳ theroronoa.zoro: i was trying to sleep and all i heard was screaming

↳ lovenami: real, if i was sanji i would be shocked too if i pulled yn ☝️

↳ blackleg.sanji: @theroronoa.zoro I HAD TO ANNOUNCE TO THE WORLD THAT MY DEAR YN SAID YES 💞💘💝💗

↳ sogekingg.usopp: y’all got NO faith in sanji 😭😭

p1rateking_luffy: what's hard launch?

♡ liked by theroronoa.zoro, ilovecottoncandychopper and 5.3k others

_ynln: he made me dinner, i might just cuff him rn 😪🤞

tagged: blackleg.sanji

p1rateking_luffy: OOOO IM COMING TO THE KITCHEN RIGHT NOW 😄😄

↳ blackleg.sanji: don't even try, i locked the door

↳ p1rateking_luffy: LET ME IN!!1!1!!1

↳ theroronoa.zoro: LUFFY STOP BANGING ON THE DOOR I CAN HEAR YOU FROM THE GYM

↳ p1rateking_luffy: LET ME INNNN PLEASEEEEE

↳ _ynln: luffy omg wait im making you a plate 😭

↳ p1rateking_luffy: OOO THANKS YN

↳ p1rateking_luffy: btw whats a hard launch

_ynln: @blackleg.sanji you actually look so fine in this photo i might just have to delete it 😮‍💨😮‍💨🫵

↳ blackleg.sanji: ANYTHING YOU WANT MY LOVE 😍😍😍

blackleg.sanji: DO IT. I WOULD GLADLY MARRY YOU MY LOVE. IF THAT MEANS THAT I GET TO BE WITH YOU EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY I WILL GET ON MY KNEES RIGHT NOW. I WILL COOK FOR YOU FOR EVERY MEAL AND BUY YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT BEAUTIFUL GIRL 🧎🏼‍♂️🧎🏼‍♂️❣️❤️‍🔥💓💘💗💞💝💕

↳ _ynln: ok 😭

♡ liked by nicorobin, p1rateking_luffy and 13 others

priv.ynn: usopp is a real one for taking these photos ☝️☝️

tagged: blackleg.sanji

sogekingg.usopp: I AM THE CERTIFIED BEST WINGMAN 💪💪

blackleg.sanji: I WILL KEEP THESE PHOTOS IN MY WALLET AND PUT THEM NEXT TO MY PILLOW SO THAT WHEN I WAKE UP I AM REMINDED THAT I HAVE BEEN BLESSED I LOVE YOU MY YN 🥰🥰😘😚🤩

↳ theroronoa.zoro: yn blink twice if you need help

↳ lovenami: ngl yeah that was a bit concerning 😭😭 (liked by nicorobin, sogekingg.usopp)

↳ priv.ynn: EVIL AHHAHA

p1rateking_luffy: yn what's hard launch?

CAPTAIN.KIIIID: i hate happy people

ilovecottoncandychopper: i love that you guys love eachother ❣️

↳ nicorobin: agreed

↳ priv.ynn: AWW YOU GUYS <333

♡ liked by _ynln, S0U1K1NGBR00K and 7.4k others

lovenami: robin w us in spirit </3

tagged: _ynln

S0U1K1NGBR00K: May I see both your panties? 🤲

↳ lovenami: words cannot explain how much i DONT want that (liked by _ynln)

↳ blackleg.sanji: NO ONE DESERVES TO SEE SOMETHING SO INTIMATE OF YN'S OR NAMI'S I WILL FIGHT YOU 🤺🤺‼️

sogekingg.usopp: YOU GUYS SAID WE'D GO SEE BARBIE TOGETHER WTF ?!?

↳ _ynln: WE LITERALLY INVITED YOU BUT YOU WERE TOO BUSY MAKING FUNNY FACES WITH LUFFY 🤨🤨

↳ sogekingg.usopp: YOU SHOULDVE SLAPPED ME

↳ p1rateking_luffy: WAIT I WANTED TO SEE BARBIE TOO

↳ p1rateking_luffy: anyway what's hard launch?

↳ lovenami: luffy you can barely concentrate on a five minute video, we aren't taking you to the theatre for two hours 💀💀

↳ _ynln: yeah luf, love u but you're gonna be bouncing off walls by the 20 minute mark 😔😔

nicorobin: so pretty! (liked by _ynln, lovenami, blackleg.sanji)

↳ _ynln: MISSED U SM ROBIN 💔

↳ blackleg.sanji: I AGREE MY YN LOOKS SO GORGEOUS SHE RIVALS EVEN GODDESSES, I LOVE HER SM I WOULD FLOP OVER A PUDDLE BECAUSE DIRT DOES NOT EVEN DESERVE TO BE WITHIN HER VICINITY ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💗💘‼️💝💕💞❣️💘🥰😍😘😚😮‍💨😍☝️🫵

↳ FRAAANKY: sanji im worried you're one more comment away from a restraining order

blackleg.sanji 2h

[blackleg.sanji] _ynln replied to your story: omg sanji stop im so in love with you 😔💞

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece smau #one piece imagine #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #smau #sanji x reader #usopp x reader #one piece x you #one piece fluff #one piece scenario #straw hat pirates #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #strawhat pirates #sanji headcanons

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satorusugurugurl · 10 months ago

Text

Buzzed

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t drink. He’s a lightweight, never saw the appeal, and, well, it makes him horny.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Warnings: Whiny super whiny Gojo, handjob, public play, Gojo is just buzzed, not drunk consent is key, there are several reasons he doesn't like alcohol

Word Count: 2,307

A/N: this popped into my head at work. The need for Gojo to whimper and whine is intense.

Gojo didn't drink. He had nothing against people who liked to drink; by all means, to each their own. He never liked the taste; he was a lightweight, and he'd rather spend his money on sweets. There, however, was another reason he didn't drink. One that was far too embarrassing to mention.

Whenever Satoru would drink, he'd get horny, like super horny.

So, it was safer for him to avoid alcohol altogether, which was pretty easy. That was until you both went to one of your co-workers' birthday party. You casually conversed with some friends while Gojo headed into the kitchen. He was in search of cake, but he found punch instead. He filled his glass, tentatively giving it a sip.

It didn't taste like there was alcohol in it, so he drank a full red solo cup. And he was working on his third in the living room when he felt like his blood was on fire. The room was hot, sweltering, and you, god, you looked even hotter. The tight-fitted shirt you wore emphasized the curves of your perfect body and breasts. Your ass looked amazing in your jeans, and your smile was to die for. God, why did you look like a goddess tonight?

There was a certain glow about you that drew him in like a moth to a light. He hummed, resting his chin on your shoulder, his body pressed firmly against your backside. Not only did you look good, but you smelt fucking delectable.

You turned your head, kissing his cheek before turning back to your friends, joining in with their conversation, leaning back into Satoru when you both felt it. The huge and very hard bulge in his pants had you choking on your words as Satoru straightened, glancing at you in sheer panic.

“Toru?” He grimaced at the tone of your voice. “Please tell me that's your phone.”

“It’s not,” he confirmed your fear.

“Can you get outside to the balcony?” A glance over his shoulder confirmed no one was remotely close to his sanctuary.

“Yeah.” His voice was so gravely as his cock twitched in his pants.

“Good, go on. I'll be out in a sec.”

The second Gojo stepped into the cool night air, he groaned, looking down at his pants. What the fuck? Why was he sporting the world's biggest boner of all time? Fuck, he was so hard it hurt. He slowly sank into the dark corner, resting his back against the window where the curtain was still drawn, waiting for you to join him.

A second later, the sliding glass door opened and shut. Gojo’s hands flew towards his crotch, shielding his erection from any prying eyes. When he saw you turn the corner, he released the breath he'd been holding, dropping his hands to his sides. Satoru shut his eyes tight, biting back a pained whine. All you could do was knit your eyebrows together as you watched.

“Satoru? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Nngh, fuck, I don't know.” His cock throbbed hard at the sound of your voice. “I'm so goddamn hard.”

“Aren't you always hard?” The teasing tone in your voice attempted to lighten the mood.

“Yes, but your point is irrelevant. Fuck, I don’t know what happened. I only get surprise boners like this when I drink!”

Satoru was panting as you tilted your head slightly to the side. “But you did. Mina’s punch has a fuck-ton of alcohol in it.” Your boyfriend's face was contorted in pained pleasure and confusion. “People can’t taste the alcohol because of the liter of Lemon-Lime soda and the whole ass pint of sherbet.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Glancing back down at his erection, he sighed in frustration. “I-It’s going to be awhile for this bitch to go down. I’ll stay out here; you go inside and enjoy the party.”

Right now, in this embarrassing moment, Satoru could barely look at you. During the entirety of your relations, Gojo never drank, leaving that up to you if you were in the mood. You understood he particularly wasn’t too keen on drinking; it was his personal preference. Seeing him now, sulking in a corner, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, cock throbbing. It made a little more sense.

Laughter and loud music blared inside the apartment, drawing your attention to the door. Mina’s special punch was getting to everyone, it seemed like. They were so immersed in their current conversations and food would they even notice your absence?

Satoru was in physical pain. His teeth were clenched as he hissed out in frustration. You took notice of his hands, how they twitched, drawing closer to his crotch before pulling away. The man was fighting against every instinct in his buzzed horny brain. You could tell by his expression that he wanted to do nothing more than stroke his fat cock until he came all over his fist. Satoru, however, was also one not to let his lust overtake him.

He wasn’t some horny freak that would pull his dick out and stroke it until he jizzed all over your friend's balcony railing. You, however, weren’t as collected as he was. Seeing your boyfriend's cock twitching in his pants, the tiny wet spot forming over his leaking tip, made you fucking feral.

“I don’t want to go back.” Closing the distance between you, Gojo watched with bated breath as your pretty hands unbuttoned his pants.

“Tsk!” Your boyfriend hissed, crystal blue eyes darting towards the door. “Y-Y/N, what if someone comes out?!”

“I guess you’ll need to stay quiet. That way, if someone does come.” You whispered, your fingers slowly tugging his zipped down. “Can you do that for me?”

Satoru didn’t have time to think of a response because his dick did all the talking for him. It throbbed hard in the confines of his boxers. He whined and watched more pre-cum seep through the fabric of his boxers.

You cooed, running the bed of your thumb over the growing wet spot. “I’ll take that as a yes?” A nod and a tiny whimper was all you needed.

Slowly, you slid your hand down the band of his boxers, immediately coming into contact with his hot cock. His velvety shaft twitched as you tugged his boxers down just enough to free his erection. The tip was a furiously red shade; his slit dribbled pre-cum. Seeing his fat cock this hard has your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Ahh, fuck, fuuuck,” Satoru whispered through a hiss as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. You slowly stroked your hands up and down. Squeezing it, trying to mimic how your pussy would pulsate around him when he would fuck you. “Y-Y/N~”

Using his pre-cum as lube, you smeared it up and down his length. Watching the pretty tip twitch madly each time you collected your makeshift lubricant. Satoru groaned, eyes half-lidded, watching you, the way you shifted, pressing your thighs together, how you took your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it, as you jerked him off.

“I-I’m, haaa, I’m the one g-getting jerked off here. B-But you, holy fuck!” He clamped his hand over his mouth, stifling a moan. Your teasing jerks, changed, your wrist twisting with every move. “Nnngh, f-fuck but y-yo—ooooh shit, you're the one e-enjoying yourself.”

“Of course, I’m enjoying myself. Satoru, I love feeling your dick get hard in my hand. It's so fat, hot, god, it makes me wet.”

Satoru flushed, head tilting back, the veins in his neck straining as he clenched his jaw. He was the one that would normally talk to you like this. Having it turned the other way around, he had his head spinning. The dizziness was so intense your boyfriend tilted his head back before he began thrusting into your tight-fitted fist.

“Fuuck, Haa, ooh fuck sweetheart, feels so good.” you bit back a moan of your own, watching as he ducked your hands, stinks of pre-cum running over your fingers, as he slammed the palm of his Hans against the railing. “D-Dont stop baby~ fuck Y-Y/N don't fuckin’ stop.”

Watching him desperately fuck your hand was so fucking pretty. From the thin sheen of sweat on his beautiful face to the throbbing shaft in your hand, everything about Gojo had panties soaked. Right now, you wanted to drag him out of the cramped apartment and back to your place where you would fuck his brains out.

But getting him through the apartment right now was out of the question.to get what you wanted, you had to get him off first! The faster he came, the faster you'd get to have him inside of you.

“You're doing such a good job, Toru~” Your hand moved faster. “I love feeling your cock sliding into my hand. But I love it so much more when you’re sliding into me, stretching me with your cock.”

Satoru was a hundred present, certain you were responsible for his hot blood and the hazy gaze that lingered over his eyes. You were the source of his buzz, and it had him jerking like a virgin into your first. You tried matching his thrusts with your hand. The whines that left his mouth were all the confirmation you needed to know that it felt good.

“F-Feels so good.” Satoru cried out, head dipping down to watch you jerk him off. “Holy fuck, your hand feels so good.”

“Mmhm~ just think about how good my pussy will feel when I get you home.” A grunt sounded from him. “Yeah~ you like knowing that you’re going to fuck me when we get home~? You going to reward me for helping you~?”

“Y-Yes, p-please don’t stop Y/N, I can feel it coming. God, I’m going to cum so hard.”

Hearing the pleasure that paved his voice had you pressing your thighs together. “Yeah~ are you going to cum~? Do it; I want you to cum, baby~ I want you to feel so good~ Like the good you are.”

“Y/N?” Gojo jerked, his head searching for the source of your voice. “Hey, is Gojo okay?”

Without missing a beat, you pulled Satoru down with your free hand. Your hand pushed the back of his head into the crook of your neck. Gojo didn’t know what you were doing at first, but as your hand left to join the other stroking his throbbing cock, he picked up on what to do. He whimpered and moaned softly into the crook of your neck.

“Oh yeah, he’s just a bit buzzed right now.” You stroked him harder, squeezing his shaft. “He doesn’t like drinking and thought the punch was safe.”

Satoru’s arms wrapped around you, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. His breathing whines were hot against your skin as his balls started to clench. He was so close to cumming, his eyes shutting tight, losing himself in the cooling sensation in his abdomen. So close, he was so close.

“Aww, poor guy, did you need anything?”

Gojo needed whoever the fuck this was to get out of here. He whined out your name into your neck. Hot breath having you shifting.”Y//N c-close.” He whispered as softly as he could as you jerked him faster, both hands working in tandem.

“Nope! We’ll be back inside in a second; I gotta get him home.”

“Okay!”

You waited until the door shut when you moaned with him. “Good boy, good boy~” his fingers dug into your back. “Go on, Toru~ cum for me~ give me it all.”

Satoru cried out into your neck in a nearly silent cry. “Y-/N oooh~ god fuck~ holy fuckin’ shit! C-Cummin’ I-I’m cumming.” You suddenly understood why he loved you, scratching up his back when you came around his cock. It felt good, so good, as he spurted thick ropes of cum all over your hand. “Nnngh oh fuck~! Fuck! Fuck!” His whines were shaky and nearly breathless as his cock weakly twitched in your hand. “Y-Y/NN~”

Gently you let go of his softening cock, bring your cum coated hand to your mouth. Satoru watched you closely, his chest heaving as he slowly came down from his high. He had half expectantly thought you were going to wipe his cup off on the inside of his jacket. What he hadn’t been anticipating was for you to flatten your tongue and lick it off. His sensitive cock twitched back to life at the lewd sight.

“Mmm~” You hummed in delight as if you just finished a meal. “So sweet and salty, Satoru~ I wanna taste it first hand when we get home.”

A switch flipped in Satoru’s head, be it post-nut clarity. He grabbed you by the face, turning you so you were pressed against the sliding glass door. The sudden flip had your breath catching in your throat as your boyfriend bent down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“The only one who is doing any sort of tasting when we get home will be me. If you don’t get us out of here fast, I’ll be sampling that soaking cunt right here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice; you dragged Satoru out of the party, shouting out brash goodbyes. Satoru might be buzzed from the punch. But you were buzzed off of him, and you needed to turn that buzz into a love-drunken affair.

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00valentina-writes00 · 8 days ago

Note

Ambessa x reader who is a total sweetheart to everything and everyone? Like she just has that kind and bubbly personality!

✞⛧ Ambessa with a total sweetheart Girlfriend ✞⛧

Uughfbshvsjs I love this idea-

✞⛧ Ambessa is simultaneously baffled and enchanted by your bubbly, kind-hearted personality. She doesn’t understand how you can be so cheerful all the time, but she finds it… oddly refreshing.

✞⛧ The first time she witnessed you helping a random stranger in the marketplace, she couldn’t stop staring. Her initial reaction was, “Why waste time on people who can’t help themselves?” But deep down, she was impressed by your selflessness.

✞⛧ Your sunny demeanor acts as the perfect counterbalance to her stoic and pragmatic nature. She often jokes that you’re the “day” to her “night,” but secretly, she’s grateful for the warmth you bring into her life.

✞⛧ You have a habit of waving enthusiastically at anyone you recognize, including Ambessa’s political rivals. This drives her insane. She’s had to explain multiple times why waving at people who might want her dead isn’t ideal.

✞⛧ You’re the type to bring Ambessa flowers “just because,” and while she doesn’t say much in response, she always places them on her desk or near her bedside—your little gifts quietly softening the harsh edges of her world.

✞⛧ You insist on feeding stray animals whenever you see them, and Ambessa has had to physically stop you from adopting a third street dog. “We’re building a dynasty, not a zoo,” she groans, though she secretly adores the pets you’ve brought home.

✞⛧ Ambessa struggles to maintain her intimidating aura around you because your natural charm makes it impossible for her to stay serious. She’ll try to reprimand you for something minor, but you’ll flash her a smile, and she’ll just sigh in defeat.

✞⛧ You have an uncanny ability to make even her coldest generals and advisors soften around you. Ambessa often finds them laughing or smiling after talking to you, which simultaneously annoys and amazes her.

✞⛧ Whenever Ambessa gets too intense or serious, you have no problem cracking a lighthearted joke to defuse the situation. While she rolls her eyes at your antics, it often works to calm her down.

✞⛧ You bake cookies or small treats for her soldiers, handing them out with a bright smile. Ambessa pretends to disapprove, claiming it makes her troops “soft,” but she notices how much it boosts morale.

✞⛧ You nickname her with cutesy pet names like “Bessy” or “Ambi,” much to her exasperation. While she pretends to hate it, the faint smirk she hides says otherwise.

✞⛧ Ambessa occasionally tries to match your energy, leading to hilariously awkward moments. Imagine her attempting to be “cheerful” and scaring people because her smile looks more like a menacing grimace.

✞⛧ She can’t understand how you can forgive so easily. When someone wrongs you, she’s ready to destroy them, but you always insist on kindness and second chances. “You’re too soft,” she grumbles, though she secretly admires your compassion.

✞⛧ Ambessa is fiercely protective of your innocence and kindness. She’ll go out of her way to shield you from the darker aspects of her world, not wanting your light to be dimmed by the cruelty of politics or war.

✞⛧ Despite her practicality, Ambessa indulges your love for bright, colorful décor. Your shared home is a bizarre mix of her austere, military-inspired aesthetic and your whimsical, cheerful touches.

✞⛧ You love giving hugs—all the time. At first, Ambessa was uncomfortable with your constant affection, but now she’s grown to expect it. She even leans into your hugs when no one’s watching.

✞⛧ You have a habit of complimenting everyone you meet, from Ambessa’s advisors to the kitchen staff. “You have such a kind smile!” or “Your armor looks fantastic today!” Your sincerity catches everyone off guard.

✞⛧ Ambessa teases you for being naive, but when she sees how your kindness genuinely changes people for the better, she feels a quiet sense of pride in being by your side.

✞⛧ Whenever Ambessa comes home after a long day, you greet her with a beaming smile and ask about her day. It’s a small gesture, but it never fails to lift her spirits

✞⛧ You leave little love notes around her office or in her armor. Ambessa pretends not to notice, but you’ve caught her rereading them more than once.

✞⛧ You love singing or humming while you work, and while Ambessa would never admit it, she often finds herself pausing just to listen.

✞⛧ You have a soft spot for children, and Ambessa has witnessed you stopping to play with kids in the street. She can’t help but picture you as a wonderful parent, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

✞⛧ You’re the first person to ever make her laugh uncontrollably. She tries to act annoyed, but she secretly loves how you can break through her cold exterior.

✞⛧ When Ambessa has to attend formal events, you always make it your mission to charm everyone there. By the end of the night, even her harshest critics are singing your praises.

✞⛧ You’re always trying to teach her the value of kindness, and while she scoffs at your idealism, she occasionally finds herself adopting your softer approach in certain situations.

✞⛧ Ambessa is low-key obsessed with how easily you befriend people. You could probably charm an enemy general into switching sides just by talking to them for ten minutes.

✞⛧ You make her homemade lunches whenever she’s busy. Seeing you bring her food with a cheerful “You need to eat!” softens her in ways she never thought possible.

✞⛧ Your optimism drives her crazy at times, especially when things seem bleak. “Not everything can be solved with a smile,” she’ll say, only for you to respond, “But it’s a good place to start!”

✞⛧ Ambessa secretly loves cuddling, but only with you. Your warmth and affection are her safe haven after a long day of dealing with political drama and military conflicts.

✞⛧ You’re the only person who can call her out when she’s being too harsh. Your gentle yet firm approach keeps her grounded and helps her see things from a different perspective.

✞⛧ Whenever you compliment her, Ambessa brushes it off with a stoic “Don’t be ridiculous.” But later, when she’s alone, your words replay in her mind, and she can’t help but smile.

✞⛧ You’re always trying to get her to relax and take breaks, even dragging her outside for walks or picnics. While she grumbles at first, she secretly cherishes those peaceful moments with you.

✞⛧ Ambessa knows she doesn’t deserve someone as pure and kind as you, but she’s determined to protect your light no matter what. In her mind, you’re the one thing in her life worth preserving at all costs.

#arcane #arcane headcanon #ambessa league of legends #lol ambessa #ambessa headcanons #ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa arcane #ambessa medarda #ambessa medarda x reader #amazing body #arcane x female reader #arcane x reader

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hotchner-edu · 7 months ago

Note

Hi, love!! I think your writing is fantastic and just wanted to pop in with a request. No pressure if you don’t end up writing it! I love a good miscommunication trope and had an idea of Hotch over hearing his wife on FaceTime one day and she’s talking very cutesy to someone on the other side. When she hangs up she’s kinda weird and acts like she’s hiding something from him. He thinks she’s found someone else and starts spiraling. After a couple days he finally confronts her all heartbroken but the reader is like “Honey, I was talking to the new puppy Penelope got.”

Clueless | Aaron Hotchner

"Is something wrong, sweetheart?" Aaron's voice cuts through your train of thoughts as he looks up from his phone.

Your pout turns into a confused head tilt as you glance over to him. "No, why do you ask?"

"You keep turning your phone on and off." He says softly, frowning in concern while bookmarking the page he's on.

A sheepish smile tugs at your lips as you wave him off. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just expecting a facetime is all." Your eyes drop down to your phone with a small pout. "Plus, there's nothing to do to pass time, but I'm sorry for distracting you from your reading."

"It's okay, my eyes were getting a bit tired anyway." He closes the book and looks back up at you with a reassuring smile. "Do you want to go for a drive? We can grab some takeout after."

"Oh? Not feeling homemade tonight?" You tease him, standing up and stretching.

With a small shrug, he slots his book back into the bookshelf by the sofa and walks over to you. "Not particularly. Besides, I know you've been craving the place we got last time. We still have a few good hours of sun left too."

Humming softly in agreement, you smile as he wraps his arms around your waist and hugs you from behind. "Sounds very tempting."

He kisses down the side of your neck lovingly, one hand splayed across your stomach. "Anything for my beautiful wife." He mumbles softly, nose nuzzling into your hair.

Smiling widely, you lean back against him. As you're about to reply with the same sentiment, the familiar chime of your facetime ringtone cuts through the intimate moment. "Oh!" You gasp happily and wiggle out of Aaron's arms, snatching up your phone.

"I'll be back down soon, and then we can go pick up some dinner." Your words pour out in a rush as you lean up to kiss him. "I love you, be right back!"

"I love you, too." His words and an accompanying chuckle are called out after you as you hurry up the stairs and toward your bedroom.

Once you get situated on your bed, you answer the call with a wide grin. "Pen! I thought you'd never call. Are the goods secured?"

Penelope's face pops up on your phone and she smiles mischievously. "They're secured!" She cries out ecstatically as she steps back from the camera and holds up a tiny black labrador pup.

"Oh my goodness! So bite-sized!" You coo and giggle, taking multiple screenshots of the confused puppy.

"His name is Milo and he's probably the sweetest little baby in the world!" Penelope exclaims, kissing the puppy's head.

"So handsome!" You smile and coo softly. "Just the absolute cutest. How does he look even better than the photos?"

"I know right! Honestly, I was so close to just adopting the entire shelter."

Penelope rambles on about the adoption process and the cute toys she's already bought for him for another ten minutes before she suddenly gasps. "Milo!" Her head snaps down to look to her feet before she looks back up and cries out, "He just did his business under my desk! I'll have to call you back later, honey!"

Snorting in amusement you wave to your phone camera before letting your friend hang up to deal with the sensory nightmare by her feet.

Stretching your legs with a relieved groan, you start heading back downstairs. "Aaron?" You call out.

He responds almost right away, voice muffled by the walls. "In the kitchen, sweetheart!"

"Let's go on that drive now!"

Later that night, you're laying in bed with Aaron after polishing off some Japanese takeout. Aaron's tinkering with the new tv you both bought, trying to get to the streaming service that offered clips from the latest golf tournament.

Your feet are pushed against his legs under the covers, and you're scrolling through some of the new photos Penelope sent you of Milo. An adoring grin lights up your face as you stare at a photo of the puppy hiding under her sofa.

"What's got you all smiley, honey?" Aaron's voice breaks you out of your little bubble.

Turning your phone off, you shake your head and scoot closer to his side. "Nothing, just something Penelope sent me. Any luck with tracking down the golf tourney?"

"Not yet..." he trails off, a small frown on his face. You miss the way he glances down to your phone in confusion and contemplation, continuing to mindlessly scroll through the tv as he sinks deeper into his thoughts.

"Honey." You say softly, watching as he scrolls straight past what he was looking for. Aaron doesn't answer, lips set in a frown with a faraway look in his eyes. "Honey?"

Your eyebrows furrow in concern and you poke his side. "Aaron."

He jolts a little at your prod and blinks a few times. "Sorry, what was that, honey?"

"You scrolled past it already." You point to the tv screen. "Are you okay, Aar?"

Your husband quickly nods and gives you a reassuring smile. "I think I'm just really tired tonight."

"Okay..." Unable to mask your disbelief, you rub his arm a little but opt to wait and let him open up to you whenever he feels ready. It was how you always approached occasions where Aaron was having a difficult time processing or accepting brutal cases.

It takes Aaron about three days to finally put everything out in the open. You're typing away on your laptop when he gently knocks on the living room entryway, a small frown on his face. "Hey, honey. Can we talk for a moment?"

Looking up from the screen, your eyes are stinging unpleasantly and your neck aches from your craning posture. Despite your aches, you manage a steady and warm smile. "Of course."

Aaron takes a deep breath, looking tense as he approaches where you're sitting. "I know that I'm not home nearly enough, and that I let my work bleed into every facet of our life... but I want to know when it started."

"When what started, honey?" You mirror his frown, making a mental note to circle back to his previous points.

"When I caused you to start pulling away from the relationship. I know that it's probably too late, but you're one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I just need to know what I can do better." His eyes are glassy now, brimming with tears of suppressed frustration and heartbreak.

Pushing your laptop off of your lap, you shake your head and blink in disbelief. "I really don't know what you mean, honey. I promise that I'm not upset with you or your work life. You're the perfect husband to me, you know that right?" Your hands move to clutch his, gaze imploring him to elaborate.

"I..." he looks down at your hands. "I'm not nearly a good enough husband for you. That's why I wouldn't blame you if you found someone who could give you more than I can."

His words are like a slap in the face for you, completely throwing your head for a spin as you give him an affronted gape. "What are you talking about, Aaron? You know I would never ever do that, right?"

He looks back up at you and draws his eyebrows together. "Of course not, I just... I wouldn't blame you for thinking about better opportunities."

"What's bringing this on all of a sudden? We've been good these past few years..." You try to think back to anything that would plant seeds of doubts into his head.

"The other day... when you had that facetime call." He begins softly. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when I walked by the room to grab a towel from the closet, I heard you calling someone handsome on the phone. I didn't think much of it, but..."

Your eyes widen when you catch on to what he's been suspicious about. "But then I started acting shifty later that night too..." You groan and slap your forehead, silently chastising yourself. "Aaron, I promise that it's not what you've been thinking. I was calling Penelope that day and we were chatting about her new puppy, Milo."

Aaron clears his throat and looks at you with knitted brows. "A puppy?"

Nodding, you nearly laugh incredulously at how mixed up the entire situation got. "Yes. I'm so sorry, honey. I was acting weird that night because Pen sent me more photos of Milo. I didn't want to bring it up with you because I didn't want you to think I was subtly hinting for us to get a pet too."

You reach for your phone and quickly open up your message thread with Penelope, showing him all the photos you were smiling at. "I know it's dumb to hide that from you, but I promise that it's because I didn't want you to think I was lonely or needy or something."

Aaron's entire body sags in relief and he lets out a watery chuckle, tugging you into his arms. "I don't mind if you're needy." He whispers softly and kisses your forehead. "I'm sorry for assuming the worst, sweetheart. I trust you more than I trust myself, and I don't want you to think that I think so lowly of you."

"It's okay, Aar. I can overthink a lot too. Let's just promise to be more open with each other because you nearly gave me a heart attack." Your smile seems to soothe him as he nods and kisses you sweetly, clutching you close like you'd disappear at any moment.

"I love you, honey." He mumbles and rubs your back, eyes closing as he allows himself to be swept into the comfort of your presence.

Brushing your thumb against his cheek fondly, you give him another kiss. "I love you, too."

"Let me make it up to you?" He asks, a boyish grin rising on his face as his eyes twinkle a bit.

"I don't know, let me think about it." You tease and playfully pretend to be in thought.

His hands slide down your sides slowly and slip under your shirt, lips surging forward to nip at your neck. "I can be pretty convincing. Let me show you just how much I like your neediness."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds aaron #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader

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vxsellie · 22 days ago

Text

𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔬. — E.W

summary. ellie slipped between your fingers, falling right out of your grasp as though she were liquid. it was better for you both, sure, but that doesn't make losing her any easier. ⌇ 4.7k wc.

notes. i posted a poll a few weeks ago asking what u guys wanted to see & this was ur answer so here she is! i hope it lives up to ur guys standards! anyway,, first and foremost, this is based off of the songs 'your needs, my needs' & 'call your mom' by noah kahan. he does a fantastic job depicting addiction and the impact of its severity. i heavily suggest listening to those songs in order to grasp the depth of what i'm trying to portray here.

second, i want to preface this by saying that i am not romanticizing or promoting addiction in any way whatsoever. drugs & alcohol are horrible coping mechanisms. as someone who has lost many loved ones to such horridly, i'm writing this in an attempt to shine light on the raw, dark side of what this can lead to. if u or anyone u know is struggling with something similar to ellie in this story, my DMs are always open!

warnings. graphic depictions of death and grief, substance abuse, alcohol & drug addiction, brief toxicity, intoxicated arguments, flashbacks, mentions of vomit, unintentional suicide attempt, angst angst angst

FEBRUARY.

cold fingertips brush the skin of your cheekbone, rousing you from slumber. you know who it is without having to open your eyes, her voice proof of that. ellie's breath still smells of her minty toothpaste as it fans across your face. she leans down to press a kiss to your nose. "good mornin'."

you groan, draping an arm over your eyes. ellie chuckles, her footsteps padding across the hardwood flooring of your shared bedroom. metal scrapes against itself as she pulls the curtains back, allowing sunlight to file through the space. your groans only grow in volume at this, pulling the duvet over your head.

"it's too early." you grumble, voice muffled beneath the pleated fabric.

"baby," she crosses the room back to the bed. you feel the mattress dip under her weight as she sits down on the edge, one of her hands coming to massage the calf of you leg. "it's almost noon."

begrudgingly, you peel the blanket away from your face and frown at her. auburn hair glows like a halo around the crown of her head, her freckles catching the light against her fair skin. oh and those eyes. god, you could look into them until the world came crumbling around you — which it technically has, considering the apocalyptic milieu that encompasses jackson.

"it's saturday, els." you tell her. "we can sit around and do nothing all day."

a smile tugs at her lips, dimples adorning her skin. "actually, maria wanted our help in the gardens today, remember? you got drunk a few weeks ago and agreed."

"oh. i was really excited to be unproductive." you sigh, expression falling. "we could've made breakfast, cozied up on the couch, watched a few sad movies, have sex. y'know, the domestic crap that elderly couples do?"

"first of all, i already made you breakfast." she says, nodding her head in the direction of the opened door. you turn toward it, craning your neck to peer through the doorway. sure enough, there's a plate of eggs and bacon sitting untouched on the countertop in the kitchen. "second, we can still cuddle and watch movies after helping maria. third, we can have sex whenever we want. we don't need to plan it out like teenagers anymore."

you grin at her, "yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

she laughs, the sound melodic. it carries through the air like a hymn, alighting the nerves within you like an ignited flame. if you were a wick, ellie would forever be the match. she lights you up, acting as apollo to your icarus. well. without the harsh fall, of course.

"c'mon, stupid." she says, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you into a sitting position. you allow yourself to be pulled, dramatizing ellie's haste as you flop forward, leaning against her chest. it shakes with laughter as she removes a hand from your wrist to run her fingers through your hair.

it's matted and unbrushed, though she loves it just the same. loves you just the same. no matter how bad your breath smells in the mornings or how tangled your hair, ellie would never dream of complaining. why would she? to be given the chance to wake up next to you each day, she'd do anything. even if that includes putting up with your silly jokes and your dysania.

domesticity is irrefutably ellie's absolute favorite thing in the world. to make breakfast for you, moving about the kitchen you'd decorated together. to brush her teeth beside you. to give you a gentle kiss before leaving the house. to spend the day longing for your embrace. to come home to you warming dinner over the stove. to listen to you ramble on about your day over the meal. to take a shower where your shampoos sit side by side, her having to use yours when her own runs low. to return to bed to see you dressed into something cozy. to latch onto you under the blankets, limbs tangling together. to smell your hair and know hers smells the same. to fall asleep in the proximity of the girl she loves.

that's her favorite. that's what she'd rather eat glass than live without. and she'd never fathom the idea of doing it with anyone else.

MARCH.

the day joel dies is hard on everyone. he was a glue to the town of jackson, his country drawl and greying hair fading together into a soft presence that was adored by all.

especially by ellie.

and you knew this better than anyone. she loved joel like a father, perhaps even more so. she looked up to him as though the man had hung the stars in the sky. when he died, everything good and right in the world died alongside him. including ellie's gentility. her green eyes hardened, her smiles thinned, her hair matted. she was a wreck.

she doesn't do anything, though nobody in town expects her to. you've picked up on all the chores around the house, refusing to make her do anything in such a state of grief. she holes up in the bedroom all day, never leaving bed. not even to eat.

the first few days of this, you had to force her to eat, coaxing her into opening her mouth and having to remind her to chew. she claimed it tasted like chalk and she needed to spit it out. she cried when you refused to let her. "i don't want it." she'd repeated over and over between sobs, despite only having taken a bite of the stew you made. she leaned on you, her greasy hair falling over her face. you rubbed her back, the vertebrae of her spine poking through her skin.

"i know baby, i know." you whispered. it took everything in you not to start crying at the sound of her sobs, but you knew that would only make things worse. so you stayed beside her until her cries ceased and her limbs fell limp against you. you then laid her back against the mattress, making a mental note to approach this better next time.

she eventually got better at eating, though progress was slow. she's now currently able to eat one meal a day without puking it back up from nausea. the amount of times you've held that poor girl's hair back for her is immeasurable. she's not herself. and it pains you to see her like this, but you haven't a clue how else to handle it.

it's been two weeks since joel's death. ellie has still yet to leave the house and rarely leaves the bed, though she goes to the bathroom now. so thats good. you think it is, at least. she still needs to be reminded when to eat and needs help in the shower sometimes, or she'll stay in there for hours without even touching the soaps. her mind is a plethora of nonsense, malarkey acting as the puppeteer to her every waking thought.

"here," you speak softly, reaching across the tub to grab her shampoo. when you pick it up, you register that it's barely been used. you frown at this. "ellie, why—"

"i like yours better." she mutters, so quiet you can barely hear her voice.

"what? you never liked mine better." you say with a frown, though you don't hesitate to oblige her request. you place her shampoo down and grab your own. "you've always insisted that we buy that specific brand for you."

"yeah, because it's the brand joel uses- uh, used."

your movements cease, heart clenching. her voice cracked as she spoke, eyes burning as she swallowed harshly. you take a deep breath to ground yourself, blowing out through your mouth. you can not cry right now. not in front of her.

you'd made that mistake last week. you started crying when you saw her journal and all the crossed out drawings of joel. she frowned, appearing genuinely confused by your sadness. she comforted you, which only made you sob harder. you felt so, so guilty for it because she's the one who should be comforted, not you. but she's so loving that she can't even stomach seeing you upset.

as you apply your own shampoo into ellie's scalp, massaging it to bubbles, you decide that you'd do anything for her. for your light, your apollo.

MAY.

it's like living with a ghost. two months since joel's death and ellie has begun to change. drastically. she's never home anymore, always hanging out with her friends or busying herself with work. you have the sneaking suspicion that it's her way of keeping her mind from succumbing to that aching grief that embodied her in march. so you say nothing, deciding to let her be.

though, admittedly, you begin to wonder what she does when she doesn't come home. when she stays out for three days without telling you where she's going nor been. when you cook dinner for two, only to eat for one. when your shampoo sits in your shower only used on one scalp.

you've found it hard to fall asleep alone after living with ellie for so long. you'd grown dependent on the comfort her presence provides. tangling your legs together under the blanket while her arms wrap around your waist. now, in her stead lies an empty mattress and unwrinkled sheets.

it's currently been three days since you last saw ellie. you're sitting at the dinner table alone, picking at your pasta when you hear a rapid knock at the door. you instantly perk up.

you hope it's ellie, though you wonder why she doesn't just let herself in. she has her own set of keys, so why knock?

you stand from your chair, the legs scraping against the wood flooring as your push to your feet. the door creaks on its hinges when you pull it open. just as you'd thought, ellie stands on the porch. her head is lowered, auburn tufts covering her face like a veil. or perhaps a mask.

you open the door wider to allow her entry. the light pools out onto the porch and across the tops of her converse. she notices the shift and begins to enter, though she's acting strange. she's stumbling over her own feet, refusing to lift her head. your brows furrow as you lock the door behind you.

when you turn around, ellie is sitting in your chair as she begins to eat from your plate of pasta. you frown, "i can get you a serving, if you want. i made enough for two. i always do."

she lifts her head and you realize why she's acting so weird. between her lidded eyes and bloodshot scleras, it's clear that she's not sober. she raised a brow at your staring, "what?" her tone is sharp, unlike herself.

"nothing, baby. it's fine." you sigh, turning to grab her a plate from the cabinets above your head. you pull one from the shelf and begin to add pasta onto it. however, by the time you reach the table, ellie's passed out atop it. her face is smushed into the tabletop, hair getting all in your food.

you huff out a breath, shifting to hold her plate in one hand before lightly shaking her shoulders with your other. she doesn't rouse so you shake her even harder. eventually, she snaps awake. perhaps too quickly, because she thrashes out. her arms flail, knuckles colliding with your cheekbone.

the plate in your hand falls to the floor, glass shattering against wood. ellie's eyes widen, her gaze trained on your face as yours remains trained on the broken dish below your feet.

she begins to stand, "i didn't mean—"

"it's okay, els." you assure her with a small smile, urging her to sit back down. the last thing you want is glass in her foot.

"no, i—" she shakes her head, clearly fighting her own mind as she combats for ascendancy over her inebriation. "i hit you.. i never meant to— to ever—"

"ellie." you interrupt, voice hard. "it's fine."

her lips thin as she gives you a curt nod in response. you walk into the kitchen to retrieve the broom. when you return, ellie is out of her chair and walking toward the door. you frown at her and she gives you a pitying look before exiting the house without another word.

AUGUST.

"drugs, ellie?" you shout, hands flying up in emphasis. "you're taking fucking pills now!?"

"don't snoop through my shit!" she shouts back.

your voices bounce off the walls of your home. once such a cozy, quiet place of solace. now only visited in short increments when in need of food or a bed. the light of the candle you'd lit this morning glows a soft orange, almost taunting you with its clashing softness.

ellie hasn't been home all month. she finally came back last night, kissing you gently as she apologized for acting so strange. she confided in you, explaining how she's been having a hard time but intends to make up for it. her hands were benign as she ran them over your bare skin last night. oh so kind, she was. her words were like music, playing the exact lyrics that you'd coveted for months.

only to wake up this morning and find out the truth. you'd come into the kitchen to prepare her breakfast, a soft smile on your lips as you lit the candle. you'd noticed that she left her coat on the counter and reached to grab it for her. you hadn't meant to snoop, just to clean up behind her. as you've been doing since march.

but then you heard an odd sound from within the pocket. you reached into it, thinking she'd left her keys. and you knew ellie long enough to know that she'd freak out, thinking she'd lost them if you didn't put them on the table for her.

but they weren't her keys. they were pills.

"i didn't snoop, you asshole!" you exclaim. "i was trying to help you!"

"i don't need you controlling my fucking life all the time!" she shouts, features contorted into an expression of rage that you'd never seen her wear. it was disquieting.

"controlling?" you shake your head in disbelief. "i'm trying to keep you from doing shit you'll regret! i'm sorry for caring!"

"oh, don't fucking turn this on me." ellie scoffs.

you watch her with furrowed brows. is she serious? turn this on her? you're genuinely unsure on what you did wrong. you let her back into the home, slept with her, made her favorite breakfast in bed. then found out that she fucking lied. she was keeping shit from you.

your tone is much softer when you ask, "..were you even sober last night?"

her jaw clenches, but she doesn't respond. tears well in your eyes at the thought.

you'd never been more excited than you were last night. to finally have her back. your ellie. to have her coming back to you, for you. you'd fallen asleep last night studying her features. your fingertip traced the slope of her nose down to the cupids bow of her lip.

your chest aches as you say these next words. "get out of my house."

"your house?" she asks.

you feel like your drowning. or perhaps you're choking. or falling. but whatever it is, you're sure it's irrevocable. your throat is so tight you can hardly breathe. "i want all your shit packed and out of here by the end of the month."

ellie's eyes widen. "you're not serious."

"i've never been more serious in my fucking life." you say. "you can't storm in here whenever you want, use me like some whore, then leave when you feel like it. i'm tired of your bullshit ellie, that was my final straw."

her eyes are glassy as she grabs her coat — which is still full of pills — and leaves.

the moment the door slams shut behind her, you fall to the floor. your knees give out beneath your weight, the tile flooring cold against the palms of your hands. so this is what it is to fall. to chase the sun and get burned. to melt your wax and plummet. all you can thing, as you hear ellie's muffled cries outside the door, is how much you empathize with icarus for being foolish enough to reach for apollo.

OCTOBER.

jesse is throwing a party for his twenty second birthday. it's not a huge party, but large enough that you're sure ellie will be there. it's only been two months since you broke things off with her.

nothing, since then, has felt real. the length of your hair, the shape of your bones, the height of your spine. nothing is right in the world. in you.

but this is for jesse, not for ellie. if she's here today, that's her problem. not yours. for once, it's ellie's turn to regret. you're sick of being the one crying at night when you can hear her unlock the door to retrieve her things when she thinks you're asleep. you're fucking tired of it. she's the one who ruined everything.

you knock one, two, three times before the door swings open. dina smiles at you kindly as she widens the door to allow you inside. you thank her, though you know she's not your friend. you two aren't on bad terms necessarily, she just doesn't seem like you all that much. which is fine.

you enter the home to see that most guests have already arrived and are already drinking. jesse is in the living room, a goofy party hat atop his head as he shouts at the television. behind him, people laugh from the couches. one of those people is ellie. her legs are spread, an empty beer bottle hanging from her loose fingers. she doesn't seem to notice you, engrossed in whatever is happening on the tv. dina's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she leaves.

you walk to the kitchen to place your belongings down, pulling out the gift that you'd bought for jesse. the kitchen is empty, everyone else having crowded into the living room. though, it doesn't stay empty for long.

"what're you doin' here." ellie's voice speaks from the doorway. you don't look in her direction, not daring to.

"jesse's my friend too, ellie." you remind her with a sigh, placing the gift on the counter alongside all the other gifts.

part of you yearns to run to her, to pull her into your arms out of pure instinct. but you're not able to do that anymore because she's not yours. you spent over five months trying to comfort her into sobriety, only for your efforts to be in vain. so, instead of acting on foolish impulse, you keep your feet planted in place as you refuse to face her.

"you can't even look at me?" she slurs, voice tinged with annoyance.

"you're not yourself, right now." you say, eyes remaining pinned to the countertop in front of you. "i don't want to see you like this."

in truth, you know the sight of her so intoxicated would only ruin you further. it'd make you yearn for her even more as your mind reminisces on all that's been lost. all those wasted months you could have spent with her. all those nights you took for granted. those smiles. those eyes. seeing her like this would tarnish the few good memories that prevail.

"right," she scoffs, "'cause you're such a fuckin' saint yourself."

"i might not be a saint, but at least i'm still me." you say. "i haven't changed into some pathetic shell of a person."

her jaw clenches, "i'm still me, too."

"no, ellie, you're not." you finally lift your head to face her. your brow is knitted, concern painting your features with something akin to sorrow. it shoots through ellie's chest like a dagger, the sight of your saddened expression. she swallows, burying whatever sense of guilt she feels deep under a facade of vexation. "you're not the woman i fell in love with, you—"

"yes i am!" she shouts, slamming the empty bottle onto the countertop. a long clang rings through the space between you. "i'm the same fucking person!"

"ellie, dont—"

"y'know, back in april, you told me that grief comes in all different forms. you told me that what i'm feeling is normal! you—" her words are cut off by the sound of her voice cracking. your heart cracks along with it.

"that was before i knew how bad this would get." you say. "i thought it was just alcohol."

"it was!" she exclaims. "for a while, it was!"

"it doesn't matter what it was." you snap. "it's no longer just alcohol anymore. you're into pills and drugs and—"

"you can't fuckin' blame me for that!" she yells. you're sure everyone can hear her now. though, due to how drunk they are, you doubt they care enough to eavesdrop. "i was going— i am going through a lot!"

"i get that, ellie. i do." you argue. "but you can't ruin yourself like this! joel wouldn't want this from you and neither do i. you aren't thinking!"

her fists clench at her sides, voice lowering. "don't bring joel into this. he has nothing to do with it."

"he has everything to do with it!" you shout. sucking in a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose in exhaustion. when you continue, your voice has dropped back down to a calmer tone, something you've learned to do during those on-and-off months with ellie. yelling at her only makes her grow more defensive and elongates her next expedition. "he's dead, ellie. he's gone and you're struggling with that. and that's okay. but turn to your friends for comfort. turn to people who love you, not drugs. they don't help you, els."

"turn to my friends? turn to people who love me?" she shakes her head, scoffing incredulously. "i tried that. i turned to you, i leaned on you. i tried and tried and tried and you left me."

"i didn't—"

"you left me when i was at my lowest. what else was i supposed to do?" she says, bottom lip quivering. you can't tell if it's from rage or sadness. a few months ago, you'd be able to read her like a book. not anymore. "you did this to me."

oh. that did it. tears well in your eyes embarrassingly fast. ellie's expression falters for a second, just long enough for you to respond. "fuck you, ellie. if you want to act like an asshole, go ahead. but if you think i'll just sit idly by while you kill yourself, you're painfully fucking wrong."

NOVEMBER.

someone's knocking at your door. it's well past midnight and you're in the middle of brushing your teeth. you curse under your breath, spitting before rushing to the front door. they continue to bang on the wood. "i'm fucking coming, calm down!"

you swing the door open, the chilly air sweeping inside. your eyes take a second to adjust to the light before you recognize ellie's silhouette. your eyes widen as she staggers inside. she leans against you instinctively, hands bracing your shoulders as she trips over her own feet. you hold her around the waist, guiding her toward your couch. the one she'd picked out three years ago.

"didn't know.." her words trail off and you shush her, rolling her onto her side in case she needs to vomit. she continues to mutter incoherently as you pace the room, not knowing what to do.

"fucking hell, els." you breathe, watching as her blinking slows and her mouth begins to drool. the black of her pupils take up more space than her irises, worryingly so.

"e'ryone else 's asleep," she murmurs.

you come forward, casting her hair out of her face. "shh, don't speak, baby, you're fine. no need to explain, 'kay?"

"mmm," she hums, eyes fluttering, "m'kay."

you nod, pushing to your feet as you continue to think of what the fuck you're supposed to do. what did she even take to get this bad? who the hell is selling it to her? everyone in jackson knows that she just lost joel earlier this year. god, if you could get your hands on them..

she begins coughing, though it sounds closer to gagging than anything. your heart rushes in your chest, "fuck fuck fuck."

without thinking, you grab your phone from your wall and dial tommy's number. it rings thrice before his voice comes through the line. he barely has time to ask who you are before you're explaining everything between sobs.

tommy, maria, and a few medics arrive within ten minutes. they haul ellie away on a stretcher, speaking too fast for you to pick up on anything. you stand in your living room as tommy follows them out. maria walks over to you as you're rubbing harshly at your eyes.

"you did the right thing, kid." she assures you, voice so soft that it only makes you cry harder. she frowns, humming sadly as she pulls you into a hug. "i know it's hard. grief always is."

you pull back, looking at her through teary eyes, "how'd you handle tommy? after joel passed."

"i hardly did." she admits. "we're not on the best terms, even now. that's just was loss does to people. it drives them apart until there's nothing left to drive apart."

"i don't..." you frown. "i don't think ellie and i have anything left."

APRIL.

you haven't spoken to ellie since november. after she awoke in a medical cot, she was more sober than she's been in months. her withdrawals were horrid, tommy said. he kept you in the loop with everything because ellie refused to see you, claiming to loathe you for having called tommy.

you can't lie, your heart definitely broke when you heard that. to imagine ellie from last year, kissing you awake with breakfast in bed, and comparing her to the ellie from now, claiming to never want to see your face again? the thought makes you feen genuinely ill.

snow sticks to the ground as you walk through the town of jackson. you're on your way to the grocery store when you see her. well, them. dina walks beside ellie as they saunter down the sidewalk, hands clasped together. she has that look on her face, the one she used to only ever give you. the one nobody else was lucky enough to see.

you huff breath, turning to look in the other direction as you pretend to not have even seen them together.

ellie seems to be getting better. and that's all that matters.

her eyes are bright, her nose is red from the cold. you can see her freckles from here, and you know the exact amount that coat her cheeks. you've counted them, memorized them as her fingertips traced your skin. as her viridescent gaze bore into your own with nothing but the same love she's currently looking at dina with.

you quicken your footsteps, forcing yourself to walk faster before you act on the biting pain in your stomach. the tangible agony that writhes within you.

FEBRUARY.

jj. that's his name.

no, you didn't stalk your ex girlfriend surrogate. you're not that crazy. maria actually came to you, explained that dina had a child and was raising him alongside ellie. she showed you a picture of them, a perfect family of three.

you instantly broke down into tears the moment you saw his gummy smile and fatty fists. dina held him tightly, having the same eyes as he. ellie had an arm draped over her, one hand on jj's shoulder as she beamed at the camera.

ellie is a mom. she has a baby. she has a baby boy who never would have gotten the chance to know her if she'd died that november night two years ago. and yet, she still refuses to speak to you. not a word has been uttered since that night. since she was dying on your couch from an overdose.

but it doesn't matter. who ellie is with and what ellie is doing doesn't matter at all. she's happy and that's all that matters.

you're perfectly content with watching her from afar with wax wings that are sure to burn under her brilliance. you'd tried it once and only ended in scorched flesh and the corpse of letting go.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo. @ilovewomenfr. @zzombiegirl. @elliessweetheart. @shawangel. @defnoteleonor. @fatbootymuncher. @autisticintr0vert.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @soodle-noup. @kirammanss. @vahnilla. @prwttiestbunny.

#vxsellie !#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #lesbianism #sapphism #heavy angst #addiction #substance abuse #ex!ellie #ex!reader

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mj0702 · 7 months ago

Text

@tasha95 put in some effort and thought of something... so I put some effort in too

“Bubs.... come on... final is starting” you heard Lucy yell from the living room where she sat on the couch Ona leaning against her

On the other side there where Laura and Keira leaving a small space for you in the middle

“Yeah... don't stress the cook” you yelled from the kitchen

“She making popcorn in the microwave” your sister mumbled rolling her eyes which caused a round of chuckling from the others

“And you won't get any” you said as you basically threw yourself in the space they left for you

“Play nice you two” Keira scolded you both smiling as she took a handful out of your popcorn bowl

“So... Laura... you're sitting here with one spaniard and three english... who are you rooting for?” you smirked challenging

“As an Austrian I support Austria” Keiras girlfriend smirked back

“It's the Euros Laura... not the World cup... you Austrians only want to rule the world... not quite successful at that but you tried before... The final is Spain against england... I don't see any Austria... I mean we do sport the red and white colours but.... england or Spain?” you kept poking her

“I'm Switzerland” the Austrian player didn't give in on your poking

“No you're not... england or Spain” you smirked loving the relationship that formed over the past couple of month with the new girlfriend of your “mom”

“Then Germany...” Laura smirked

“Uuuuhhh... I don't see any Germany... well...” you tilted your head “... so didn't the english Troops 1945... wasn't their leader an Austrian?”

“Bitsy!!” Keira exclaimed shocked

“Bubs!!” Lucy squeaked just as shocked

“Of the english troops? How should I know... isn't that your countries history?” the Austrian said her eyes glinting challenging

“Oh we had a fantastic leadership 1945... King Georg VI was an amazing Leader... not to mention his Daughter... did you know that the late Queen Elisabeth met the man your country pissed off by not accepting him at that art school and pissed him off so bad that he wanted to take over the world?” you grinned back

“You just wait little Scott... we'll succeed one day” Laura smirked

“That'll only happen when the last Piper stopped playing” you said putting on your thickest Scottish accent

“You two are unbelievable” Keira groaned but at the same time she was happy and grateful that you accepted Laura so easily

“Back to the original question... england or Spain” you nearly crawled over Keira to get into Lauras face

“Since Spain is a little outnumbered here... I'm going for the red and yellow colours” the Austrian quickly snipped your nose making you scrunch up

“You suck up... you don't need to support the enemy to get on Onas good side... just bake her some Catalonian stuff” you said trying not to sneeze when you felt Ona lightly kick your ass

“Excuse me?” the spaniard said fake upset “Laura can support whoever she wants”

“Not if it's the wrong whoever” you exclaimed holding on to Keira so Ona won't push you off the couch

“Whomever” your sister corrected you smirking

“You didn't correct her” you whined as Kei started to laugh

“English isn't her first language...” Lucy pointed out as she pulled Ona tighter into her embrace

“It isn't mine either!” you exclaimed

“If you say now your first language is Scottish I'll kick you into next century Bitsy” Keira looked at you darkly and you decided to better shut up and cuddle up against the blonde smiling sweetly

“And you called me a suck up” Laura mumbled under her breath seeing how you relaxed against her girlfriend your legs over Onas your feet against Lucys thighs taking up the whole couch

“At least I just suck up and don't suck her” you smirked at the Austrian who bursted out laughing while Keira slapped the back of your head lightly

“Touché Schnucki.. touché” the Austrian laughed as she got more settled behind her girlfriend

“This is painful to watch” you groan against Keiras chest as England gave away another opportunity to score

“It's pretty level...” Lucy tried to find something positive from the first 45 minutes

“Level?? Them spaniards just didn't lead by 18 – nil because of Jordan... he saved them asses...” you got upset

“Bitsy... can you get me another glass of wine please?” Keira gently nudged you feeling how your anger boiled to the surface

“You can...” you started to argue

“Bitsy...” the blonde interrupted you quite firmly “... could you PLEASE get me another glass of wine?”

“Red?” you grumbled knowing Keira send you to calm down

“I'm sorry...” Ona said quietly the second you left the room

“Huh?” Keira looked at her friend confused while Lucy shook her head

“I'm sorry Spain is upsetting her” the spaniard looking guilty

“Oh Ona stop being daft...” Keira waved off “... she's not upset because of Spain... she's upset because she sees all the mistakes and can't yell at them directly... Bitsy sees things we don't... you noticed how she always groan before something is happening? That's because her brain works different and she somehow knows what's going to happen... It's not Spain... and it's not something you need to apologize for”

“Yeah Babe... don't worry about it...” Lucy said softly hugging her girlfriend lovingly from behind

“I don't want her to hate.... us...” Ona said quietly

“She could never...” your sister whispered against Onas hair

“If Spain beats england...” the spaniard started but stopped talking as you came back with Keiras glass filled to the BRIM

“I filled it up a bit more..” you grumbled “... so I won't have to run again”

“Thank you Bits” the englishwoman said sarcastic “So thoughtful”

“Hey Schnucki...” Laura looked at you “... what's going to be the final score”

“2 – 1 Spain...” you huffed as you fell backwards against the couch again “... I predict 1 – 0 around 50' … 1 – 1... ehrm... like... 65'... and then Spain in overtime... just like they did against Germany... your favourite country to invade”

“You seriously milking them jokes...” the Austrian rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless

“WE didn't start the fire...” you said upset

“That was before your time” Laura snorted while Lucy and Keira bursted out laughing

“Come here Bits...” Keira said softly after she calmed down pulling you against her when she saw how emotionally upset you were “... calm a bit okay...”

“She's mean to me” you whined throwing Laura a death glare

“I know....” the blonde smiled softly like you were five again “... so mean”

“Yeah” you huffed out but relaxed when Keira started to lightly scratch your baby hairs

“Congratulations friendly spaniard... the better of the bad teams won” you said seriously at Ona before standing up leaving the room to get some air

“She hates us” Ona said her voice wavering

“No... she hates the fact the men not listened to what she yelled at the TV” Lucy calmed her girlfriend down

“She is very patriotic Ona... she's a very proud and competitive englishwoman...” Keira said softly squeezing Onas knee “... she couldn't hate you even if she tried... she's just upset because she couldn't change anything... with us she can yell and scream and even throw things until we play like she wants us too – to be fair she's an amazing with the analytics and tactics... but now she couldn't get it out of her system... just give her some space and tonight she'll end up in your and Luces bed again”

“I thought it was your night to take her” your sister looked at her ex shocked already planned out the night

“It originally was but I asked you Wednesday if we could swap weekends because my mom is visiting next weekend and she wants to see her grandkid anyway... you said it was okay” Keira said knowing beforehand that Lucy will forget

“Oooooh riiiiiight...” Lucy wrecked her brain trying to remember the conversation “... tell you what... once in a lifetime offer...”

“Nope... I'm not taking today and next week” Keira smiled smugly knowing what her ex would propose

“Come on Kei...” Lucy begged pulling her ex a little aside to mumble “... it's been weeks”

“Same here...” the blonde mumbled back

“If you both don't want me I can go to Mapís” you grumbled pushing right threw them

“It's not that we don't want you Bubs... it's just... you know... I would like to spend some... time with Ona” your sister stammered

“Oh ew...” you exclaimed disgusted “... definitely staying at Keiras now”

“No you won't Bitsy.... I haven't had time for my girlfriend since we played in Frankfurt... and even there we didn't really had time for each other” the blonde said sweetly

“Oh EW...” you heaved out “... I'm staying... somewhere”

“I just texted Caro and Irene... your choice” Lucy smiled happily

“Mapí” you said pouting

“Caro or Irene...” Keira chose her exes side

“They scare me” you huffed out

“Bullshit...” your sister chuckled “... Caro it is then”

“I hate you” you pouted

“I love you too Bubs” Lucy sing-songed while texting the norwegian back

#lucy bronze x reader #keira walsh x reader #ona batlle x reader #laura feiersinger #woso image

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angelofthenight01 · 10 days ago

Text

A dog accident

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: flufy || warnings: none

Summary: On an ordinary afternoon, your girlfriend's crazy friend turns you into a furry four-legged being

You're dating Wanda Maximoff, which in itself is already pretty fantastical. You, a self-proclaimed dork who still gets excited about new socks, are going out with a genuine superhero. It's a love story for the ages, or at least one that you’re constantly trying not to overthink.

And then there’s Agatha Harkness. The woman is an enigma wrapped in a slightly dusty velvet cloak. She's Wanda's sort-of-mentor, sort-of-friend, and a full-time chaos generator. You’ve learned to accept her as a permanent fixture in your life, mostly because Wanda adores her, and partially because you suspect refusing would end with you inexplicably speaking only in limericks.

It's a quiet Saturday. You're sprawled on the couch, a book about the migratory patterns of garden snails open in your lap, but your mind is decidedly elsewhere. You’re replaying a particularly smooth move Wanda pulled in the kitchen last night while making pancakes. It was the way she flicked her wrist, sending the pancake soaring and landing perfectly on the plate. You’ve been practicing it for hours but the closest you've gotten has been flicking butter across the room. You’re shaken out of your reverie by Agatha bursting through the front door with the subtlety of a rhinoceros in a tutu.

“Wanda darling! I need… a thing!” she declares, holding up a glass jar filled with something that looks suspiciously like glowing pond scum. “For… research!”

Wanda, looking as serene and beautiful as ever, emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Agatha, what is that?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Oh, just a few… essential ingredients for a spell. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” Agatha’s smile is a little too wide, a little too manic. You’ve learned that this is her default I’m about to do something incredibly stupid expression.

You, meanwhile, have retreated further into the cushions, trying to become one with the couch. You’re pretty sure you’re invisible, like a well-camouflaged houseplant.

“And you,” Agatha says, pointing a crooked finger directly at you. “You’ll be the perfect… subject!”

Your heart does a little tap dance in your chest. “Subject?” you squeak, your voice cracking like a teenage boy going through puberty.

Wanda looks at you with a mixture of concern and fondness. “Agatha, put the pond scum down. You know you can’t just experiment on random people.” She glares at Agatha with a look that could melt steel.

“Nonsense!” Agatha waves her hand dismissively, which is a mistake because the jar of pond scum slips from her grasp, the green liquid splashing all over you. "Whoops!"

Before you can even register what happened, a peculiar tingling sensation washes over you. Your vision blurs, your limbs feel weirdly heavy, and you feel an uncontrollable urge to scratch behind your ear with your foot.

You blink, and the world suddenly looks a whole lot larger. The couch now looms like a terrifying mountain range, and Wanda, the woman you love, is towering over you looking like an adorable giant. You let out a curious bark.

“Oh. My.” Wanda says slowly, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Agatha stares at you with a mixture of horror and fascination. “Well, that is… unexpected.”

You wag your tail tentatively. Yep, you definitely had a tail. You try to speak. What comes out is a series of yips and woofs. Your hands, or rather, paws, twitch as you try to grasp at the situation. You’re a dog. A fluffy, medium-sized, caramel colored something with comically large ears and a rapidly wagging tail.

“Agatha!” Wanda hisses, her voice low and dangerous. “You turned my girlfriend into a dog!”

“Well, yes, but it was an accident!” Agatha protests, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I was aiming for a newt, I swear!”

You tilt your head, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You want to ask if they have any treats, but you can only manage a happy bark.

“Okay, okay, no need to get dramatic,” Agatha says, pacing back and forth. “We just need to figure out how to change you back. I think I might have reversed that spell. Or maybe not, it depends on if I used a pinch of salamander eyes or bat wings. They're kinda similar.”

Wanda lets out a frustrated groan. "Agatha, you absolute menace."

The next few hours are an absolute blur. Wanda and Agatha are now trying to solve the mystery of your transformation. You, being a dog, are mostly just enjoying the abundance of belly rubs and the fact that you can now lick your own foot. You tried to help by bringing them your favorite squeaky toy, but the two witches seem to be too preoccupied with their spell books to appreciate your contribution.

You watch as Wanda and Agatha argue, occasionally throwing out phrases like “counter-curse,” “elemental transference,” and “what did you mean by using the left hind leg of a frog?” You realize this is probably more chaotic than your average Saturday.

At one point, Agatha tries a spell that makes your fur turn bright pink for a few minutes, this was quickly reversed by Wanda as she glared at Agatha. You were actually rather fond of the pink fur, and you make a mental note to ask Wanda to do that again.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of chanting and potion-mixing, Agatha exclaims, “I think… I think I’ve got it! This final ingredient should do the trick!” She holds up a small, suspiciously sparkly vial.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes full of anxious hope. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You bark excitedly, your tail wagging so hard your whole body wiggles. Anything to be human again.

Agatha pours the contents of the vial over your head. This time, the tingling sensation is different, accompanied by a whooshing sound and a strong smell of lavender. You blink, and you're back in your human form. You’re no longer covered in fur, and your paws are, once again, hands. Your heart nearly jumps out your chest in relief.

“Am I… me again?” you ask, your voice still a little shaky.

Wanda rushes forward, pulling you into a tight hug, her face buried in your hair. “You’re back,” she whispers, her voice thick with relief. “You’re really back.”

Agatha, meanwhile, is beaming at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “See? I told you I’d fix it. Just another Saturday for the amazing Agatha Harkness!”

You look at her, then back at Wanda, a smile spreading across your face. This is your life now. A chaotic, wonderful, and utterly bizarre life, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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kirbysdreamlandd · 1 month ago

Text

Hamzah takes you christmas shopping

Hamzah X Y/N (FEM),

Fluff, SFW, One-shot

Hamzah comes home on Christmas Day with a surprise—A whole day of shopping just for you.

Oof, I rushed to post this since it’s already New Year’s! Hope you all have a fantastic year ahead and enjoy this unproofread, late fic!

You were comfortably sat on your bed, fingers tapping on the keyboard of your laptop while your lilac Apple AirPods Max—so kindly gifted to you by Freddie Dredd—rested snugly over your ears, drowning out the world with a soothing mix of your favorite jazz songs.

In your hands was your “Out of Character” mug, its handle cracked and glued back together—a casualty of Hamzah’s infamous lack of attentiveness. The poor mug had met its fate during one of your kitchen debates over what to DoorDash, a conversation that had somehow spiraled into a messy, laughter-filled makeout session right there by the countertop.

Every time you held the mug, you couldn’t help but recall that memory: Hamzah half-apologizing between kisses, both of you too caught up in the moment to care about the loud crash behind you, and the mug shattering to pieces on the floor.

Hamzah had insisted on replacing it a with another. “We have millions of others in the warehouse.” But for you, this wasn’t just any mug. It was the one that had seen you through everything. From your first awkward visit to his apartment after a Hinge date, all the way to the day you packed up your tiny studio and moved into his house.

You both had ended up buying so many other mugs over time; ones with stupid sayings like “Mama Needs a Coffee” to match your equally ridiculous “Mama Needs a Blunt” shirts.

But no matter how many novelty mugs came and went, it was always that one “Out of Character” mug that ended up in your hands.

That piece of history was now filled with the hot chocolate you and Hamzah had lovingly prepared together that morning, the steam rising in soft spirals before meeting your lips.

That morning had been full of festive joy. You and Hamzah had spent hours decorating the Christmas tree, hanging each ornament turning into a competition for who had found the most ridiculous cringeworthy decoration at Walmart.

The free time after finishing up the Christmas decorating quickly became Hamzah’s excuse to pull off your matching set of pajamas. “What? I’m unwrapping my Christmas present.”

You smiled softly to the screen of your laptop, recalling Hamzah telling you at some point that this was the best Christmas he’d ever had. “I actually feel like I’m part of a family.” he had said. It wasn’t just about you two, it was about everyone: Mandy, Martin, and all the others who had made this Christmas feel complete for him.

You were so absorbed in your memories and hypnotized by the soft voice of Kali Uchis humming in your ears that you didn’t notice Hamzah returning from his trip to the store.

He started calling your name, the third time being when you finally heard the faint sound of his voice through your headphones. You quickly got up, pulling them off as you heard him make his way to the bedroom, still calling your name.

“Babe?”You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you greeted him. “Hey, what’s all this?” you asked, nodding toward the bags.

Hamzah grinned, shifting the bags around in his arms. “Christmas presents for the kids. Got a little carried away when I encountered the toy isle.” He paused, setting the bags down making a heavy clunk.

You peeked into the bag, spotting a huge Lego set that seemed to be Spider-Man related.

“D’you think Martin’s gonna like it?” he asked, catching you eyeing the purchase. “Bought a similar one for Freddie.”

“Oh, I checked out that Kawasaki we saw the other day,” Hamzah continued, his voice a mix of excitement and hesitation. “The owner said it’s a custom motorcycle, so it’ll probably cost a fortune. It’s not worth it, man.”

After setting down the other bag, Hamzah walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tight into him. “I got a present for you, too.”

You tilted your head back to make eye contact, and for a moment you saw that usual smug expression on his face soften with sweetness.

“Hm? What is it?” you asked, your arms swinging around his hips. You couldn’t resist giving his butt a playful squeeze, but he immediately dodged it with a playful chuckle.

He grabbed your hand gently and placed it over his chest. “Me. I’m the present.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the playful scoff that slipped from your lips. His grin widened, and he giggled softly, still holding your hand, his fingers nearly intertwining with yours.

“I’m joking.” he added quickly and slowly pulling your hand from his chest, his grip firm as he moved it to the side.

You glanced down and noticed he was still wearing the pajama pants you’d bought him, the ones covered in little Santa Claus prints. The soft fabric clung to his legs, highlighting the shape of his thighs and emphasizing the curve on his crotch area.

“I know you wanna take these off me, girl.” he blurted. Your head snapped up caught in a guilty expression. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got things to do.” he said, his voice light and teasing, until his gaze flicked down to your outfit. He paused, his expression unreadable for a moment, and you suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness.

Hamzah wasn’t usually one to critique your outfit choices. If anything, he always found a way to compliment your carefully chosen looks, especially if they incorporated his own clothes.

“You might wanna dress up.” he stated, his voice low, but his eyes betrayed the sharp flicker of desire as they lingered on the flushed mark on your collarbone and neck, a reminder of that morning’s passionate need for each other.

You couldn’t help but flash a flustered smirk, but quickly snapped back, wondering what in God’s name he meant by “You might wanna dress up.”

You watched as he pulled away to carry the bags away, completely unbothered by your utter confusion.

“What the fuck does that mean, Hamzah?”you asked, crossing your arms as his head shot up. “Where are we going?”

He smiled, giving a smug yet amused look. With his hands now free, he fished his wallet out of the pocket of his hoodie.

“I’m splurging on you, babe.” he said casually, flipping his wallet open. Neatly stacked credit cards glinted under the light, and a Polaroid of the two of you awkwardly touching tongue tips in a photo booth peeked out from the folds.

You continued to stare at him, waiting for the punchline, unsure if this was still part of his joke. But his expression remained genuine, his smile softening into that familiar playful look Hamzah wore when he was truly happy.

“Come on, I’m taking you to wherever you want.” he said, walking toward you with a playful grin. “I know you like the matching PJs, but you’ve got to wear a lot more than that. It’s below freezing out.”

As he veered off to greet the cats with an exaggerated, high-pitched voice in response to their meows, you stood in the hallway for a moment before retreating to the bedroom. Your laptop still displayed the test you’d been taking. You closed it with a soft click, unknowingly letting out a relieved sigh.

Rummaging through your closet, you pulled out a long-sleeved black top and a comfy black silk skirt, simple but elegant. To keep warm, you layered on a fuzzy coat and wrapped a red scarf snugly around your neck.

For the final touch, your hand hesitated for a moment before reaching for the red lacey tights—the ones Hamzah always said made you look “like a sexy office siren”. A small smirk tugged at your lips as you slipped them on, pairing them with sleek black heels that completed the look.

You gave yourself a look in the mirror. The outfit was bold, a little outside your usual comfort zone, but that was part of the fun. You loved dressing up for dates; not just for the way it made you feel, but for Hamzah’s inevitable amazed reaction and silly comments every time you jokingly runway model-walked to him.

When you walked back into the hallway, his reaction was immediate. He paused mid-sentence, one hand still extended toward a cat that had been nuzzling him, and his eyes widened slightly before a lopsided grin spread across his face.

“Damn.” He said adjusting his beanie while attentively scanning your whole body. His gaze darted quickly, from your face to your chest, down to your legs, and back to your face before lingering there, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say more was left speechless.

“Blue got your tongue?” you teased, twirling around playfully, letting the silky skirt flare out slightly.

His only response was a breathless laugh, shaking his head as if to snap himself out of it, but his dark widened eyes were still glued to you.

You sauntered over, the click of your heels echoing in the hallway, and leaned in close. Pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, leaving behind a faint red lipstick mark.

“Girl, I want you to get my tongue.”He teased, laughing softly, before his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer just as you tried to pull away. Your faces were inches apart now. His eyes flicked down to your lips, a hungry look quickly growing in his pupils, as if the red lipstick unlocked a new craving in him.

But before he could lean in for the kiss, you broke away, giggling, leaving him standing there with his lips slightly parted. You grabbed your bag, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips as you made your way toward the door.

The mall was alive with the chatter of couples picking out Christmas gifts, the soft clinking of cash registers blending with the festive music playing. Despite the cold air that that clung to your fuzzy coat when you’d stepped inside, the warmth of the mall enveloped you, Hamzah’s presence beside you only adding to the coziness.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze would occasionally flicker to your outfit. How his lips curled into that knowing smile, along with the same teasing glint in his eyes.

Hamzah inisisted on getting you the chocolate-covered strawberries you’d been eyeing every time you passed the food stalls. The vendor, grinning at Hamzah’s excitement, threw in a jar of pistachio cream and even offered a Christmas-themed spoon for free, saying that Hamzah was “doing the right thing by spoiling his lady”.

Your next stop was a cute pink store filled with Hello Kitty and other Sanrio gadgets. You picked out a few skincare products, making sure to grab some that could be shared between you two. Hamzah had a habit of stealing your moisturizers anyway, so it only made sense. When he showed you the cherry-scented lip balm, bejeweled with tiny Hello Kitty figures, you couldn’t help but tease him. “Yeah, you could use some of that too.” Then you found yourself rummaging through Hello Kitty blind boxes, your hands practically trembling with excitement. You had to complete the collection, and Hamzah simply shook his head as you grabbed a handful of them.

“It’s an obsession” he muttered, the familiar reference slipping from his lips before he sighed dramatically. “I miss Martin.” he added, the usual remark he weaponized to draw your attention back to him.

The next stop was a high-end boutique, the kind brimming with luxurious fabrics and well-dressed staff who hovered nearby, ready to pounce on you the moment your gaze lingered on anything, ready to recommend the priciest item in the store.

Though your first reaction was to scoff at the price tags, Hamzah was relentless, insisting you try on a couple of dresses. You hesitated at first, but once you stepped out of the fitting room, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes widened along with a bright smile.

You ended up buying two dresses, each one serving a different vibe but equally gorgeous to you.

The first dress was a chic, long-sleeved design, its soft fabric and delicate details perfect for the cottagecore look you liked. The way it hugged your figure and complimented your features made you feel like you were stepping out of a Pinterest board. As you twirled in front of the mirror, the airy fabric flowing around you, Hamzah’s voice cut through the fantasy you were immersing yourself in.

“Nara Smith can move over,” he said, his eyes wide, pointing at you and pretending to talk to an imaginary audience. “This is the perfect trad wife.”

Then came the second dress, a complete contrast. It was a lacy, see-through, short dress that had you questioning how you’d even find the occasion to wear it. It clung in all the right places and left little to the imagination, with a daring open back framed by pearly curtains. The moment you walked out, Hamzah’s face shifted from playful to serious as he quickly stood up, his hand instinctively reaching to shield you as you turned.

As you passed the sneaker store, a couple of pairs caught your eye. Shoes that matched some of the items on Hamzah’s wishlist. The temptation was too strong, so you subtly steered him inside. He hesitated, but you were persistent, convincing him to try on a few pairs making him walk around the aisles a few times.

“Are you sure they fit well?” You asked worried, follwing Hamzah with your eyes as he awkwardly paced up and down the store aisle.

“Yes, mom.” He plopped back on the chair with an exaggerated sigh, while you leaned down to press on the tip of the shoe, making sure that there was enough space for his toes.

After much deliberation, he finally settled on a pair of black metallic shoes, admiring them with a satisfied look on his face. As you both approached the cashier, he fumbled for his wallet. You quietly handed over your card as the cashier processed the purchase, a small smile exchanged between you and the employee behind the desk while Hamzah continued make small talk, oblivious to the transaction happening right in front of him.

Once the bag was handed to him, you made your way out of the store, giggling to yourself about the little secret you held from him.

The mall had completely drained both of you, the energy spent on shopping, teasing, and trying on clothes leaving you feeling more tired than you’d expected. You both ordered two caramel macchiatos at the Christmas-y looking coffe shop and made your way back to the parking lot.

Hamzah’s tired smile, the smell of coffee, and the undeniable Christmas spirit that seemed to be everywhere around you ignited in you a calming serenity.

The warm AC hummed through the car as Hamzah turned the key, the motor rumbling to life. The car’s screen lit up, and the soft, jazzy tones of “Santa Baby” by Laufey spilled through the speakers.

“Oh my god, the spirit of the Christmas is here, literally.” Hamzah said, faking a surprised expression while extending a hand towards the screen.

“Santa, if you’re hearing me, please bring Hamzah that Kawasaki he’s always wanted.” you said, glancing at him with a playful smirk as he chuckled, steering the wheel with one hand.

Little did he know, his beloved motorcycle was waiting for him in the garage, tied up with an exaggeratedly big red bow and a red lipstick-stained note resting on top of it.

#hamzah #hamzah fluff #hamzah the fantastic #slushie #slushynoobz #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah fic #out of character.

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ilongfor-the-arts · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a Carmy fic? I would love a confident reader who is maybe Sydney’s friend who comes to visit her at the restaurant. Asks her “who’s that?” when she sees Carmy in the background and tells Syd she has a hot boss (and Carmy overhears and likes her too). You can take it from there (with hopefully some smut)….I think Carmy would be emboldened if he knew that someone clearly liked him

More Than Friends

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem! Reader

Warnings: language, talking about sex, smut, oral (m! Receiving), office sex

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 2.8k

When I heard Sydney had gotten a job at "the best restaurant in the world," I imagined something a little more refined than The Original Beef of Chicagoland. Standing in front of the filthy sign, cluttered windows, and peeling facade made me question my decision to meet Sydney's "friends." I can only imagine the types of people who would gladly work here.

“Alright, I know it doesn’t look like much. But I promise, once you taste the food, you’ll never wanna eat anywhere else.”

I dragged my gaze across the unassuming appearance of "the best restaurant in the world." I'm not one to pass judgment based on appearance, but a dirty facade is not something you want to see in a place where food is being prepared for your consumption.

"Alright, Syd,” I say with a sigh, “I’m choosing to trust you on this one.”

Syd grasped my hand, tugging me through the threshold.

“Great! You won’t regret this Y/N.”

I permit Sydney to lead me into the restaurant. My nose was immediately filled with wonder. Considering the facade, the smell was impeccable.

“Woah.”

I said, staring aimlessly at the unkempt kitchen because the smell didn't match the appearance.

“What?”

Syd asked, worried something was not to my liking.

“I just- wow, it smells unbelievable in here.”

Sydney’s face broke into a pearly white smile.

“I know right! God, I was so worried you were gonna hate it!”

I looked all around the restaurant. It was shabby, dirty, and a little stuffy. In the corners of the room, the paint was beginning to peel. On the counter, a thin film of dust had accumulated. However, there was something that was quite adorable. For instance, it seemed as if this would be a great place for a first date. It appeared to be a location where many happy memories were stored.

“Hm.”

I hummed, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I don’t wanna speak too soon, but this certainly feels promising.”

“Oh my God just wait until you meet the crew! They are gonna love-”

“Sydney?!”

A moving figure that appeared behind the counter caught my attention.

Oh my God.

“Who is this?”

He pointed towards me.

“This is Y/N, the friend I was telling you about?”

His eyes landed on mine. He was gorgeous, God. I was almost angry at Sydney for failing to inform me about her sexy coworker.

“Oh, this is Y/N?”

Alright, now was the time to take command.

“Hey, I’m Y/N.”

I strolled over and optimistically extended a hand for him to take. His shocked gaze lingered over my friendly gesture.

“Oh- Um, hi Y/N, I’m Carmen…”

As Carmen clasped my hand in his, his voice drifted off. He had a powerful handshake. We were off to a fantastic start.

“But, um-my friends just call me Carmy.”

I grinned, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

“So, is it alright if I call you Carmy?”

He raised his eyebrows in surpirse.

“Well, I mean-um-that depends? Do you think were gonna be friends?”

I scoffed, my grin morphing into a subtle smirk.

“Y’know, I don’t know if I wanna be friends.”

It took a minute for him to get it, but once he did, the reaction was instnat. Carmen’s lips parted, a faint shade of pink creeping onto his cheekbones.

“Well, um-”

He looked to Sydney for solitude. She chimed in.

“Hey, um, Y/N, we only have about an hour until we open.”

She came around to my side, wrapped her arm around my shoulder, and led me to the kitchen. She was directing my attention away from Carmen.

“How ‘bout we take a look around and then I can make you some food to take home?”

I nodded.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

I removed myself from the uncomfortable blanket of awkwardness once we were in the kitchen and a considerable distance away from Carmen.

“Okay, what the hell Syd? Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot coworker!”

Sydney pressed her finger to my lips, hushing me. Her face was filled with fear. Was my flirtation really that petrifying?

“Sh! Y/N, he’s not just a coworker he’s my boss!”

My jaw dropped to the floor, my eyes widening.

“No way in hell! He’s your boss?! The man I just talked to is your fucking boss?!”

“The man you just flirted with is my fucking boss!”

I scoffed loudly, my tone creeping well above a whisper.

“Sydney you have a hot boss!”

“Y/N!”

She exclaimed sternly.

“Please! I beg of you! Try to keep the flirting to a minimum!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Jesus Sydney why don’t you just cut off my leg while you’re at it!”

I flung myself atop a kitchen coutner playfully, dangling my legs.

“I mean, you have this absolute hunk of a man bossing you around and hanging over your shoulder 24/7. You are lucky!”

Sydney crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pursed.

“Please, can you just not flirt with my boss.”

I groaned.

“You are no fun.”

I gnawed on my lower lip, staring into the nothingness past Sydney, letting my mind drift. When a burning question popped into my head, I quickly jerked back into reality.

“Alright, but, can I just ask one thing?”

Sydney sighed.

“What?”

She inquired, exasperated.

“Have you ever tried to-”

She waved her hands through the air, hastily dismissing my question.

“Oh my God please no more of that! No! The answer is no!”

I held my hands up in defense.

“Hey! Don’t attack me! I was just asking!”

Sydney rolled her eyes, her annoynace bubbling within her.

“Look Y/N, Carmen is a really lonely guy. He isn’t like one of those jocks you’re used to flirting with-”

Sydney's tone was tinged with judgment. I had to chime in.

“Woah, okay, when did this turn into criticizing my romantic choices?”

Sydney shook her head, restarting her thought process.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying you are a confident girl and he is very much so a not confident guy. And, I know you’re just screwing around, and even though you might think he knows you're screwing around, I promise you he does not.”

I stared off into space, appearing to carefully consider my next ideas even though I was only messing with Sydney. I mean, really? Don't flirt with her hot boss? Was she for real?

“Alright, so what you’re saying is make it obvious I’m not screwing around before I fuck him?”

Sydney groaned, her eyes virtually rolling to the back of her head.

“That’s absolutely not what I’m saying!”

“Sydney! Get your ass over here I need your help with something!”

Another voice, not Carmen's, reverberated around the kitchen walls. Sydney raced over to me, her voice barely above a whisper. I recoiled, surprised at her sudden closeness.

“I’m saying don’t fuck him! Please!”

She took a step back, placing distance between us. Sydney took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Now, I gotta go. Are you okay hanging here for a second?”

I nodded, trying to conceal my annoyance.

“Sure. I’ll be okay.”

“Hands to yourself!”

Sydney exclaimed before vanishing from sight. I assumed she'd only take a few minutes, but after about ten minutes of waiting, I decided to go exploring. I stumbled upon an appealing door that was closed off from the rest of the restaurant. I glanced from side to side, ensuring no one was around to witness my snooping.

I flung open the door, eager to discover the secrets of the hidden room. What I didn't expect to find was Carmen hunched over a desk, scribbling on a scrap of paper. When he noticed I was in his office, a look of shock wafted over his features. He blushed.

“Oh! Um, Y/N, what are you doing here?”

I shut the door behind me. Now, it was just me and him, in his office, alone.

Perfect.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I was just exploring and this door was closed so it excited me.”

I motioned to the door behind me.

“Huh. Do-um, do things that are off limits entice you?”

I strolled over to his desk, trying not to overwhelm him with my seductive attempts.

“Yes. When someone tells me I can’t have something, it makes me want it real bad.”

Carmen scoffed.

“What? Like your friend's hot boss?”

Oh my God.

He heard that?

His cheeks flushed an even brighter shade of pink. He was taken aback by his own self-assurance.

“I mean, um, I didn’t-uh, I-I wasn’t eavesdropping I promise.”

He averted his gaze, suddenly becoming preoccupied with the numerous bills on his desk. I shrugged casually.

“It’s alright. Honestly, I don’t really care. It’s your restaurant after all. You have a right to know what’s going on.”

Carmen scoffed.

“What? Like your friend's hot boss?”

Oh my God.

He heard that?

His cheeks flushed an even brighter shade of pink. He was taken aback by his own self-assurance.

“I mean, um, I didn’t-uh, I-I wasn’t eavesdropping I promise.”

He averted his gaze, suddenly becoming preoccupied with the numerous bills on his desk. I shrugged casually.

“It’s alright. Honestly, I don’t really care. It’s your restaurant after all. You have a right to know what’s going on.”

Through his lashes, he looked up at me. Except for the soothing hum of the air conditioner, there was complete silence. The dim lighting created an intriguing ambience in the space.

“Uh-well, I’m still sorry.”

I grinned, his awkwardness was incredibly adorable.

“Did you happen to hear what Sydney said? Yknow, about the whole…”

I waved my hand through the stuffy air, hoping he'd finish the sentence for me. If Carmen was as unaccustomed to female interaction as Sydney suggested, I would not bring up the subject of sex.

Carmen raised his eyebrows.

“Uh-yeah, I-um, I heard most of it.”

He laughed awkwardly.

“Please don’t fuck my boss.”

He tried to mimic Sydney's tone of voice. I laughed, delighted by his attempts at humor. I trailed my finger down the uneven wood of the desk, attempting to appear nonchalant as I entered unfamiliar terrain.

“Yknow, we can still have fun and not fuck.”

Carmen shifted in his seat, tightening his grasp on the armrests. His knuckles had turned a pale white.

“We don't-y’know-we don’t have to do anything.”

I nodded.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. But, honestly, do you think I’m attractive?”

The breath hitched in Carmen’s throat.

“Yeah, I do.”

He said, voice cracking slightly. I smirked, fluttering my lashes suggestively.

“Good, cause I think you’re attractive.”

I moved my gaze down his body, enjoying the sight of his toned torso being softly hugged by a white shirt. God, his hands, what I’d give to have them around my neck.

Baby steps.

Carmen shifted once more in his seat, the bulge in his jeans becoming increasingly more difficult to conceal.

“And, if you’ll let me, I’d love to take care of that for you.”

Carmen’s eyes widened.

“Oh-um, you don’t have to-“

“Well, I’m aware I don’t have to. But, yknow, usually when two people are attracted to each other they act on it.”

I slowly dropped to my knees in front of him, staring at him through my lashes. I shuffled closer, settling myself between his spread legs. The gentle smell of sweat and smoke wafted through the air.

“I mean, what’s the point of being attracted to someone if all you do is beat around the bush?”

God, this angle made me want to fuck him even more. He looked extra sexy when he was all hot and bothered.

“Yeah-um, I guess.”

I reached for his jeans, slowly unbuttoning his fly.

“Is this okay?”

Carmen gulped, his lips falling open as his breathing became audible.

“Yeah, this is okay.”

I tugged his jeans down his thighs, exposing his black boxers. Carmen’s erection was growing with every subtle touch.

Jesus, he was big.

I hooked a finger in the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down to join his jeans in a pool on the floor. His cock sprang free, beads of precum already collecting on the swollen tip.

“Oh Jesus.”

Carmen murmured under his breath. His knuckles were white. I playfully cast a glance upwards as I wrapped my hand around his length. Carmen shuddered. His entire body convulsed as I began to pump his erection. A few stray curls fell onto his forehead, and his chest heaved with each strangled breath.

“Try to be quiet, alright? We don’t want Sydney to think I’m fucking her hot boss.”

With that comment, I slipped the tip of his cock into my mouth. Carmen grit his teeth, suppressing the noises that threatened to spill past his lips.

“Does that feel good?”

I asked before hastily resuming my previous actions. Bit by bit, I took Carmen’s thick cock into my mouth. But he couldn’t help himself. Carmen thrusted his hips forward, his tip slamming into the back of my throat. I gagged, his visceral reaction was incredibly unexpected.

“Shit,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. Uh-yeah, yeah, that feels really good. Please, please don’t stop.”

Oh, I was not stopping.

Carmen's tanned body was covered in a thin mist of sweat. Moisture had adhered to the loose curls on his forehead. His pupils had been blown, and his dreamy blue eyes had turned nearly entirely black with passion.

Carmen's chest continued to heave as he attempted to recover control over his own body. He threw his head back, his Adam's apple now exposed.

God, he was sexy. I wanted nothing more than to place a hickey on that lovely neck of his.

The sound of footsteps hurried past the office door. Carmen's eyes widened in disbelief. He placed his fist in his mouth and bit down hard to conceal his desire.

Oh God, the thought of Sydney bursting through the door to find me on my knees with Carmen’s cock in my mouth frightened me. So, I gently took Carmen’s free fist and placed it in my hair, hoping he would take the hint and manipulate me to his liking.

Thankfully, his desire was so prominent that he pushed away his apprehension. He quickened my pace, moving me along his cock more rapidly. I relaxed my body, allowing myself to become a tool to help him achieve his release.

Carmen gripped my roots with such force that I feared my scalp would be pulled from my skull. Nevertheless, I pushed past the pain and discomfort in my knees and worked to bring him to an orgasm.

Carmen instinctively bucked his hips into my mouth, his cock twitching on my tongue. His salty precum coated my taste buds. I dragged my tongue over his swollen tip, his length now twitching more rapidly.

“Fuck! Jesus, I’m gonna-“

Carmen’s voice morphed into a pornographic moan as his hot cum coated my throat. He released his death grip on my roots, taking a few loose strands of hair with him. I gently dragged my lips along his cock a few more times in order to bring him down from his high. When he grew completely soft in my mouth, I removed my mouth from his length with a subtle pop.

I stood, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“You alright?”

Carmen hastily shoved his cock back into his boxers.

“I’m uh-I’m great.”

He threw his jeans over his hips, tattooed biceps rippling as he redid his fly.

He has nice arms.

I bet he could throw me around really easily.

“I just-um-we open really soon and I-um-I need to get ready there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

Carmen pushed past me. Before he could throw open the door, I placed my palm atop his hand, halting his movements.

“Would you wanna get dinner with me sometime?”

His eyes had returned to their lovely blue.

“Sure, um… I’m super busy but I think I can make something work.”

He grinned softly. He had a beautiful smile. God, this guy needs to get laid.

“Sounds good.”

Carmen and I crossed the threshold into the now-busy front of the restaurant. Employees rushed back and forth. A crowd had gathered around the front door. Carmen tapped my shoulder to attract my attention.

“Could I, um, maybe get your number?”

He asked, chuckling. I crossed my arms over my chest. I grinned devilishly.

“Sorry, I don’t have my phone on me right now,” I began, “oh! But, Y’know who does have my number who you could ask?”

Carmen tilted his head to the side, intrigued.

“Who?”

My eyes crinkled as I grinned sincerely.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

“Sydney.”

#carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #jeremy allen white x reader #the bear fic #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear #the bear season 2 #carmy x reader #carmy smut #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear

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