#a second glance; and he's just another person | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muchosbesitos · 11 hours

Text

BODY PAINT

the plan for your birthday had been to just go get a tattoo. so how’d you end up getting eaten out too?

pairing: tattoo artist! geto suguru x fem reader

contents: modern au/no curses, pierced/tattoed geto, cunnilingus, pulling his hair, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it 🫵🏼), doggy, pet names (pretty girl, cutie, etc.), sucking his fingers, spanking (once), creampie, sorta kinda public sex?

author’s note: basically just a big self indulgence fic

word count: 5.8k

Portraits and portraits of art pieces covering the walls welcomed you as you stepped inside, the jingle of the bell perched on the front announcing your entrance. From dragons to variations of skulls—some with roses, lightning, and a couple of the grim reaper. You could easily lose yourself looking at all the different works, staring at how all the different lines came together and how the colors melded into one another.

“What're you looking for today?" A low baritone voice interrupted your brief exploration of the parlor. You turned to see a man standing at the counter with pigtails, a black line going across his nose and a couple piercings scattered across his pale face. How was it that you'd missed him upon walking inside?

"I was thinking about getting a tattoo, do you guys happen to accept walk-ins?" You responded, coming up to the counter where the man was standing. Choso, from what his name tag read. "We do, our current tattoo artist's busy though. You mind waiting about.. twenty minutes?"

You supposed it wasn't too bad after showing up without an appointment so you just simply nodded, going over to take a seat in the lobby. There was only one other person sitting on the end of the black sofa, their attention purely on the show playing on the TV mounted on the wall. You went from playing with your fingers to looking over at the TV, attempting to do anything that would make these twenty minutes pass by.

"Hey, go ahead and fill this out. And let me see your ID," Choso came back with a sheet of paper, a consent form. You fished for your ID in the back pocket of your jeans before handing it over to him, starting out with the task of filling out the paper. Signing your initials where it asked you to, reading through the different medical conditions that the paper explicitly listed out.

Your foot bounced against the floor as you waited, sudden nerves starting to hit you all at once now that you were in here. You knew that you wanted a tattoo, you'd been looking forward towards getting it for a few months now. But the little nagging voice inside your head told you that you could barely tolerate a needle at the doctor's office, and that was only for a couple seconds in of itself. How would you tolerate almost an hour of it?

A woman walked out from the back of the parlor, a tattoo of what seemed to be her birth year wrapped up in cling wrap. But your attention was quickly diverted to the man coming out after her—though, you supposed it would be hard not to stare at him. He was absolutely.. gorgeous. Long dark black hair that practically seemed to shine underneath the harsh lights tied back in a half bun, eyebrow and snake bites piercings accentuating the features of his face, and dark ink adorning his forearms.

"Here's the aftercare sheet, just shoot me a text or something if you have any concerns or anything," the man told the woman before she stepped away from the counter, handing her a white paper. The jingle of the bell echoed behind her as she left, leaving only the four of you alone in the lobby. Maybe this wasn't who Choso was talking about? You couldn't picture yourself or your panties for that matter lasting hours in a room with him.

Though, you probably should've expected as much with your luck.

"You got time for a walk-in?" Choso spoke up, nudging his head towards you when the other man was finished pocketing his tip. The man glanced over at you before pulling his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through it for a couple seconds. "Yeah, I got time," the other man walked over, standing in front of you before extending a hand out, "Geto Suguru." The coldness from the silver rings adorning each of his fingers was a stark difference from how warm his hand seemed to be. You gave him your name, stopping the handshake before it prolonged more than it should've.

More than it already did.

"So, what type of tattoo were you looking for?" Geto pushed his hands in his pockets, standing back to allow for you to get up from the spot. "I'm not too sure how to describe it, but I have a reference photo, if that's okay?" You told him, getting your phone out to go back to your camera roll. "Yeah, that's fine. Just airdrop to me when you find it."

The smell of antibacterial spray filled your nose as you stepped in, the room somehow been more decorated than the one outside. Geto had a couple of his designs up on the wall along with a couple band posters—Nirvana, Iron Maiden, and Led Zeppelin being some of the more prominent ones. A couple figures placed on a shelf, photos decorating them as well. "Go on and take a seat. I'll be right there," he told you, opening up one of his drawers.

You took a seat on the leather chair in the middle of the chair, leaning against it before looking over to see what he was doing. "So.. how bad is it supposed to hurt?" You decided to ask, bracing yourself for the worst answer that he could give you. Despite the fact that you knew arm tattoos weren't all that painful from the two hours of research you'd done. "I can't give you a straightforward answer since not everyone has the same pain tolerance. But I'll walk you through the process before I start."

"The first thing I'm gonna do is shave your arm," Geto started off, opening up a pack of razors in front of you. Almost like he wanted to reassure you that everything he was using was new. "Around what area do you want the tattoo?" You opened your arm, gesturing around your inner forearm. Geto shaved the hair around the middle, wiping the residue away with a tissue.

"Next thing I'm gonna do is rub some alcohol on there and put on this cream," he brought up a small container into your line of vision, "It's not numbing cream before you get any ideas. Just so the stencil sticks." The rest of the process had gone relatively fast, the smell of rubbing alcohol filling up the space between the two of you. Geto placed the stencil on your arm, looking over at you to gauge your reaction. "Is this placement okay or do you want me to change it? Don't hesitate to ask, since y'know.. it is kinda permanent."

After a couple minutes of deliberation, Suguru placed the stencil where you’d decided. "So I'm gonna go ahead and put the needle on your arm just to go ahead and see if you can tolerate it," the machine whirred to life with the press of a button, "If you don't think you can tolerate it, just let me know and I'll wipe off the stencil." Geto turned around to face you, the buzzing of the tattoo gun getting louder the closer it got to your arm. All the nerves that you'd felt earlier seemed so silly now. While you felt the pressure of the needle , it was nothing like the excruciating pain you'd heard others have.

You cleared your throat before looking back over at him again, "Yeah, I can handle it." Suguru simply nodded, uncapping the bottle of black ink before almost filling up the small container in front of him. He arranged the small containers almost perfectly aligned to each other, the small work space that he'd set in front of him looking meticulous. Even the napkin that he'd grabbed was neatly folded up in three squares.

You'd almost wished that it was Choso doing the tattoo instead. Because, this, well this simply just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how he managed to look so goddamn pretty just doing the most menial of tasks. The almost intoxicating scent of amber from his cologne filling up your senses with how close he was. You weren't sure if was better or worse for you that he didn't notice just how affected you were, of how much his presence alone was making you want to ditch the whole idea of getting a tattoo.

"You need something to help you relax? I got a couple stress balls hanging around or I could play something on the TV if you want," Suguru sat down on the rolling chair next to you, already grabbing the TV remote next to you. "Can you just play something, please?" Geto flickered through a couple of the channels available, settling on what was on the TV mounted outside. Not particularly your first choice, but enough to get your mind off the tattoo, at least.

And to get your mind off the very attractive man next to you trying to do his job.

"So, any meaning behind this tattoo or you just decided you wanted to get it?" Suguru broke the silence, though his focus was purely on tracing the piece of work in front of him. "Just saw it on Pinterest and I related to it a bit. Well, that and the design itself seemed pretty to me," you offered, staying still and keeping your attention on the TV. "I can follow the design that you showed me or I could try to improve on it. That is, if you have trust in my abilities," he spoke up after a couple seconds, purple eyes almost seeming to bore into you.

"Can I see some of your abilities in place?" As hot as the man was—you didn't want to risk the tattoo coming out like complete dog shit. Suguru let out a short laugh, getting up from his spot before flipping through a couple drawers. He came back with a leather bound sketchbook, placing it on your lap. "I'm not much to show my works to others, but feel free to flip around if that helps you decide," you opened up the sketchbook with your available arm, immediately being greeted with a plethora of colors.

Not only were the pieces themselves better than what you could've expected, but they were so realistic. The shading of each drawing accentuating it perfectly against the lighting of the room, almost like he'd focused on that more than the actual drawing. You shut the sketchbook after flipping through a couple pages of different flowers, animals, and whatever else his brain could conjure up—handing it back to an expectant Geto. "It'd be wrong not to have faith in you after seeing that," you mused, watching him set the sketchbook aside before he went back to tracing.

"Don't worry, I'm still gonna follow the whole outline and shit. Just wanna make it look a little bit better is all," he responded, dipping the needle onto the container of black ink before bringing it back to your arm. You turned to look at much progress he'd done after the forty minute episode had ended only to realize he was just finishing up with the tip of the design. An incredibly detailed tip, though. "You okay? Don't want you passing out on me or anything."

"No, I'm fine," you reassured, going back to watching the TV in the comfortable silence that had built in the room. The only sounds emanating from the room were the soft whirring of the tattoo gun and the screaming of a couple characters on screen. "Have you watched this before?" You decided to break the silence after a while, turning to look over at him. "Something like that. Haven't watched much after the fourth season. Don't really have a buncha time available to watch TV."

The rest of the session had gone moderately well, the two of you sitting in silence for a majority of the time albeit for a couple questions that either he or you asked. He was, oddly enough, easy to talk to. "Okay, I'm gonna go in with a white paint. It's gonna hurt more than the other one so just tell me if it gets to be too much," he told you, pouring white paint into one of those small containers. And you felt the difference between the two, looking over to see him adding small marks with the white paint. Small marks that were starting to hurt like a motherfucker.

"Easy, you did so well for me throughout the session. This is nothing compared to that," Suguru spoke up, raising the tattoo gun to give you a small break. One of his gloved hands went to the furrow settled in your brow, gently easing it over before changing out the gloves for a fresh pair. You weren't even sure when you'd even started to grimace so badly. "Easy for you to say," you grumbled underneath your breath, certain that he wouldn't have caught it. But if the way his eyes shot up to look at you with a slightly amused smile was anything to go by, he did.

"You make it so hard to be nice to you," Geto muttered, turning the tattoo gun back on and going back to adding the fine white strokes. Maybe it'd been the fact that he'd offered that small bit of reassurance or maybe it was the fact that you could feel the session was starting to come to an end, but the pain didn't quite feel as bad as the first go. "Alright, we're all done," he spoke up after a couple minutes, turning the tattoo gun off and placing it on the table next to him.

"You mind if I get a couple pictures?" He waited for you to nod before setting up the ring light next to you, pulling his phone out. You extended your arm out to where he had the camera pointed, the tattoo on display. "Mm, hold on," Suguru muttered to himself, one of his hands wrapping around your wrist to adjust the angle. His touch almost seeming to linger more than necessary. Surely, all of this wasn't necessary just for a single photo, right? Especially when you weren't even the subject of said photo.

"You're gonna want to avoid shaving or waxing the area while it's still healing, some peeling's normal but just come to me if you have any concerns," he continued to explain the process of the aftercare involved, wrapping the tattoo up in cling wrap. "Try not to fuck it up," Geto led you over to the front desk, ringing you up for the price. "Wasn't it $120 and not $100?" You questioned, grabbing your wallet from your pocket.

"Consider it a birthday discount of sorts, pretty girl," the nickname spilled out so easily that you might've almost missed it. As if you needed more things to overthink about from this encounter. You handed him a hundred dollar bill with a ten dollar tip, giving him a short thanks before leaving the parlor. You looked over at the aftercare sheet that he'd given you at the counter, seeing his Instagram scrawled out in pretty decent penmanship. Well, at least you had plans for when you got back to your apartment tonight.

You knew that the tattoo was healing nicely—that you'd put the expensive ass ointment that Geto had recommended the designated three times a day. So why exactly did you find yourself standing outside the tattoo parlor once more? Out of concern for the new ink or just wanting to see Suguru once more? It couldn't be the latter, right? Not like you'd spent hours scrolling through his Instagram these last couple days to see what he'd thought about the tattoo. Definitely not the latter.

After all, he did say come to him if you had any concerns.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Choso to greet you at the counter this time around. Suguru was standing there, rearranging a couple pieces of body jewelry onto the glass display before he lifted his head to see who'd walked in the door. "You didn't let it get infected, did you? I spent hours on that thing," he didn't even bother with a greeting as Choso had done, already looking annoyed at the prospect. "Your concern for my health's endearing too."

"Yeah, yeah, what're you here for?"

"I just wanted to check up with you to see if the tattoo was healing nicely," the practiced lie slipped out of your tongue without any effort, plenty of rehearsals in your head allowing for it to slip out with any second thought.

"Alright, I have a couple minutes before my next appointment gets here," Suguru gestured for you to join him, opening the door for you. The space looked pretty much the same as the day you'd come in—which you should've expected, since it was only a week ago—albeit for a couple pencils scattered on top of a sketchbook in the middle of his desk. You took a seat on the leather chair, waiting for him to finish cleaning up his space.

Suguru grabbed a white box of gloves, grabbing a pair before placing them on. "So, what're you concerned about?" He questioned, long fingers running through your skin as he looked at how the tattoo was healing. "Well, it's been peeling a bit. I just wanted to know if that was normal or if I'm fucking something up somehow. I've been putting on the ointment you recommended three times a day."

Geto let out a small hum before leaning back on the rolling chair, folding his arms across his chest. His very muscular arms, the material of his black button down practically straining against them with the motion. "Your tattoo seems to healing well. Bit of peeling's normal as a new layer of skin comes in, nothing to worry about too much. Usually the area starts to get red if it's starting to get infected."

And maybe you should've taken that as a cue to leave. But you found yourself wanting to bask in whatever couple seconds that he would give you, unable to think about any other opportunities where you'd see him. Well, any other opportunities that didn't involve you spending upwards of a hundred dollars. You made no effort to move just yet, folding your hands over your lap. Trying to think of anything else to prolong this visit.

A couple moments of silence pass between the two of you before Suguru opens his mouth up to speak, only to get interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. "Yo, someone named Larue's here for their appointment," Choso called out from the other side, his foot tapping against the hardwood floor. Suguru gives you a glance before answering back, "Ask him to reschedule. Tell him that I'm sorry and I'll give him a discount or something."

Choso's heavy boots echoed against the floor as he walked away, leaving you alone with Geto once more. "So, tell me, what exactly is it that you're doing here again? And don't lie to me, talking about some 'I wanna see if my tattoo's healing properly,'" And you almost rolled your eyes at the way he raised his voice in pitch, mocking you with a short chuckle. Almost.

"First of all, I don't sound like that. Second, I really did just come to see if it was healing properly," And despite your words, you couldn't bring yourself to move from the chair just yet. "So maybe I should go tell Larue to come back for his appointment. Since we determined your tattoo's healing nicely, our time's done," You would've thought that he was bluffing but he moved to get up from his chair, walking over to the door.

"Wait," you called out before he managed to turn the doorknob, looking over to see him already staring at you with an expectant look on his face. Like he was about five seconds away from telling you to get off the leather chair. "So maybe, there's a slight chance that I didn't just come here just because I was concerned about my tattoo," you muttered almost reluctantly, avoiding looking at him directly.

"And why don't you try telling me why you came here instead?" Suguru stepped away from the door, returning to his spot in the seat next to you. Where you couldn't avoid looking at him even if you wanted to. How would you even begin telling him that he's been clouding your mind since last week just from that three hour interaction? That you've refreshed his Instagram page more times than you could count to see what he'd say about the piece?

You gulped, willing for the words to come out before he got the chance to go back to the door again. But you couldn't. Couldn't bring yourself to the potential humiliation that would inevitably come if you had just been delusional about this all along.

"You here because you want me to fuck you?" And the words that you'd struggled to spit out, he'd just said them so bluntly. You were expecting for him to look at you with that same mocking smile from earlier, but he seemed to be genuinely analyzing you. Waiting. "No, no, of course, I was just here to.." You hadn't quite rehearsed for this part in your mind.

"Because if you were, then I'd say that I was thinking about you too, cutie," and before you had the chance to respond, he was already speaking again, "So I'm just gonna ask you again. Are you here because you want me to fuck you?"

Now that there was little chance of your advances getting rejected, the word slipped out so easily, "Yes."

"Go on and lay back for me. Wanna taste you," and by how quick he was to get on his knees in front of you, you'd guess that he was doing this for his pleasure more than yours. "Lift up your hips," you followed his words without hesitation, letting him slide your jeans off and place them to the side. Large tattooed hands spread your thighs apart, presenting you like a feast to the man before you.

And you would've felt some ounce of embarrassment for the wet spot that quickly built up in the middle of your panties in just the five minutes of being here—if it weren't for the fact that Geto's cock was already straining against the material of his jeans. "Mph, fuck!" Geto quickly pulled your attention back to the issue at hand, his tongue prodding against your clothed cunt. "Not so loud, you don't want Choso to hear us," he clicked his tongue, giving you somewhat of a relief when he pulled away.

A very short lived relief. His tongue traced the outline of your slick folds through the material of your thin panties, his eyes closed. The tip of his tongue swirled against your clit, your cunt leaking out onto your underwear. You'd be lucky at this rate, if you could wear them back home. And almost like he'd read your mind, his fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties before sliding them down to your ankles.

You waited to feel his tongue on your cunt again—but nothing came. You looked over at him, watching as he just observed your weeping pussy. "Thought you were eager to taste," you muttered, a scoff leaving from his lips. A gust of wind blowing to your cunt, your walls clenching all the much more. Eager to receive whatever he could give. "Let me admire for a bit. We got enough time," Suguru let out a small tsk after, his face in front of your cunt. And before you had the chance to say anything more—his tongue was already on your labia.

Your syrupy slick dripped onto his expecting tongue, his eyes almost rolling back at the taste. The small silver ball at the end of his tongue piercing flicked against your folds with every lick, each touch serving to have you clenching around pure air. Your hips bucked up to meet his movements, his large hands holding you down in mere seconds. "What'd I say? Let me enjoy this, pretty girl. Told you we got enough time."

"Such a tease," your grumbled words came out more breathless than you would've liked. "And you're so impatient," he retorted without missing a beat. A hushed whine escaped from your lips when you felt him pull away, his mouth moving to your inner thighs. Pressing open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, nibbling down just hard enough for it to leave a mark behind. "Promise I'll take care of you, sweet girl. Have some trust in my abilities."

“You say that but your abilities have been less than stellar lately."

A couple dark locks fell out of place, framing his face almost perfectly. You'd almost expected Suguru to look offended at the implication of your words—but all he did was seem to find some kind of amusement. "Guess I'll have to repair that then," he murmured, more so to your cunt than to you, his tongue prodding in and out of your entrance. "You're not doing a g-Oh fuck!" He immediately made you swallow whatever retort you were planning, his tongue penetrating inside of you.

Suguru swiped his tongue up and down your cunt, the lower half of his face covered in a mixture of your slick and his own spit. Your eyes fluttered shut, the tip of his nose prodding against your clit with every swipe that he made. "Keep looking at me, pretty. Keep those pretty eyes on me," you opened your eyes to see purple eyes already looking back at you, resuming his actions all too greedily. He was so messy when it came to eating you out—spitting into your cunt, watching almost all too eagerly as you clenched around the liquid.

"Please," a whine left your lips, your fingers tugging on his hair. Whatever act of defiance you'd tried to put on earlier had quickly faded away, all you were feeling was need. An almost slutty moan left his lips at the sudden tug, one of his hands grabbing on to yours. "Come on, you can pull harder, can't you?" An even louder groan escaped his lips at the harder tug you gave this time around—the tips of your fingers digging into his scalp. "Now, what were you saying please for?" His words came out muffled, his face buried in between your legs. "Your fingers, please."

"Since you asked so nicely," Suguru took to that almost immediately, two long fingers pushing past the ring of muscle before curling to hit your g-spot. His mouth instantly attached itself to your throbbing clit, pushing through your clitoral hood to get to the bundle of nerves. "F-Fuck, don't stop, don't stop," you sounded like a broken record, your thighs pressing tightly against the sides of his face while his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Gonna cum, gonna cum," any other thought that you had apart from cumming had been quickly fucked out of you, your grip on his hair tightening even further. Not that Suguru minded by any means, moaning against your cunt with every tug. The vibrations only added to the dual stimulation, your back arching off the chair. Needing to get more. Pushing your hips against his face, bucking up to meet every swipe of his tongue. "Cum for me, princess, come on. You can do it, right?"

All you could do was nod, not wanting to be any louder than you already had been. Part of you had been surprised that Choso hadn't come by knocking earlier. Suguru continued flicking his tongue around your clit, working in synchrony with his fingers to pull your orgasm out of you. "Fuck fuck, gonna cum!" You weren't sure if your muffled moan made it's way into Suguru's ears, watching as he eagerly lapped up your release. Running his tongue across his lips, your slick making them glisten under the lights.

"Get on all fours," Suguru told you after you'd managed to regain your breath, deft fingers working to unzip his jeans. You got on your stomach, resting it against the cold leather while getting on your hands and knees. And if Choso were to come into the room to be quiet now, he'd get a spectacular view of your ass perched up in the air. Suguru ran his cock against your folds, your slick lubricating it with ease after your previous orgasm.

Ridges running down his shaft brushed up against your tight walls, your slick coating his tip like second nature the further that he pushed it in. Your walls clenched and unclenched rapidly in a futile attempt to get used to the pure stretch of his cock. "You can take it, right? This isn't anything," But the sheer girth of his cock was just enough to dispute that statement, the position making him feel much deeper than he was. "Yeah, yeah, I can take it," your voice came out as a mewl, your grip on the leather getting tighter the more he pushed his cock in.

The rhythm that he started up was fairly slow at first, allowing you to get used to the feeling. Whatever he was lacking in length, he certainly compensated for it with the sheer size of his girth. Just a couple inches inside of you and he'd already stuffed you full. "Doin' so good, gonna speed up, okay?" He waited for you to nod, retracting his cock before pushing the full length inside of you with one sharp thrust. Your mouth went agape, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head upon the impact. "So good, so so good," even after a couple thrusts, he already sounded so obsessed.

"That's ittt, that's my girl. Fuck that ass back into me," A strangled groan left his throat at the sight of your ass cheeks jiggling underneath him with every thrust, the two of you moving in tandem. One of the hands that'd been on your waist went to cup whatever he could of the flesh, all too entranced with the vision presented in front of him. "Mm, fuck!" A moan left your lips as you felt the palm of his hand strike against the flesh, your ass stinging from the impact. Not to say that you necessarily hated it, by any means.

And Suguru caught it—the way your slick ran down his shaft at the sudden impact. "Should've fucking guessed you would've liked it," his tone practically dripped in condescension as he spoke, his hand going to cup your other ass cheek. Holding the flesh in his hands before giving you another harsh slap, almost rivaling the harsh smack of his hips against your own. "Shit shit, Geto, don't stop," you whined, pushing your ass back into him. "Think it's okay for you to call me Suguru after bein’ inside you and all."

"Suck," a simple command, two of his fingers in front of your face. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, tasting the remnants of your cum on them before letting it fall flat. Simply sucking on his fingers as his cock pushed in and out of you with such fervor. "Get 'em all nice and wet for me, just like that," Suguru pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth the second you started to get too loud again, tears building up at your waterline when you gagged on them. "Aw, don't cry, cutie. Y'know I had to."

And while his words were meant to be reassuring, the mocking tone of his voice was anything but. Spit dribbled down from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the chair beneath you. "Sugu-Sugu, fuck, right there!" He'd adjusted the angle of his hips, his shaft brushing up against your g-spot with every thrust. "So. Fucking. Tight," each of his words was accentuated with a deep thrust of his hips, filling you up impossibly so. Like he wanted to show you just how much he'd been thinking about it, like he claimed he did.

If the moans coming out of you weren't evidence enough as to what was happening in the room, then you were pretty much certain that the plap! plap! echoing through the walls was evidence enough. Geto's heavy balls smacked against your ass with every harsh thrust of his hips. He brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing at the nub just in time for it to match his pace. You clamped around his cock like a vice, a strangled moan leaving out of his lips. "Just had to tell- shit me that you wanted my cum, ma."

"Mph, cumm- I'm cumm-" Muffled babbles left your mouth, your cunt clenching around him yet again. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, his thrusts getting sloppier and faster. Whatever small bits of concern about being too loud had been disregarded—loud squelches and skin clapping filling up the room as Suguru rutted inside of you. You turned your head to look over at him, the sight before you almost like something out of a painting. His hair had completely been released from the half-bun, cascading down his back perfectly and his eyes were closed in pure bliss.

Spurts and spurts of cum shot deep inside of you, his cock twitching as you milked him for whatever he could offer. Suguru pulled his softening cock out of your cunt, his cum starting to dribble out of you and down your thighs. With the same fingers he'd had inside your mouth, he pushed his cum back inside of you. Scooping the substance up with relative ease. Your body slumped against the chair, willing that Geto would give you a couple seconds to catch your breath.

You'd expected him to grab a wipe or a paper towel to clean you up with, but he simply got up from his spot behind you. Grabbing his pants off the floor and fastening up his fly. You looked over at him through half lidded eyes, seeing him pop the fingers that had previously been in your cunt into his mouth. Slurping at them in a similar fashion that you'd done just a couple minutes prior. "Wanna taste yourself, pretty girl? 'S so fucking good."

Geto didn't give you a chance to respond before he was leaning down to your level, one of his fingers underneath your chin to raise your head. He leaned in, his lips pressing against yours in a messy exchange. More of spit getting intertwined than an actual kiss, not that you minded in your state. His tongue flicked against yours, the bittersweet taste of both you and him combined filling your tastebuds. Geto pulled away after a couple seconds, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

You hadn't even finished putting on your pants yet when Suguru spoke up yet again,

"You mind giving me a five star review when you get home?"

274 notes · View notes

apollogeticx · 2 days

Text

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, afab!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter one of four!

wc. 6.8K

↳ part 2

At Jujutsu High, power was everything. It determined your place, your worth, and sometimes even your fate. And you, a second-year student with a cursed technique so insignificant that no one ever seemed to remember your name, found yourself lingering in the background. It wasn’t by choice, but you’d grown accustomed to it. After all, how could someone like you stand out when surrounded by others like Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro?

Your cursed technique wasn’t something anyone would envy. It barely held up in combat situations, more suited for distractions or temporary barriers. Compared to the raw physical strength and resilience of Itadori or the strategic mastery of Megumi, your abilities felt… lacking. As a result, you were often overlooked, blending into the scenery like another unremarkable stone on the path.

But there was one person who never blended in. Satoru Gojo.

The first time you met him, you were overwhelmed by his sheer presence. His easy smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and those striking cerulean eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He was untouchable—both in power and in personality. Students revered him, teachers respected him, and the world feared him. And you, much like everyone else, were drawn to him.

You told yourself it was admiration at first. How could you not admire the strongest sorcerer alive? But over time, admiration twisted into something deeper, something more dangerous. You began to notice the subtle ways his hair would fall into his face when he tilted his head, the low chuckle in his voice when he made some sarcastic comment. His casual dismissals toward the world around him only made you more curious, more desperate to be seen by him.

But Gojo was always preoccupied—teaching, fighting, keeping the balance between the worlds of curses and humans. And you… you were invisible in his orbit. A flicker in the corner of his eye that never quite caught his attention.

You started to resent how your heart quickened every time he entered a room, how your thoughts always drifted to him when you were supposed to be training. And yet, there was nothing you could do. He was untouchable, after all. Out of reach in every way. You told yourself over and over that your feelings were foolish, that they would pass. But they didn’t.

Instead, something began to change.

It started as a tightness in your chest—a strange pressure that made it hard to breathe. At first, you thought it was just nerves, the result of constantly being on edge around Gojo. But the tightness grew worse. Every glance at him sent sharp pangs through your lungs, each breath becoming more labored. You tried to ignore it, tried to pretend it was nothing.

Then the petals began.

The first time it happened, you coughed violently in the privacy of your dorm room, spitting up something soft and delicate. When you looked down, you saw it: a small cerulean petal lying in your palm, shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Hanahaki. The name came to you like a curse, like something you’d only heard about in stories. A disease born from unrequited love, where feelings rooted so deeply in your heart that they grew into flowers, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You couldn’t believe it at first. You stared at the petal, trembling, hoping it was a mistake. But the next day, another petal came, and then another. Each time you saw Gojo, the flowers in your lungs bloomed more violently, until your chest ached with the weight of it.

You couldn’t tell anyone. How could you? How could you explain to your classmates, to Gojo, that your cursed technique wasn’t the only thing making you weak? How could you admit that your body was betraying you, all because of feelings you were never meant to have?

So you did the only thing you could—you hid it. You avoided Gojo as best you could, keeping your distance, hoping the flowers would stop growing if you just ignored them. But every stolen glance, every overheard laugh, every fleeting interaction only made it worse.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this. Sooner or later, the petals would consume you entirely. But the idea of confessing… of letting Gojo know how you felt, terrified you. He would never return those feelings. Why would he? You were just a shadow, a forgotten student with a weak cursed technique, not someone worthy of his attention.

And yet, as another petal fell from your lips, you realized that you were running out of time.

The question wasn’t whether you would confront your feelings. It was when. And what would happen when the strongest sorcerer in the world finally noticed the weakest in his shadow?

You had always been good at keeping secrets. It was easy, blending into the background, letting others take the spotlight while you remained unnoticed. But this—this was different. The weight in your chest had grown unbearable. Every breath felt like inhaling thorns, each cough delivering a fresh bloom of cerulean petals into your hand. The once delicate flowers now felt like lead lodged in your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out.

You needed help, and there was only one person who could provide it.

Shoko Ieiri.

The walk to her office felt impossibly long, every step weighed down by hesitation. Shoko had always been approachable, if not slightly aloof. You respected her for her skill as a healer, and for her unflappable demeanor. If anyone could help you understand what was happening—or at least buy you some time—it was her.

As you arrived, you hesitated outside her door, clutching a fistful of crumpled petals in your pocket. You knocked softly, your heart thudding louder than the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

“Come in,” came her voice, calm and indifferent as always.

You entered, trying to steady your breathing as much as possible. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and incense, a strange combination that somehow fit her perfectly. Shoko sat behind her desk, sipping from a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but alert as they glanced up at you.

“You look like hell,” she remarked bluntly, setting her mug down. “What’s up?”

You swallowed, the sharp taste of petals lingering on your tongue. “I need your help… with something.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, gesturing for you to take a seat. “Alright. Spill it.”

You sat down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and desperation swirling in your stomach. For a moment, you considered lying—telling her it was something minor, something fixable. But the weight in your chest reminded you that this wasn’t something you could ignore any longer.

“I… I think I have hanahaki,” you said quietly, pulling the crumpled petals from your pocket and placing them on the table between you.

For the first time since you entered, Shoko’s expression changed. Her usually indifferent gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward slightly, examining the petals with a frown.

“You’re sure?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. The vibrant blue petals spread out on her desk, a damning confirmation of the truth.

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve been coughing them up for a while now. It’s getting worse.”

Shoko let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Hanahaki… it’s rare. Most sorcerers don’t deal with it because they’ve got other things to worry about. But I’ve seen it before.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “You know what this means, right?”

You nodded again, your throat tightening. You knew exactly what it meant. The disease would continue to progress, the flowers growing more and more until they either filled your lungs entirely, or until you did the one thing you were terrified to do—confess. Only then would the blooms wither, depending on whether or not your feelings were returned.

But you also knew that the latter was not a possibility.

Shoko seemed to sense your thoughts. “There’s no cure for hanahaki, other than—well, you know. Confession. And even then, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. You could still…”

Die. She didn’t say it, but you both knew it was an option on the table. An unspoken shadow hovering between you.

You felt a sharp pang of fear, but forced yourself to remain calm. “Is there any way to slow it down? I don’t know if I’m ready to…” Your voice trailed off.

Shoko leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. “I can give you something to ease the symptoms—numb the pain, make it easier to breathe—but it’s just a band-aid. The flowers will keep growing. You can only delay the inevitable.”

A heavy silence fell between you as you processed her words. You had expected this, but hearing it confirmed still made the weight in your chest tighten. Delaying the inevitable was all you could do. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

After a long pause, Shoko spoke again. “You should tell him, you know. The person you’re in love with.” Her voice was soft, unusually gentle for someone so pragmatic. “It might be the only real solution.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at her, wide-eyed. “I can’t. He—he wouldn’t…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to say it out loud.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing slightly. “He wouldn’t what? Listen? Understand? Or are you just scared he won’t feel the same?”

Her words cut deep, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind them. You were terrified. Terrified of Gojo’s reaction. Of his inevitable rejection. He was too far above you, too unreachable. Confessing your feelings would only cement your insignificance in his eyes.

"It’s Gojo," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the name heavy on your tongue. You looked down, unable to meet Shoko’s eyes, the weight of your confession settling between you like a secret that had been waiting too long to be spoken.

"He’s the one I…" Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. "He’s the one causing the hanahaki. I’ve loved him for so long, and he never noticed. And now…" You trailed off, your chest tight with the familiar ache, knowing that simply saying his name wasn’t enough to change anything, but it was the truth you had been hiding, and now it was out in the open.

Shoko’s expression darkened as she watched, her hands folding together in thought. "You should have come sooner," she murmured, moving to grab a few supplies. "You’re lucky it’s still early enough that we might be able to manage the symptoms."

She began to work, carefully checking your vitals and preparing something to dull the pain. "There’s no cure for hanahaki except—" She paused, giving you a knowing look.

"I know," you said quietly, avoiding her gaze. The cure—having the love reciprocated, or undergoing surgery that would remove the flowers but erase your feelings entirely. The thought of forgetting Gojo completely... it hurt almost as much as the disease itself.

"I can give you something to slow it down," Shoko said finally, handing you a small vial. "But it won’t stop the petals from blooming. You need to deal with this, one way or another."

You nodded, taking the vial with shaky hands. "Thank you," you whispered, though it felt hollow. No remedy could fix the real problem.

As you left the room, Shoko’s words echoed in your mind. You knew the truth—there was no escaping this. Not without facing your feelings for Gojo head-on. But how could you, when you were nothing more than another faceless student to him?

The petals continued to bloom, their cerulean hue a constant reminder of the love that would never be returned.

The days blurred together, one petal after another blooming in your lungs. The nosebleeds were no longer occasional—they came daily, seeping through tissues and staining your hands with the undeniable proof of your condition. You tried to ignore it, to act like everything was fine, but the fatigue was becoming too much to bear. Each breath felt heavier, and the tightness in your chest was growing more unbearable by the day.

Shoko’s office became a second home. Every time you felt the blood creeping toward your nose or the cough rising in your throat, you found yourself standing at her door, face pale and eyes pleading for something—anything—to dull the pain. Each time, she’d hand you another vial or patch you up, her expression more concerned than the last.

“You can’t keep going like this,” she said one afternoon, the frown on her face more prominent than usual as she wiped the blood from your upper lip. “You need to either let it run its course or... you know the alternatives.”

"I’m not ready," you muttered, avoiding her gaze. You knew what she was implying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. "Not yet."

Shoko sighed, leaning back against her desk. "You know I’ll have to tell Gojo eventually, right?" She said it like it was an inevitability, which, in many ways, it was.

Panic shot through you at the thought of him knowing. He couldn’t. Not now, not when you were still trying so hard to keep yourself invisible to him. "Please, don’t," you whispered, your voice shaky. "Just… don’t tell him it’s me."

Shoko hesitated, her brow furrowed in concern. "You know he’ll figure it out. He’s not stupid, and the moment he realizes one of his students is suffering from something like this—"

"Promise me," you cut in, desperation lacing your voice. "Promise you won’t say my name."

She stared at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily, pushing her glasses up on her head. "Fine. I’ll keep your name out of it. For now. But you can’t hide forever."

You nodded, relief washing over you. Hiding was all you had left. As long as he didn’t know, you could pretend it didn’t matter. You could stay in the background, where you were used to being—unseen, unnoticed, just another face in his class.

It was easier to avoid Gojo when he was always so busy. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and the others constantly vied for his attention with their loud voices and powerful techniques. It made it simple to slip into the back of his classroom, your chair by the window offering a sanctuary where you could fade into the background.

He never looked your way, not when Yuji was busy cracking jokes or Megumi was asking pointed questions about combat. Gojo’s blindfolded eyes were always on them, his energy, his focus, everything wrapped up in the more powerful students. It was almost a blessing, in a twisted way—he didn’t have time for someone like you.

You spent most of class staring out the window, one hand subtly holding a tissue against your nose, ready to catch the inevitable trickle of blood. You felt it coming now, the familiar warmth creeping down your nostrils, but you didn’t move. It had become so common that it barely registered as pain anymore, just a constant dull ache in the back of your throat and chest.

When Gojo asked a question, you didn’t raise your hand. You never did. It was safer to stay quiet, to let Yuji or Nobara answer while you watched the clouds drift lazily by outside. You were disappearing, bit by bit, wilting away as the petals bloomed inside you.

But every time Gojo laughed—every time he made a careless joke or smiled that easy, charming smile—you felt it. The tightness, the sharp pain of another petal taking root inside your lungs. You wanted to hate him for it, to hate yourself for letting it get this far, but those feelings only made the flowers grow faster.

There were moments, brief flickers of time, when his attention would shift—when his gaze would sweep across the classroom, pausing on each student. You’d hold your breath in those moments, praying that his gaze wouldn’t linger on you for too long, that he wouldn’t notice the fatigue in your eyes or the way you kept dabbing at your nose when you thought no one was looking.

But he never lingered. Not once. Not on you.

And somehow, that hurt more than the petals ever could.

Every time you coughed, every time a cerulean petal hit the ground, you felt yourself coming undone. You kept your distance from Gojo as much as possible, avoiding his usual haunts and slipping away during training sessions. But it was impossible to avoid him completely. Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways, laughing with the other students, his presence as overwhelming as ever. Each time, the flowers bloomed a little more, spreading deeper into your lungs.

You were running out of time.

One evening, after a particularly harsh coughing fit, you stumbled into the training yard, desperate for fresh air. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in your chest, but at least here, you were alone. You leaned against a tree, struggling to catch your breath as another wave of petals slipped past your lips.

You hated this. Hated how weak you felt, how helpless you were against something as absurd as unrequited love. And yet, every time you thought about confessing, the image of Gojo’s indifferent smile flashed in your mind, and the words died in your throat.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart raced as you straightened up, wiping the petals from your mouth and stuffing them into your pocket. You looked up, expecting to see one of the other students, but it was Shoko.

Her usual cool, detached demeanor was still in place, but there was something different in her eyes—something that made your stomach twist with unease.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice lower than usual.

You swallowed, already guessing what this was about. “What is it?”

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Your condition is getting worse, isn’t it?”

You didn’t need to answer. The way you clutched your chest, the way you struggled to keep the petals hidden—it was all the confirmation she needed.

“I’ve been holding off as long as I could,” she continued, her voice softer now. “But I talked to Gojo.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you. Your breath caught in your throat, not because of the flowers this time, but because of her words.

“You what?” The question came out in a whisper, sharp with disbelief.

“I had to,” Shoko said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’re not going to make it much longer if this keeps up. I didn’t mention your name, like I promised, but he needed to know.”

Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled back, leaning heavily against the tree for support. Of course, she’d done what you’d asked—told him without revealing your identity. But it didn’t matter. The mere thought of Gojo knowing, of him even being aware that someone in his proximity was withering away because of him, made your chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with the flowers.

“What… what did he say?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Shoko gave you a long, measured look before speaking. “He didn’t take it as lightly as you might think. He’s worried—though you know how Gojo is. He hides it behind his usual attitude. But this? Hanahaki? He knows what it means, and it’s not something he can ignore.”

You could barely process her words. Gojo? Worried? It didn’t make sense. He was always so untouchable, so far above everyone else. Why would something like this even matter to him?

“Did he… ask who it was?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

Shoko nodded, crossing her arms. “Of course he did. He was… concerned. It’s not every day that someone’s literally dying over unrequited love. But I didn’t tell him. I just gave him enough to know it’s serious.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest—not the flowers, but something worse. Guilt. Guilt that your feelings had somehow become a burden for him, even without him knowing who you were.

“I… I shouldn’t have asked you to tell him,” you muttered, looking down at your feet. “I just… didn’t know what else to do.”

Shoko stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel. And if this is the only way to keep you alive a little longer, then so be it. But you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face him.”

You shook your head, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “I can’t. He’ll never—”

“You don’t know that,” Shoko interrupted, her gaze sharp. “Gojo’s a lot of things, but he’s not heartless. He might surprise you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming certainty that confessing would only lead to more pain. Gojo was untouchable. Even if he cared in some distant, detached way, it would never be the way you wanted.

Shoko sighed, stepping back. “I won’t push you. But just… think about it. You don’t have much time left.”

With that, she turned and left, her footsteps fading into the night.

You stayed there for a long time, alone in the dark, the petals in your pocket a heavy reminder of the choice you had yet to make.

You sat at your usual desk in the back of Gojo’s classroom, your head leaning against the cool glass of the window. The hum of conversation filled the room, a low murmur as the other students talked amongst themselves, waiting for Gojo to stroll in with his usual swagger. You kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the leaves stir in the breeze.

It was easier this way—hiding in plain sight, letting the louder students command the room while you quietly faded into the background. No one really noticed you, not even Gojo.

Still, there was a part of you that longed for his attention, even if it was just for a moment. A glance, a word, anything that would remind you that you weren’t invisible to him. But every day passed the same—Gojo laughing and joking with the stronger students while you wilted away in silence.

You pressed a tissue to your nose, feeling the familiar warmth of blood trickling out. Another nosebleed. It had become so frequent that you almost didn’t notice it anymore. Almost. The petals in your lungs shifted uncomfortably, a tightness building in your chest as you fought the urge to cough. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself, especially now.

Shoko had promised not to tell Gojo it was you, but you knew her patience was running thin. You visited her office almost daily now, seeking some sort of relief, but there was only so much she could do. Hanahaki wasn’t something that could be easily cured—at least, not without confronting the painful truth behind it.

You couldn’t afford that. You weren’t ready for him to know. What would you even say if he found out? The thought of confessing made your stomach churn, your fingers tightening around the tissue in your hand. How could you ever explain the way you felt when you were barely able to understand it yourself?

The door slid open, and Gojo sauntered in, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face. The room seemed to brighten at his presence, his energy infectious as he greeted the class with his typical enthusiasm. You kept your eyes trained on the window, refusing to meet his gaze. It was better that way—safer.

“Alright, kiddos, settle down,” Gojo called out, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

The chatter died down as the students turned their attention to him, hanging on his every word. You listened, too, but from a distance, as if you were an outsider observing a scene that didn’t quite include you. His voice was the same as always, smooth and light, filled with that teasing charm that made the others smile. But for you, it was another reminder of how far away he really was.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice something different in his tone today—an edge, barely noticeable, but there. He wasn’t as relaxed as usual. His gaze, though still hidden behind his blindfold, seemed to sweep over the class with more intensity, as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat picking up as a flicker of panic settled in your chest. He wouldn’t know, would he? Shoko hadn’t said anything. She promised.

But the longer he stood there, the more restless you became. You could feel his attention shift, his energy probing the room, lingering in places it hadn’t before. There was something sharper in the way he moved, in the way he spoke to the students—like he was searching for an answer to a question he couldn’t quite articulate yet.

He didn’t speak to you directly, of course. He never did. But that didn’t stop the creeping suspicion that he was starting to notice something.

“Everyone’s doing alright, yeah?” Gojo asked casually, his voice lilting, but there was an underlying concern that hadn’t been there before.

Yuji, ever the optimist, nodded enthusiastically. “All good here!”

Megumi grunted in agreement, and Nobara shot Gojo a playful smirk. The usual banter, the usual flow. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Gojo was waiting for something. His attention drifted, not settling as it usually did.

You shifted in your seat, the petals stirring in your lungs again. The ache had become a constant companion, always there, always waiting for the next bloom. You pressed the tissue harder against your nose, trying to focus on your breathing, trying to stay invisible.

But it didn’t work.

“Hey, you back there,” Gojo’s voice suddenly cut through the room, casual yet commanding. Your heart stopped in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

He was talking to you.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Gojo’s attention was on you. Your hands shook slightly, the tissue still pressed to your nose as you quickly tried to pull yourself together. You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a lie, but you hoped it was convincing enough.

Gojo didn’t press, but you could feel the weight of his gaze linger a moment too long before he turned back to the rest of the class. The tension in the room slowly eased as the lesson continued, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He had noticed you. And now, it was only a matter of time before he started to connect the dots.

As class ended and the other students filed out, you stayed behind, your legs weak and your mind racing. The tightness in your chest was unbearable now, each breath a struggle as the petals continued to bloom, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You stood, gripping the edge of your desk to steady yourself, but the world swayed around you, your vision blurring. You felt the cough building in your throat, but you swallowed it down, trying to hold it back.

Gojo was still at the front of the room, his back turned as he gathered up some papers. You glanced at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words, knowing that the distance between you was more than just physical. Even with his attention momentarily on you, he was still so far away—too far for you to ever reach.

The petals in your lungs fluttered violently, and before you could stop it, a wet cough escaped your lips. You doubled over, clutching your chest as the tissue in your hand was soaked through with blood.

It was getting worse.

You could feel it—Gojo was also beginning to put the pieces together. His usual carefree demeanor was still there, but underneath it, you noticed subtle changes. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, the occasional pause in his speech as if something was pulling at the back of his mind, the shift in his tone when he asked how you were doing.

He was connecting the dots, slowly but surely.

It had started out small. After that one class where your coughing fit had drawn his attention, Gojo had seemed more… aware of you. You weren’t used to that. For so long, you had been the invisible student, blending into the background while he focused on the stronger, louder ones. But now, it felt like you were always under his watch, even if it was subtle.

You couldn’t help but notice how often his blindfolded gaze would drift in your direction during class, the easy-going smile on his lips faltering for just a moment when your breath hitched or your shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping another coughing fit at bay. He never called you out in front of the others again, but the worry was there—hovering beneath the surface, waiting for you to crack.

It was getting harder to hide. The petals were growing larger and more frequent, blooming violently inside you whenever you were in his presence. It wasn’t just the physical pain anymore; it was the emotional strain of knowing he was starting to figure it out. Each time you saw him, the flowers bloomed more aggressively, as if they, too, could sense that time was running out.

You sat in class, staring blankly at the notes in front of you, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. The tissue box on your desk was nearly empty again, and you were already clutching another tissue in your hand, waiting for the inevitable. Your lungs felt tight, each breath more difficult than the last as the flowers took root deeper inside of you.

Gojo was at the front, as usual, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed as he casually spoke to the class. He seemed as relaxed as ever, but you could feel his attention on you, even if he didn’t directly address it. Every time you shifted in your seat or raised a tissue to your nose, you could sense his focus sharpening, though he kept his distance.

“Alright, kiddos, let’s wrap it up for today,” Gojo said, his voice light and playful as he clapped his hands together. The students began packing up, Yuji and Nobara already bickering about something as they made their way out of the classroom.

You stayed behind, as you often did now, waiting for the others to leave before making your quiet exit. But today, Gojo lingered, too. You could feel the tension in the air as you stood from your seat, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his gaze was palpable as you gathered your things, your hands trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was softer than usual, and when you turned to look at him, you saw that his posture had changed. He wasn’t leaning against the desk anymore, his arms uncrossed and his expression… unreadable. “You feeling alright?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked, but this time, there was something different in the way he said it. It wasn’t casual concern—it was heavier, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to say it out loud.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, the words sticking in your throat as you grabbed the tissue box, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Gojo didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you. His smile, too, faded a little, replaced with something more serious, more focused. “You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his words pointed.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze as you tried to make your way toward the door. But your body betrayed you. The familiar tightness in your chest returned, and before you could stop it, a violent coughing fit overtook you. You doubled over, one hand clutching your chest as you brought the other to your mouth, the tissue doing little to contain the blood and petals that escaped.

Cerulean petals fluttered to the ground, streaked with red, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the pain tearing through your lungs.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Gojo had seen. The room was painfully silent, and you could feel his gaze burning into you.

“Wait.” His voice was firm now, no longer soft or teasing. You heard his footsteps approaching, and your heart raced in your chest as panic set in. You couldn’t face him. Not like this.

But it was too late.

Gojo’s hand gently caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Look at me,” he said quietly, his tone serious but not unkind.

You hesitated, your breath shaky as you slowly turned to face him. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you didn’t need to see them to know the concern that was etched into every line of his face. For once, there was no trace of his usual cocky smile, no hint of the lighthearted jokes he often used to deflect serious situations.

“You’re not fine,” Gojo said, his voice low, steady. “You haven’t been fine for a while, have you?”

The tears that had been building behind your eyes finally spilled over. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was shake your head, the weight of your secret crashing down around you.

Gojo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten for a different reason.

“I…” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Gojo’s expression softened, though the concern in his voice never wavered. “It’s hanahaki, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, the weight of the truth finally too much to carry alone. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s hanahaki.”

Gojo exhaled softly, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he processed your admission. “Do you know who—” He stopped, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Wait… is it—?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, your silence enough of an answer.

It was him. It had always been him.

And now, he knew.

The silence between you and Gojo was thick, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You could feel his gaze on you, sharp and penetrating, but it wasn’t enough to make you look at him. You stared at the floor, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty tissue box, your breath still shaky from the violent coughing fit that had exposed everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice stripped of the usual playfulness, replaced by a gravity that was foreign on his tongue.

You felt a surge of frustration bubble up inside you, mixing with the pain in your chest. Why hadn’t you told him? The answer was painfully simple, yet tangled in a mess of emotions you’d tried to suppress for so long. You tightened your grip on the box, swallowing hard before finally speaking, your voice thick with unshed tears.

“Why would I tell you?” you muttered, your words sharp even though they came out barely above a whisper. “You’re always so busy, Gojo-sensei. You didn’t even know I was here before today.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“It’s not your fault I have a meek technique that didn’t catch your attention,” you continued, the bitterness in your voice surprising even yourself. “I was just… invisible. So why would I tell you?”

You finally looked up at him then, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages. His blindfold still obscured his eyes, but you could see the way his jaw tightened, his posture tense. There was no easy smile now, no casual demeanor. Just the weight of his presence, heavy and serious in a way you had never seen before.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice softer but carrying the same intensity. There was no arrogance in his words, just genuine confusion, as if the idea of him not noticing was somehow inconceivable.

Your frustration boiled over, and you shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I don’t need to think anything, Gojo-sensei,” you said, your voice louder now, trembling with emotion. “I know you didn’t notice.”

Gojo opened his mouth as if to respond, but he hesitated, his expression tightening. It was the first time you had ever seen him at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to being called out like this, to being told that he had missed something important. Especially something as important as one of his students suffering in silence.

You took a step back, pulling away from his grip as you fought to steady your breathing, the petals still stirring in your lungs. “It’s not your fault,” you added, quieter now, your anger giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside you for so long. “I didn’t expect you to notice. Why would you? You’ve got students with real potential, students who deserve your attention.”

Gojo’s expression softened, and he took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. “You’re one of my students, too,” he said, his tone laced with a sincerity that cut through the pain. “I should’ve noticed. I do notice.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head again. “You notice now because I’m dying, Gojo. Not because of anything else. If I didn’t have this—” you gestured toward your chest, “—you still wouldn’t see me.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his frame loosening as he let out a slow breath. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “You’re not invisible to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice startled you. Gojo wasn’t supposed to sound like this—he was always so confident, so sure of himself. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost… regretful.

“Maybe I was too caught up in everything else,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression tight. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I care about all of you.”

You looked away, the words landing heavily in your chest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly cared about you the same way he did Yuji or Megumi or Nobara. But the reality was, you had spent so long on the sidelines, watching as his attention was always pulled in a hundred different directions, that it was hard to accept that you could matter, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, more serious than you had ever heard it. “I should have seen you sooner. I should’ve been there.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something in you, and for a moment, the anger and frustration ebbed away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“It’s too late now, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Gojo didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable. He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, but he didn’t touch you. “It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “It’s never too late.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob as another violent cough wracked your body, more petals spilling from your lips. They fell to the ground between you, fragile and blood-stained, and you stared at them, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

“How can you say that?” you choked out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Look at me, Gojo. It’s too late.”

Gojo’s expression darkened, but there was a determination in his voice as he spoke. “No,” he said firmly, his hand finally resting on your shoulder, grounding you with his touch. “It’s not too late. We’re going to figure this out. I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

His words, so certain and filled with resolve, made something inside you tremble. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—things could change.

But as the petals continued to bloom inside your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had already run out of time.

notes: i'll be posting one chapter per day - so please stick around! If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3

#— [♡] by gigi #jjk #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo oneshot #jujutsu kaisen

257 notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 2 days

Text

Red: Part One

Summary: Spencer, in need of a break, finds himself at a quiet bar where he meets you. What starts as a chance encounter quickly turns into something deeper as the two of you fall for each other. Though your connection is undeniable, both of you struggle with opening up fully, each holding onto personal secrets that linger just beneath the surface. As you grow closer, the trust builds slowly but surely, but what truths are you both holding back? And how will they shape the relationship that’s blossoming between you?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, mild withholding of information, season 7 Spencer, this is just so fluffy

Word count: 23.5k

a/n: i am deeply obsessed with these two and i am sooo excited to continue writing for them !!! part two on the wayyy — unedited NEVER be afraid to call me out!!

also so silly but in this gif mgg has pen ink on his hand and that makes me happy

main masterlist part two

Additional warnings: handjob, fingering, grinding, mild breast play

Spencer had his eyes half-closed, nursing his second beer of the evening, the slight buzz in his head both surprising and, in a strange way, comforting. It wasn’t often that he sought out a bar, let alone one like this—a dimly lit, almost hidden speakeasy. The soft, jazzy notes of a piano floated through the air, merging with the quiet hum of voices around him. He liked that no one recognized him here, no one pried, no one asked questions. He could just be.

As he took another slow sip, he felt the weight of the stool next to him shift. Someone had slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t glance over immediately, his mind too cluttered to bother with pleasantries. The cases were piling up like unsorted files in his head, all demanding his attention. His mother’s health was deteriorating again, and the migraines that had haunted him for years had made a sudden, unwelcome return.

For a moment, he regretted not finishing the bottle of aspirin in his bag before entering the bar. But the alcohol was doing its job, numbing the edge just enough to make the night bearable. It wasn’t about getting drunk—he knew he wouldn’t let himself go that far—but it was about finding just enough peace to ease the constant pressure in his head, even if only for a few hours. Spencer closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath, the smell of wood and faint whiskey lingering in the air.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the woman beside him, unable to tear his eyes away just yet. She looked like she had walked straight out of another world, her style effortlessly unique, her red boots and gingham shorts standing out against the muted tones of the dimly lit bar. There was something about her that drew him in, despite her stoic expression—an air of mystery, as though she held a universe inside her that she wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone.

The bartender slid the espresso martini in front of her, and she barely acknowledged it, her mind clearly elsewhere. Spencer wondered what she was thinking about, what troubles weighed on her. He sympathized, his own mind heavy with stress and worry. He almost felt a kinship with her, like they were both sitting here, burdened by their own worlds, trying to find some fleeting solace in the bottom of a glass.

The scent of her—something sweet, with a hint of spice—drifted toward him. It was a calming scent, one that made him close his eyes for a second longer, hoping it would ease the pounding in his skull. He couldn't help but think that her smile, if she ever chose to reveal it, would be the kind of smile that would light up the darkest corners of a room.

He wondered if it might also help alleviate the growing tension in his mind, the tight grip of his migraine loosening just at the thought. For now, though, the smell of her perfume was enough to dull the ache, if only a little.

"Espresso martini, huh?" Spencer asked, his voice soft, not wanting to intrude too much but also not wanting to remain silent any longer. "Interesting choice for a Wednesday night."

The woman turned her head slightly, glancing at him with a raised brow, as though surprised anyone had spoken to her. For a second, Spencer worried he had overstepped, but then her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but enough to make him feel like maybe, just maybe, he had said something right.

"Not going to sleep anyway," you shrugged with a tired laugh, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion but also nonchalance. "Might as well get a drink I enjoy, right?" You wrapped your fingers around the stem of the glass, feeling the cool condensation against your skin, but your eyes flickered over to the man beside you.

Usually, you wouldn’t engage with random men at a bar, especially not on a Wednesday night when the world seemed to blur together in monotony. But something about this one had caught your attention. He wasn’t like the others who sometimes tried too hard or made themselves too loud. He was quiet, unassuming, and there was a weight in his eyes that matched your own.

He was handsome, yes—remarkably so. His sharp, angular features made him look almost statuesque, but there was a softness to him too, something that balanced out the hard edges. It wasn’t just in his face, though. It was in the way he held himself, a little slouched, as if the world rested on his shoulders. There was something vulnerable about him, and that vulnerability intrigued you.

You weren't the type to make conversation with a stranger, but maybe it was the exhaustion that made you let your guard down, or maybe it was the way his gaze had softened when he glanced at you, as if he understood something about you without needing to ask. Whatever it was, you found yourself more open to this brief encounter than you normally would be.

He smiled slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond to your casual remark, but you noticed. It was a small gesture, but you appreciated it—more than you had expected to.

"Fair enough," he finally replied, his voice low but gentle, as though he was trying not to disturb the delicate balance of the quiet between you two. He took a sip of his drink, his fingers tapping lightly against the glass, a subtle rhythm that seemed to mimic the thoughts racing through his mind.

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, and you wondered if he, like you, had found some kind of unexpected solace in this quiet corner of the bar.

The man spoke again after a beat, his voice soft and almost hesitant, “Spencer.” He offered a small, almost boyish smile that contrasted with the sharp lines of his face.

You turned your body more toward him, your interest piqued by his somewhat awkward yet endearing demeanor. “Y/N,” you replied, returning the smile, though still guarded.

There was a brief pause, and then Spencer’s eyes lit up, as though something had clicked in his mind. “Did you know that your name, Y/N, has roots that trace back to—” He launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation of the origins and historical significance of your name, mentioning various cultures and meanings, weaving in obscure facts that you had never even thought about.

As he spoke, you felt a mix of emotions. On the one hand, it was oddly charming, the way he seemed so genuinely excited to share what he knew. He made you feel special, like your name was something worthy of deep analysis and thought, and you couldn't help but be flattered by it. But there was also something that put you a little on edge—the way he seemed to know so much, like he had all this information tucked away in his mind, ready to be shared at any given moment.

“I did not know that…” you admitted slowly, your voice a touch wary, even as you tried to keep your tone light. “Why do you?”

Spencer hesitated for a second, his smile faltering just slightly before he answered. “I, uh… I tend to remember things. I read a lot, so I guess some of it sticks.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Just ‘some’ of it?”

He let out a small, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe more than some. I’m kind of a… well, I guess you could say I’m a bit of an overthinker.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you said with a grin, feeling the tension ease slightly between you. “But it’s not a bad thing. Just… surprising.”

Spencer nodded, his posture relaxing a little, as if your comment reassured him. “Surprising in a good way, I hope.”

You shrugged playfully, leaning back slightly in your seat. “I’ll let you know.”

Spencer liked this. You were cautious, guarded in a way that suggested a sharp mind, the kind of intellect that naturally set boundaries when it came to engaging with strangers. Yet, despite your reservation, you kept your wits about you, maintaining a balance of good manners and a sense of humor that was both disarming and refreshing. It made you even more intriguing.

There was something undeniably endearing about the way you interacted—enigmatic and charming, with a touch of playfulness that made him want to keep the conversation going. Spencer found himself wanting to know more, to understand what made you tick in the same way he often tried to solve the puzzles in his own head.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Spencer said during a brief lull in conversation, his tone gentle yet curious, “what brings you to a bar in the middle of the week?”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, the corner of your lips quirking up in amusement. “I could ask you the same.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your response, appreciating how easily you turned the question back on him, challenging him to reveal his reasons first. It was a fair trade, after all.

"Touché," he conceded, leaning back slightly, considering his answer for a moment. "I guess I just needed a break… from everything. Sometimes it feels like things are piling up and... well, it was either come here or keep staring at the ceiling of my apartment."

You nodded in understanding, your expression softening just a bit. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you need to step away from everything and just… exist for a little while, right?”

"Exactly," Spencer replied, relieved that you seemed to understand without him having to explain too much. "And you?"

You tapped your fingers thoughtfully on the bar for a moment before answering, your eyes drifting toward the half-finished martini in front of you. “Same, I guess. Life’s complicated, and sometimes you just want to sit in a quiet corner and let the world pass you by for a while. Maybe with a drink that makes it a little easier to forget."

Spencer nodded, the quiet between you settling into something more comfortable. There was no need for either of you to dive too deeply into your respective reasons for being here. The understanding was enough for now. Two strangers, sitting side by side, momentarily finding solace in each other’s presence without demanding too much.

“I’m glad I picked this bar,” Spencer said quietly, after a pause. “It’s… different. Quiet.”

You smiled softly, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, me too. Good choice.”

“Have you... have you been here before?” Spencer asked, his curiosity evident as he glanced at you, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass.

You shook your head, setting down your now-empty glass and signaling the bartender for another drink. “No, actually. I saw it when I moved here, figured tonight was as good a time as any to check it out.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence. He wasn’t a man who often gave weight to fate or spiritual ideas—his mind preferred the concrete, the logical—but the fact that both of you ended up here on a quiet Wednesday night, for the first time, sharing an unspoken sense of heaviness... It felt like one of those rare moments that made him pause, as though something bigger was at play.

He smiled again, this time a little more openly. “I haven’t been here either. A friend told me about it. He, uh, likes to come here to meet women—said they’re more sophisticated than the ones he usually meets at clubs.”

You raised an eyebrow, your amusement clear as you leaned in slightly, your tone playful. “Are you, too, here to meet women?”

Spencer felt his face flush instantly, his eyes widening as he waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. “No! No, that’s not—” He cleared his throat, regaining a bit of composure, though the faint blush remained. “That’s not why I’m here. I just... needed a break, like I said.”

“Right... and that's why you're talking to the only single woman here,” you teased, gesturing around the dimly lit room with a playful glint in your eye. Spencer, caught off guard by the comment, blinked and glanced around for the first time since he’d sat down.

To his surprise—and slight embarrassment—you were right. The bar, small and intimate as it was, seemed to be filled mostly with couples. A few groups of friends sat scattered around, but there wasn’t another woman sitting alone at the bar. He hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his own thoughts, and of course, in you.

A flush of pink crept up his neck again, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he faced you once more. “I—uh... that wasn’t... I didn’t even notice,” he stammered, clearly flustered, his eyes darting to his half-finished beer in front of him.

You laughed softly, amused by how easily Spencer was thrown off by your teasing. There was something so endearing about the way he fumbled through conversations like this, so unlike most men you’d met before. He wasn’t trying to be smooth or overly confident, just... honest.

“Well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” you said with a grin.

“Thank you,” he sighed. There was a beat of silence before Spencer added, “But, uh, for the record... I’m not here to meet women. You just happened to be... well... someone worth talking to.”

Your smile softened at his admission, feeling the sincerity in his words. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of candidness from someone so quickly. "Well, aren't I lucky?" you teased lightly, though your tone had a hint of warmth behind it.

Spencer’s chuckle had a softness to it, but his next words seemed to strike a different chord. "Luck is relative," he mused, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Then he glanced up at you, his eyes searching your face with that same genuine curiosity. "Do you feel lucky?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His question seemed layered, and though you could sense the sincerity in his tone, the implication sounded... different to your ears. The way he asked it, with a certain intensity, made your mind wander to a more flirtatious place, a suggestion hanging between the lines. You had met men who approached conversations like this before, but there was something about Spencer’s awkward charm that made you hesitate to dismiss it outright.

For a moment, you thought about how you'd respond. You weren’t opposed to the idea of letting this man take you home, not at all. There was something about his presence that felt comforting, something about his awkward nature that drew you in. But you weren’t going to make it that easy. You enjoyed the chase, the cat-and-mouse game that kept things interesting.

You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes just enough to add a playful edge to your expression. "Lucky, huh?" You swirled the last of your martini in its glass, watching the liquid shift before locking eyes with him. “Depends on what kind of luck we’re talking about.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, clearly misunderstanding the subtle shift in your tone. "Oh," he stammered, clearly flustered. "I didn’t mean—uh, I wasn’t implying—"

You bit back a grin, enjoying watching him try to backtrack from what he thought was a misstep. "Relax, Spencer," you said softly, your tone more teasing now. "I know what you meant."

Spencer visibly exhaled, relief washing over his face. He wasn’t used to playing these kinds of games, that much was clear. But there was something about how genuine he was that made you want to keep him on his toes just a little longer.

You smiled, leaning back in your seat. "I guess I’m still figuring out whether I feel lucky tonight." You raised your glass slightly toward him, your eyes twinkling. “Maybe we’ll see.”

Spencer had relaxed as the two of you joked and bantered, and you noticed how much more comfortable he seemed, especially when he started showing you some of his magic tricks. It was charming, really—how this incredibly intelligent, slightly awkward man had such a whimsical side. You watched with genuine curiosity as he produced and shuffled a deck of cards with ease, his long fingers moving expertly.

But it was when he asked if you had a business card that really caught your attention. You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “No, but I do have a scrap piece of paper,” you said, pulling a folded-up slip from your bag.

Spencer took the paper with a playful smile, and with a quick flourish of his hands, it disappeared as if it had never existed at all. You blinked, leaning forward, impressed despite yourself. "Okay, I have to admit, that was good. Where’d it go?"

He grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. “A good magician never reveals their secrets.”

You laughed, thinking how absolutely adorable he was. There was something boyish and pure about the way he took joy in the simple act of performing a trick, like he’d just made your night a little brighter.

Absently, you went to brush a hand over the necklace around your neck, a habit you hadn’t even realized you had. But when your fingers grazed the pendant, you felt something unfamiliar—something other than the smooth metal of your necklace.

Frowning, you looked down. And there, dangling from your pendant, was the very same scrap of paper Spencer had taken. Your eyes widened in surprise, a burst of giddy laughter escaping your lips as you grabbed the piece of paper, utterly amazed.

You turned to Spencer, wide-eyed and full of wonder. “How did you—?!” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, your head shaking in disbelief, giggles bubbling up uncontrollably. He really had caught you off guard, and it felt... magical.

Spencer, looking very proud of himself, leaned back with a self-satisfied smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. He glanced pointedly at the scrap of paper in your hand, raising an eyebrow as if to say, take a closer look.

Curious, you followed his gaze and unfolded the small piece of paper. Scrawled across it in Spencer's neat handwriting was a number. His number.

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk and a flutter of excitement. "So... was this part of the trick too?"

Spencer shrugged, his smile a little bashful now.

“How many times have you used that trick on women?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, your voice soft and teasing. “And how many times has it worked?”

Spencer blushed again, the pink flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He shifted in his seat, clearly flustered by your question but still holding your gaze. “I... I used it one other time,” he admitted, his voice a bit shaky. “And it worked... sort of. But, um, it never led to anything.”

You smiled, leaning back slightly, enjoying how disarmed he was by your teasing. There was something so genuine about the way he interacted, like he wasn’t used to these kinds of moments—at least not often. He wasn’t the type to use smooth lines or rehearsed tricks to impress women, and that made him stand out even more.

“Well, I’m glad I could be the second one,” you said with a wink, letting the playful tension between you simmer. “But something tells me you’re hoping it leads to more this time.”

Spencer swallowed, clearly thrown off by your forwardness, but you could see the slight shift in his posture, the way his confidence grew just a little as he realized you were genuinely interested. “I, uh... I wouldn’t mind that,” he admitted, his eyes flickering from yours to the glass in front of him, then back again. “But I didn’t show you the trick just for that. I wanted to... impress you.”

Your heart fluttered at his honesty. It was so rare to meet someone who was so upfront, so unguarded in moments like this. You couldn’t help but find it endearing, and you leaned in once more, your smile softening.

“Well, you definitely impressed me, Spencer,” you said, your voice low and sincere. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you show me another trick later.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a little at that, and for a moment, you could see the wheels turning in his head. He was calculating, thinking, but also clearly intrigued by the promise hidden in your words. He gave a small, nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I guess we’ll see how lucky I get tonight,” he murmured, the blush still lingering on his face but his smile growing more confident now.

You grinned, knowing full well that he didn’t realize just how lucky he was about to get.

As the bar's lights dimmed and the final patrons shuffled out, you already knew you weren’t going home tonight. The air between you and Spencer had been crackling all evening, and the decision seemed inevitable, even as you lingered at the bar for just a moment longer.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, graciously paid for both of your tabs without hesitation. The bartender, who had seemed less than impressed by your modest drinking habits, shot him a look that Spencer either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. After all, this night was about more than just drinks.

Walking out into the brisk night air, you and Spencer moved shoulder to shoulder, your steps naturally falling in sync as if you'd been walking together for much longer than a few hours. The quiet of the evening surrounded you, the distant hum of the city softening the world around you, and the moment felt intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. You could feel the warmth of his presence next to you, the subtle brush of his arm against yours sending sparks up your skin.

Feeling bold, Spencer glanced over at you, his usual shyness tempered by something else—perhaps the electricity that had been building between you all night, or maybe just the quiet courage that sometimes came with these fleeting, late-night encounters. "Can I give you a ride home?" he offered, his voice softer now, as though he didn’t want to shatter the stillness of the moment.

You smiled up at him, a knowing look in your eyes as you accepted. Spencer’s posture straightened slightly, his eyes lighting up as he guided you toward his car. True to his nature, he opened the door for you, his touch gentle as he gestured for you to climb in. You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, watching as he quickly walked around to the driver’s side and slid into his seat.

He fidgeted for a moment behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel loosely as he glanced at you, clearly waiting for directions. “Where should I take you?” he asked, his voice still carrying that sweet, earnest tone.

You met his gaze, your eyes sparkling with both amusement and intent. "Wherever you're going," you replied, your words hanging in the air, full of unspoken promise.

Spencer blinked, taken aback for just a split second, but then understanding settled over him. He glanced down, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips, and you could see the faintest hint of color creeping into his cheeks. There was a brief pause as he weighed his options, but the decision was already made—you could feel it.

"Alright," he said, his voice quiet but full of meaning. "My place it is."

Spencer was a bundle of nerves. The whole drive back, he had rambled—nervous energy pouring out of him in the form of random facts, mostly about the risks of going home with strangers. He’d listed statistics about crime rates, recounted famous cases of mishaps, and even delved into behavioral patterns associated with dangerous encounters. It was almost endearing, the way he was so clearly overthinking the situation.

"Are you going to kill me?" you had asked him at one point, half-joking, hoping to lighten the mood.

His response had been immediate and emphatic. "No, absolutely not! I—I would never do anything like that," he stammered, his eyes wide and sincere. "Statistically, it’s much safer—"

You laughed, cutting him off gently. "I believe you, Spencer."

His relief was palpable, though he still hadn’t fully relaxed, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. And now, as he fumbled with his keys at the front door, you saw how his fingers trembled slightly as he tried to get the lock open. His nervousness was so genuine, so utterly sweet, that you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom inside you.

It was obvious he didn’t do this sort of thing often, and that made you feel... special. He was just himself—nervous, brilliant, and genuine—and that vulnerability drew you in even more.

Finally, after a moment of fumbling, the door clicked open, and Spencer gestured for you to step inside, his cheeks still slightly flushed. "Sorry about that," he murmured, a small, sheepish smile on his lips. "I don’t usually have... company."

When Spencer led you through the front door, the first thing that hit you was the cozy, dark atmosphere of his apartment. Books lined almost every available surface, stacked neatly on shelves and piled in corners in a way that suggested they were well-loved and frequently revisited. The space had an old-world charm, a lived-in feeling that instantly put you at ease. The warm lighting and the faint smell of coffee mixed with old pages added to the inviting ambiance. It was unmistakably his—a reflection of the man you’d spent the evening getting to know, both brilliant and a little awkward.

You couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the intimate, intellectual space he called home. It was entirely different from the sleek, modern apartments of other men you’d been with, and that difference made you like it even more.

You smiled softly, stepping into the warmth of his home. "It’s fine," you assured him. "I like it here. It’s... very you."

Spencer’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, as though he hadn’t expected you to say something so kind. His shoulders seemed to relax just a little, and he gave you a nervous but genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his smile sweet but clearly nervous as his hands fumbled slightly in front of him. He took a breath, trying to compose himself, but the words tumbled out anyway. “So... um, I know what usually happens in these scenarios, but I don’t want to be presumptuous—not that I’m expecting anything from you either, but I guess, I’m wondering what, uh... what you want here?”

You could see how flustered he was, the way his uncertainty mixed with his genuine desire to be respectful. It made your heart swell, your affection for him deepening in that moment. His awkward honesty was refreshing, and you adored the way he was so transparently himself, not hiding behind bravado or assumptions.

Stepping closer to him, you reached out, your hands moving up his chest slowly, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. You let your fingers trail lightly over him before wrapping them around the back of his neck, pulling yourself just a little closer. Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he looked down at you, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flickering in his gaze.

“Well, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice gentle but teasing, “I would like to do what usually happens in these scenarios...”

His eyes searched yours, his body tense with uncertainty and excitement, but before he could speak, you added, “But we don’t have to do anything.”

Spencer blinked, processing your words. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt just a little as he realized that the choice was mutual, that there was no pressure, no expectations. You were giving him the space to decide, and that made all the difference.

He swallowed, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “I... I’d like that too. But only if you're sure.”

You smiled up at him, your thumb gently stroking the back of his neck. “I’m sure, Spencer. But if you’re not ready or don’t want to—”

“No,” he said quickly, then softened his tone. “No, I want to. I just... I didn’t want to assume and I–well, I haven’t done a lot before.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in a little closer, your breath warm against his skin as you whispered, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, but he smiled, more comfortable now as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “I don’t hear that often,” he admitted softly.

“Well, you should,” you murmured, before closing the small distance between you and pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though Spencer was still processing that this was really happening. But then his grip around you tightened slightly, and you could feel him relax into it, his lips moving with yours, the kiss deepening as the warmth between you two grew.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his apartment, the world outside forgotten. And in that moment, everything felt perfectly right.

You gently pulled back from the kiss, feeling the way Spencer’s lips lingered for just a moment, his eyes still shut as though he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He followed your movement with a soft, almost unconscious pout, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“Easy,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection, as your fingers trailed up into his soft hair, stroking it gently. You wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. He was clearly nervous, but the way he responded to you, how earnest he was in everything he did, made you want to handle him with the care he deserved.

“What are you comfortable with, Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone reassuring, trying to ease the tension in the air. “I don’t want to push you too far, or do anything you’re not ready for.”

Spencer took a deep, grounding breath, his chest rising and falling as he gathered the courage to speak. His blush deepened, his cheeks flushing a bright pink as he met your eyes. “Um… I haven’t had anything, uh, penetrative,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper as if admitting something deeply personal. He swallowed, clearly feeling the weight of the moment. “But… I have been touched. And I have touched.”

Your heart softened at his vulnerability, and you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. He was sharing something intimate, and the way he trusted you enough to be honest about it made you want to hold him even closer.

“That’s okay, Spencer,” you said gently, your thumb brushing against his jawline in a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can take things as slow as you need.”

He nodded, looking relieved that you weren’t pressuring him. “I… I want to try,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. “I trust you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, more deliberate, allowing him to guide the pace. Spencer responded, his lips moving with yours, his hands resting tentatively on your hips as he began to relax into the moment.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered against his lips, reassuring him once more. “And you tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes meeting yours with gratitude and something else—something more. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his hands tightened just slightly around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Take me to your bedroom, Spencer,” you whispered against his lips, the warmth of your breath sending shivers down his spine. He nodded, his lips still brushing against yours as he took your hand and led you toward his room. The eagerness in his movements was evident as you both bumped into walls and knocked over small tables along the way, which made you giggle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, stud,” you teased, your voice playful but laced with affection. “I like how eager you are. It makes me feel desired.”

Spencer flicked on the bedside lamp, the soft glow filling the room and casting warm, golden hues across the walls. The light bathed you in a way that made you look even more radiant, as though the glow itself was drawn to your beauty. Spencer paused for a moment, standing there in awe of you, his eyes wide with admiration.

“You are desired,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. “So gorgeous, Y/N.”

His words made your heart swell. You could hear how much he meant it, how genuine his feelings were. Spencer wasn’t trying to impress you; he was simply telling you the truth as he saw it. And in that moment, you found yourself falling just a little for him.

“Sweet, sweet Spencer…” you whispered, smiling softly at the endearing man before you. Your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. As the fabric parted, you kissed the newly exposed skin—his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest—your lips leaving a trail of warmth with each touch.

You could feel Spencer’s stomach rising and falling rapidly beneath your fingertips, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as he struggled to keep his composure. He was nervous, that much was clear, but you could also see the way his body responded to your touch, the way his eyes darkened with desire.

“Relax,” you sighed gently against his skin, your lips brushing softly over his collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment made him freeze for a moment, and you could tell it wasn’t something he was used to hearing. His breath hitched as you kissed his chest, your hands sliding the fabric of his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he raised them to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes. “I… I just don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” you reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “We’re just here, together. That’s all that matters.”

His eyes softened at your words, and slowly, the tension in his body seemed to ebb away, replaced by a quiet confidence. He reached up, his hands moving more purposefully now as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice steadying as he leaned down to kiss you again, this time with a little more certainty, a little more control.

And in the quiet of his room, surrounded by nothing but the soft light and the gentle hum of your shared breaths, you felt completely and utterly desired.

"Do you want to take my shirt off, Spencer?" you whispered softly against his ear, letting your tongue graze the sensitive skin just beneath it. You felt the shudder run through his body as he nodded quickly, his breathing heavy, eyes still tightly shut as if the weight of the moment was too much to handle.

You giggled softly, charmed by his inexperience and how deeply he seemed affected by every touch, every breath. Gently, you took his large hands in yours, guiding them to the hem of your shirt. His fingers trembled slightly, but you could feel his eagerness beneath that nervous exterior. Slowly, he gripped the fabric, carefully lifting it up, still with his eyes squeezed shut, even as he let the garment drop to the floor beside you.

"Spencer..." you whispered, your voice sweet but laced with a hint of amusement. You couldn’t help but notice how his hands had frozen in mid-air, his fingers hovering, unsure of what to do next. His body was clearly responding to the moment, but his mind was racing, overwhelmed.

"You can open your eyes," you encouraged, leaning forward just slightly to nudge him out of his hesitation, your lips brushing his jawline.

Very slowly, Spencer cracked his eyelids open, his breath hitching as he adjusted to the reality of the situation. But the moment he caught sight of your bare chest, his eyes flew open wide, surprise and awe etched across his face.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. His gaze flickered between your eyes and your chest, as though he were trying to process everything all at once. His expression was a mix of innocence and desire, and it was clear that this moment was overwhelming him in the best way possible.

You could feel the intensity of his gaze, and the way his hands, still trembling slightly, hovered just inches from your skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered softly, guiding his hands to your sides, encouraging him to touch you. “You can touch me, Spencer.”

His breath caught in his throat, but this time, he didn’t pull back. His hands, once hesitant, now slid up your sides, gently grasping your breasts in his hands. His touch was reverent, almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening as he ran his thumbs over your nipples. There was something so pure, so unguarded about the way he looked at you, as though you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re...” he started, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re stunning.”

Your heart swelled at the sincerity in his words. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly, pressing your body against his. "So are you, Spencer."

You kept kissing him, your lips moving against his with just enough pressure to hopefully distract him from whatever whirlwind of thoughts his brilliant mind was racing through. You were learning he tended to overthink, and you wanted to help him focus on the moment, on the way your bodies were reacting to one another rather than on whatever internal dialogue was playing out in his head.

Your hands moved down to his belt, working on the buckle with ease. You could feel his breathing pick up as you undid it, but instead of pulling away or tensing up, his hands stayed on your breasts. His fingers squeezed you, almost like he was using you to ground himself, holding you tighter than before, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. The sensation sent a wave of pleasure through you, and without hesitation, you moaned softly into his mouth.

The sound surprised Spencer, his entire body responding to it. He froze for just a second, his mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that had gotten to him—it was the realization that he had made you feel that way. The knowledge seemed to set something off inside him, a surge of wonder and hunger, like he was teetering on the edge of something completely new.

As you undid the button of his pants, letting them fall to the floor, you gently nudged him to step out of his loafers and slacks, which he did, albeit a little awkwardly. Spencer pulled back slightly, glancing down at himself, standing in nothing but his tented purple boxers. He shifted on his feet, clearly still feeling self-conscious despite everything.

“I’m feeling a clothing disparity here,” he tried to joke, though his voice came out more nervous than playful.

You giggled softly at his attempt to lighten the moment, appreciating how vulnerable he was being, even in his nervousness. "I can fix that," you teased, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bottoms. With a fluid motion, you slipped off your boots, followed by the rest of your clothes, leaving the small pile of fabric on the floor as you stood fully bare before him.

The room seemed to grow quieter for a second, the air thick with anticipation. Spencer’s gaze moved over your body slowly, taking in every inch of your skin with an almost reverent look. His breath hitched again, his hands hanging at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do next.

You smiled, stepping closer to him, your fingers trailing lightly along his chest, leaning in to press your body against his, feeling the heat between you intensify. "Now... let's see what else we can do about that disparity."

Your hands slid lower, brushing against the waistband of Spencer’s boxers as you tried to ease them down, but there was a bit of resistance—a clear obstruction that made the two of you stumble into a fit of giggles. Some of the nervous tension between you both lifted in that moment, replaced by the kind of playful energy that made everything feel lighter, more natural.

“Well, sir,” you said in an exaggerated, mock-serious voice, stepping back slightly to assess the situation, “it seems as if something has blocked my path.”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a full, hearty sound that spilled out of him, the kind that seemed to release the last of his nervousness. His shoulders shook with amusement as he looked at you, shaking his head. “My deepest apologies, ma’am,” he replied, playing along with a grin that stretched across his face. “Allow me to be of service.”

You watched as he reached down, fumbling a bit with his boxers before finally managing to remove them, kicking them aside with a sheepish smile. His face was still flushed, but now it was more from laughter than nerves, and the atmosphere between you shifted again, becoming more comfortable, more intimate.

“Better,” you teased, your playful tone returning, stepping close enough for your bare skin to brush against his. You placed your hands on his chest, your fingers spreading out to feel the warmth of his body beneath your touch. Spencer’s breath caught in his throat again, but this time it wasn’t out of anxiety—it was pure desire.

You noticed the subtle shift in Spencer’s eyes—something deeper, more focused. The playful energy between you had served its purpose, helping him relax, but now you knew it was time to stop teasing and really show him how much you wanted him. The way he looked at you, still unsure but no longer nervous, told you he was ready to explore this new territory, even if he didn’t quite know where it was going.

With a gentle but deliberate push, you guided him back onto the bed, watching the way he looked up at you, his breath quickening. You moved after him with purpose, your movements slow and deliberate as you crawled toward him, like a wolf stalking its prey. Spencer scooted back to the pillows, his eyes locked on yours, his uncertainty fading into quiet anticipation.

His gaze flickered as you settled in closer, your knees on either side of his hips. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, his hands resting by his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. You could see he was still processing everything, still trusting you to lead him through this.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you said softly, your voice a quiet promise. You let your hands trail up his thighs, your fingers brushing through the soft hair there, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Is that okay?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, but he nodded, his voice barely a whisper as he responded, “Yeah.”

Everything you had done so far, he liked. He wasn’t sure what came next, but there was no hesitation in his trust—he knew he would like whatever you did. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second as he felt your touch move higher, and he let out a small breath, almost as if he had been holding it in for far too long.

You took your time, wanting him to savor every moment. Your hands moved with gentle care, exploring his hips and stomach as you leaned in closer, your lips grazing his neck, your breath warm against his skin. Spencer shivered beneath you, his hands finally finding the courage to rest on your waist, his fingers gripping you just enough to anchor himself in the moment.

"You're doing so well, Spencer," you whispered against his ear, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, one filled with pure, unfiltered arousal. He hadn’t known until this moment how much he liked being praised, but the way your words washed over him—telling him he was doing good, that he was making you happy—lit something inside him. A fire burned in his stomach, spreading warmth throughout his entire body, and he couldn’t contain the way his body responded to you.

But then, when you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, the heat exploded. It was as if you had poured gasoline onto that fire, and Spencer’s reaction was immediate. His back arched off the bed, his mouth falling open as a raw, guttural groan escaped him. His hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as the sensation overwhelmed him, taking him by surprise.

He hadn’t been touched like this in a long, long time. It had been just him, his own hands and his own thoughts, but now—now it was you, and the difference was intoxicating. Every nerve in his body felt like it was alive, buzzing with an energy he hadn’t felt in years. He was losing himself to the moment, to you.

"God... Y/N..." he gasped, his voice low and rough, full of need. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped him as your hand moved expertly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.

You smiled softly, watching the way Spencer's body reacted to your touch as you gripped him tighter, the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. He looked so beautiful like this—vulnerable and completely immersed in the pleasure you were giving him.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered again, your voice low and soothing as your hand continued to move, squeezing extra on his head and drawing more of those delicious sounds from him. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Spencer nodded weakly, his head falling back onto the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations. His mind, usually so busy and full of thoughts, was blissfully quiet now, his entire focus on the feel of your hands, your body, and your voice guiding him through this.

"Y/N..." he groaned again, his voice trembling with need, his hands reaching out to grasp your hips, wanting to feel more of you, to be closer to you. He was completely lost in you now, and he didn’t want it to end.

You smiled down at him, feeling a surge of affection and desire for the man who had so easily surrendered to you, his pleasure so raw and vulnerable. “Oh, you poor thing,” you whispered, your voice soft and teasing as your hand sped up its movements, stopping every once in a while to rub your thumb under his head. “You just needed someone to look after you, didn’t you?”

Spencer nodded quickly, his body responding to your words before he could even form a coherent thought. His head pressed back into the pillows, his chest heaving as the sounds of his pleasure spilled from his open mouth, completely uncontrollable. He was lost in the moment, lost in you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and tenderness as you watched him.

He looked so beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, and entirely open. His eyes, when they did open, were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. There was something pure about the way he gave himself to the moment, trusting you completely to take him somewhere he hadn’t been in a long time.

And you were honored to be the one to make him feel like this, to be the person who could show him such tenderness and care. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath your lips as you whispered, “I’ve got you, Spencer.”

His response was another shaky moan, his hands returning to your hips as if to anchor himself to you, his grip both needy and gentle. His body was trembling now, his breaths coming faster and more erratically, and you knew he was close, teetering on the edge of release.

You let your free hand reach down to grasp and roll Spencer’s balls, his entire body jolted at the contact and he let out a sound akin to a scream. You could feel the tension building in him, his body reacting to every touch, every word. “You’re doing so good,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “Just let go for me, okay?”

Spencer’s breathing hitched, and you could feel him start to unravel beneath you. He nodded again, unable to speak, but the look in his eyes said everything. He was ready to let go, ready to give himself completely to the moment, and you were more than ready to guide him through it.

And when he finally did—when he let himself go with a guttural moan that shook through his entire body—it felt like you were witnessing something truly beautiful. You held him close, stroking him through his high as he spurted over your hand and stomach, your touch never wavering, your voice a constant, reassuring presence.

Spencer’s body finally relaxed beneath you and you removed both of your hands, his breaths coming in deep, ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. His hands, still resting on your hips, loosened their grip, and he blinked up at you, his eyes filled with awe and affection.

"Can... can I touch you?" Spencer asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of exhaustion was too heavy for him to speak any louder.

You smiled down at him, his face flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Gently, you brushed the strands from his forehead, your touch tender. "Not tonight," you whispered back, watching as a small pout formed on his lips.

Before he could say anything else, you leaned down and kissed the pout away, your lips soft against his. "You're tired," you said softly, your fingers tracing his cheek, "and that was plenty for me."

Spencer sighed, the tension in his body giving way to exhaustion as he relaxed into your touch. He didn’t protest further, knowing you were right, but the way his arms tightened slightly around your waist let you know that he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion.

You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “What are you thanking me for?”

Spencer gazed up at you, still catching his breath, his face flushed from both exertion and emotion. His fingers lightly traced circles on your hips, the touch absent-minded but tender.

“For... everything,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky but filled with sincerity. “For talking to me, being kind to me, patient with me. For... understanding.” His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching, almost vulnerable. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

You smiled softly, brushing your hand through his hair again, letting your touch soothe him. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Spencer. I wanted this as much as you did.”

Spencer swallowed, his throat working through the remnants of tension. “Still... it means a lot. You make me feel... safe.”

His words stirred something warm and protective in you, and your heart swelled at the realization of how much this moment meant to him. It wasn’t just the physicality; it was the connection, the trust. He had let down his walls for you, and in that vulnerability, you started to see the depths of who Spencer really was—someone deeply deserving of care and tenderness.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you feel that way. You deserve to be cared for, Spencer.”

His lips curved into a small smile, the tension in his body fully gone now, replaced with quiet contentment. “I’m really lucky,” he murmured, his voice still filled with awe.

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “No, we’re both lucky.”

And in the warmth of that moment, you both knew that this was more than just a fleeting connection—it was something special, something real. Something neither of you had been expecting, but both of you had needed.

—

Spencer stirred, slowly waking up to the comforting warmth of your body, his head resting against your soft stomach, your fingers gently stroking him. The feeling was intimate, tender, and it brought a sleepy, blissful smile to his face. He could feel your fingers running through his hair as he nuzzled closer to you, feeling completely safe, completely at peace.

When he finally cracked one eye open, he saw you sitting up, wearing your shirt and underwear, looking down at him with a soft, almost shy expression—a side of you he hadn’t yet seen. It was endearing, and for a moment, he just wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in the warmth of your presence.

“Good morning,” you said softly, your voice timid, a tone that felt so different from the playful, confident energy you’d had last night. Spencer noticed the way you seemed slightly unsure, as if you weren’t certain what the morning would bring, and it made his heart ache with affection for you.

He opened both eyes fully, blinking up at you in a way that was so sweet and sleepy it melted your heart. “Hi,” he whispered, a smile spreading across his face, his voice still laced with drowsiness. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, as though waking up to you was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You grinned shyly in response, the soft morning light making everything feel gentle and new. “I hope it’s okay that I’m still here,” you said quietly, your fingers still moving softly through his hair.

Spencer’s smile widened as he shifted slightly, his head still resting against your stomach. “More than okay,” he murmured. “I... I didn’t want you to leave.”

His honesty made your heart swell, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I didn’t want to leave either.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, his body relaxing further as he closed his eyes again, soaking in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if to make sure you were really there, that this wasn’t just a dream.

“You’re still here,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet wonder. “And that makes me really happy.”

You continued to stroke his hair, your fingers gentle as you whispered back, “I’m happy too, Spencer. Really happy.”

And in the quiet of the morning, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, it felt like the beginning of something special—something neither of you could deny.

Eventually, the cozy bubble the two of you had created was interrupted by the sharp sound of Spencer's alarm blaring, signaling that it was time to get ready for work. The moment felt bittersweet, and Spencer, clearly not ready to break the warmth of your embrace, pouted grumpily as he reluctantly pulled himself from your arms to head toward the shower.

He paused at the edge of the bed, turning back to you with a hopeful look, still shy but clearly not wanting this to end. “Will you wait for me to get out?” he asked, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear the moment he stepped out of the room.

You giggled, shaking your head dramatically with a playful smirk. “Nope,” you teased, your tone light and full of humor. “This is when I’ll make my grand exit—after you’ve already seen me, of course.”

Spencer laughed at your playful antics, the sound filling the room as he smiled to himself. Despite the teasing, he appreciated how lighthearted and easy everything felt with you. Still, he quickly got up from the bed, scampering to the bathroom with a newfound urgency, his naked form catching your attention.

Before you could stop yourself, you called out, “Woo! The sun is out but the moon is full! How come I didn’t get to see your ass last night?”

Spencer immediately blushed, his face turning a deep shade of pink as he covered his behind with his hands and sped up his pace, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “I’ll show you mine when you show me yours!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the hallway.

Your laughter rang out, the joyful sound filling the space and making Spencer smile to himself as he entered the bathroom. It was the only response he needed, the perfect note to start his day on.

After Spencer disappeared into the bathroom for his shower, you took the opportunity to give yourself a quick tour of his apartment. It was just as charming as you expected—full of books, eclectic trinkets, and signs of his quirky, intellectual nature. When you found the kitchen, you spotted the coffee supplies and decided to make a quick pot. The smell of freshly brewing coffee soon filled the air, and you figured a simple breakfast would be a nice touch, so you whipped up some eggs and toast, humming softly as you worked.

By the time Spencer emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, the aroma of coffee and warm food had reached him. His heart swelled at the simple, thoughtful gesture. He had never imagined waking up to something like this. Rushing to get dressed as quickly as possible, he joined you in the kitchen, where you were casually sipping coffee and waiting for him.

You spent the next half hour in easy conversation, talking about simple, everyday things—where you grew up, how many siblings you had, whether or not you had any pets. Spencer seemed eager to learn all that he could about you, firing off question after question. You hardly noticed that he didn’t volunteer much about himself, his curiosity directed solely at getting to know you. You found it endearing, the way he leaned into every answer, his eyes lighting up with each new detail you shared.

Eventually, though, time started to slip away, and the soft glow of morning meant Spencer needed to leave for work. As he grabbed his bag, ready to head out, his shy demeanor returned, his eyes avoiding yours as he fumbled with his words.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearly flustered, “I don’t have time to take you home. I lost track of time.”

You were already sliding on your boots, unfazed by the rush. "That’s fine! I took a cab last night anyway, I can fetch another one," you replied with a smile, waving off his apology.

Spencer sighed in relief, though his brows furrowed with lingering guilt. “Can I pay for the fee at least?”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Absolutely not, Spencer. This wasn’t an exchange of goods," you teased with a playful wink.

Spencer flushed, chuckling at himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. Then his expression softened, his voice quieter, more sincere. “Can I see you again? Take you on a proper date?”

Your smile brightened at his request, your heart warming at the thought. “I would really like that.”

With that, the two of you officially exchanged numbers, the moment feeling more intimate than it had any right to. Spencer kissed you once, then again, as if he couldn’t help himself, savoring every second before he finally had to leave for work.

As he walked out the door, you called a car, feeling a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. This was definitely just the beginning of something worth exploring.

—

Spencer walked into the BAU that Thursday with an extra pep in his step, his usually focused and somewhat intense demeanor softened by a secret smile that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face. He barely noticed the way his colleagues, Derek and Emily, glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, instantly picking up on his unusual cheerfulness.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity, was the first to speak up as Spencer passed by his desk. "Whoa, whoa, hold up, pretty boy," he called out, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "What’s with the smile? Did you crack some unsolvable puzzle overnight or something?"

Spencer blinked, the smile still lingering, though he quickly tried to rein it in. "What? No, I didn’t... I mean, no puzzles," he said, fumbling slightly as he continued toward his desk.

Emily raised an eyebrow and leaned against Derek’s desk, crossing her arms as she smirked at Spencer. "Are you sure? Because you’re practically glowing, Reid. Come on, spill it."

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he realized he wasn’t doing a great job hiding his good mood. He sat down at his desk, avoiding their teasing stares. "It’s nothing," he mumbled, but his attempt to brush it off only made Derek and Emily more determined.

"Uh-huh, sure," Derek repeated, his grin widening as he leaned forward. "Come on, man, you don’t look like this for no reason. You’re practically walking on air. What happened? Did you learn a new language or something?"

Spencer, unable to resist the opportunity to lean into the joke, shrugged, deciding to give Derek a little win. "Sure, Derek. I technically did begin studying a new language recently," he replied, trying to keep a straight face, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Emily, sensing that they weren’t going to get the juicy details they were hoping for, sighed dramatically, waving a hand dismissively. "Ah, quel gâchis," she muttered, her voice laced with playful disappointment.

Spencer immediately glared in her direction, having caught the meaning of her words. "What a waste?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I’m standing right here, you know."

Emily smirked, clearly enjoying how easily she’d ruffled his feathers. "Well, we were hoping for something more exciting than a study session, Reid," she teased, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "But I guess we’ll just have to live with our imaginations."

Derek chuckled, crossing his arms. "Don’t let her get to you, pretty boy. Just know we’ve got our eye on you."

The teasing didn’t let up throughout the day. Derek and Emily, delighted by Spencer’s unusual behavior, had made sure word got around that Spencer was “studying” something new—something that had him grinning like an idiot at random moments.

When JJ and Penelope heard the news, they joined in on the fun, leaving their own playful comments. JJ had passed by his desk, nudging him lightly. "Studying something new, huh? I’ve never seen someone so excited over homework, Spence."

Penelope, ever the drama queen, had dramatically swooned in front of him. "Oh my stars, who knew Spencer Reid could look so refreshed and glowing? It must be some incredible study material," she teased, winking as she fluttered away, her laughter trailing behind her.

Even Hotch, who was usually more reserved about office banter, had joined in. “It’s good to see you more focused and refreshed, Reid,” he commented during a briefing, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his tone was as professional as ever.

But it wasn’t until Rossi chimed in that Spencer really realized how obvious he was being. Rossi had been watching Spencer with a knowing look for most of the day. After catching Spencer glancing at his phone for what must have been the hundredth time, he couldn’t resist.

“You’ve touched your phone an awful lot today, Reid,” Rossi mused as he walked by Spencer’s desk. "Waiting for something important?"

Spencer jolted slightly, startled out of his focus. He had, once again, been staring at the text he had prepared to send you but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to hit send yet. He glanced up at Rossi, trying and failing to hide the sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, something like that," Spencer replied, his voice softer, betraying the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms. "Ah, I see. Must be some important 'study material' then, huh?"

Spencer flushed, realizing that Rossi was in on the joke too. “It’s... very interesting,” he said, glancing down at his phone again, but the small smile remained firmly in place.

Rossi chuckled knowingly. "Just make sure you don’t fail whatever test you’re preparing for," he teased, clapping Spencer on the back as he walked away, leaving the young doctor blushing and still holding his phone.

Finally, Spencer shook his head and, after a deep breath, hit "send" on the text to you, feeling a flutter of excitement as he anticipated your reply.

The end of the workday was a welcome relief for most of the team, and everyone was packing up their things, preparing to head out. Conversations were light, the usual post-case fatigue settling in. But as everyone moved about, the sound of a notification buzzed from Spencer’s pocket, drawing all eyes to him.

It was as if the entire team had collectively paused, waiting with bated breath as Spencer reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He hadn’t said much about whatever—or whoever—had been keeping that secret smile on his face, but they all knew something was up. And now, they watched him, each pretending not to care, but clearly all invested in this "mystery" that had made their boy genius so giddy.

Spencer took a quick glance at the screen, and almost immediately, his eyes widened. The smile that bloomed on his face was unmistakable, pure, and full of excitement. Without thinking, he tapped his hands on the desk, unable to keep still. Then, in a burst of happiness, he spun in his office chair—twice.

Emily, who had been pretending to pack her bag, exchanged a smirk with JJ. Derek raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to tease right then and there, while Penelope was practically bursting with curiosity, trying not to let out a squeal.

After Spencer’s excited spins, he paused, staring at his phone again, as if confirming what he had just seen.

Hi Spencer :) I’m glad you texted, I would love to see you again. How’s Saturday?

Spencer stared at the message for a moment, his heart racing, a goofy grin still plastered on his face. Saturday. Yes. Saturday was perfect. He could already feel the rush of anticipation building up inside him.

Across the room, Derek couldn’t hold back any longer. "Alright, man, spill it. What’s got you doing a victory lap in your chair like you just won the lottery?"

Spencer, still smiling, looked up at his friends and teammates, feeling a little embarrassed by how obvious his excitement had been, but he couldn’t hide it anymore.

"I, um... I have a date on Saturday," he admitted, his voice quieter but filled with unmistakable happiness.

“Oh, boy wonder, please tell me this isn’t a date with more studying,” Penelope sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if she couldn’t handle the thought of Spencer’s version of a romantic evening being spent in a library.

Spencer’s blush deepened as he shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no studying,” he assured her, still smiling. “It’s just... dinner. You know, a normal date.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Dinner? Normal? Spencer Reid, going on a normal date?” She placed both hands on her cheeks in exaggerated shock. “Be still my heart, I’m not sure I’m ready for this new chapter of your life!”

Emily grinned, leaning on her desk. “What’s next? Dancing?” she teased, clearly enjoying how flustered Spencer was getting.

Spencer waved them off, though the smile never left his face. “I’m just... excited to see where it goes,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Derek raised a brow, folding his arms. “Well, don’t keep us hanging, man. You’re gonna let us know how it goes, right?”

Spencer chuckled nervously. “We’ll see.”

Penelope clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I am living for this! I expect a full report, Reid. Leave nothing out!” she added, already imagining the romantic possibilities.

Spencer just shook his head with a sheepish grin, knowing that after Saturday, he wouldn’t be able to escape their questions—but for now, he was just content with the thought of seeing you again.

—

Spencer spent all of Thursday evening through Saturday morning in a nervous wreck, spiraling between excitement and dread. The excitement stemmed from the memory of you—the way you looked at him, the way you had made him feel seen and wanted in a way no one ever had. But the dread… well, that came from his mind’s tendency to overanalyze, to question every little detail until it didn’t make sense anymore.

He had almost convinced himself that he had hallucinated the entire night—that perhaps he’d somehow gotten drunk at the bar and imagined everything. You were too good to be true, after all. You were beautiful, smart, and funny. And the way you had treated him with such care… it felt like something out of a dream. Spencer was nearly positive that it hadn’t really happened.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that after confirming the time and place for your Saturday date, your conversation had ended abruptly. No back-and-forth, no playful banter. Just... silence. He had been waiting, glancing at his phone far too often, hoping for another text that never came.

Maybe the magic had only lasted for that one night and morning. Maybe you had woken up and realized that Spencer wasn’t what you wanted after all. What if the moment had passed and the reality of who he was had set in for you? What if, after thinking it over, you decided he wasn’t worth seeing again?

Then there was the physical aspect—the fact that you had seen him. All of him. You had touched him, and though you had stayed afterward, making breakfast and laughing with him, the irrational part of his brain couldn’t stop replaying the possibilities. What if you hadn’t liked what you saw but had been too kind to say anything in the moment? What if you were regretting the entire thing now?

Rationally, Spencer knew these thoughts didn’t make sense. If you hadn’t been interested, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to see him again. You definitely wouldn’t have stayed the morning, made him breakfast, and kissed him so sweetly before leaving. But his nerves were gnawing at him, relentless and persistent.

Spencer wasn’t just nervous. He was terrified. In all his 30 years of life, he had never met someone who made his heart race so much in a good way. Someone who made him feel this vulnerable yet eager to dive deeper.

He spent Friday night tossing and turning, replaying every moment he’d spent with you, both wonderful and anxiety-inducing. By Saturday morning, he was an absolute bundle of nerves, wondering if maybe he should’ve done something differently, said something better, or been more... someone else.

But then, just as the clock hit mid-morning, his phone buzzed. Heart racing, Spencer grabbed it from the nightstand. A message from you.

Looking forward to tonight :) See you soon!

He stared at the screen, a wave of relief washing over him so intense it almost knocked him off his feet. You were still interested. You hadn’t changed your mind. You wanted to see him again.

For a moment, he just sat there, the nerves easing away as he reread the message. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

As Spencer got ready for the date, the nerves returned. Despite dressing the same way he always did—his usual button-up shirt, vest, slacks, his familiar aftershave, and cologne—there was a sense of urgency in his movements. He didn’t know why he was so anxious; after all, he hadn’t changed anything. But this was different. You were different. He just hoped that you would like him as he was.

You had offered to meet him at the restaurant, which, at first, he wasn’t sure about. He’d wanted to pick you up, to make the evening as special as possible, but when you suggested meeting there, he hadn’t pressed. Maybe it was nerves on your part too, or maybe you just liked the independence of arriving on your own terms.

When he arrived and spotted you chatting with the hostess, his heart swelled, almost too big for his chest. You looked effortlessly beautiful, standing there in a red dress that hugged your form perfectly. It was simple, yet elegant, and the way it contrasted against your skin made you stand out even more in the dimly lit atmosphere of the restaurant.

You were laughing, completely at ease, talking with the hostess as if you hadn’t a care in the world. The sound of your voice carried over the light murmur of the restaurant, and Spencer was instantly reminded of when he’d first seen you. The way you had drawn him in so effortlessly. There was no pretense about you—just an infectious warmth and natural beauty.

He stood frozen for a moment, just watching, trying to gather the courage to walk up to you. But when you turned your head and caught sight of him, your face broke into the most radiant smile, and Spencer felt his nerves disappear all at once. It was like everything fell into place.

“Hey,” you greeted him as he approached, your eyes lighting up with excitement. “You made it.”

“Yeah, I—wow, you look... amazing,” Spencer smiled, feeling the last remnants of his awkwardness melt away as you grinned at him, doing a playful little twirl in your red dress. The movement was graceful yet lighthearted, making him laugh, a sound full of genuine joy.

“I’m sensing a pattern,” Spencer teased, his eyes gleaming with affection as he took in how the red dress suited you so perfectly, just as your red boots and shorts had. “Do you like red?”

You stepped in closer, your hands resting lightly on his chest, the warmth of your touch sending a subtle shiver down his spine. “I do,” you admitted with a sweet smile. “My, uh, my aunt always called me Red. Like Little Red Riding Hood.”

Spencer’s heart melted at the story, his eyes softening as he looked at you with pure adoration. “That’s so sweet,” he murmured, as if he couldn’t contain how endearing he found the thought of you being called “Red.”

You chuckled, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, she said I was always wandering off on my own adventures, and she had to remind me not to get eaten by wolves.”

Spencer’s smile grew even softer, his hands instinctively resting at your waist. “Well,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with admiration, “I think Little Red turned out just fine.”

The exchange left the both of you wrapped in a quiet moment of warmth, the kind of connection that made the rest of the world seem to fade into the background. With a soft smile, you took his hand, ready to start the evening, knowing that it was already off to a perfect start.

After being seated, the conversation flowed easily as you both eagerly dug into the appetizers. The tension and nerves from earlier seemed to melt away entirely as you shared bites of food and laughed at small jokes. The restaurant had a cozy atmosphere, with soft lighting that gave the table an intimate glow, making everything feel even more relaxed.

You giggled, trying to hold in your laughter as you chewed, but it was no use. Spencer had said something funny just as you took a bite, and now you were covering your mouth with your hand, laughing through the food. Spencer immediately looked apologetic, his eyes wide as he realized his timing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, chuckling nervously, his hand halfway raised like he was ready to help in some way. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh while you were eating!”

You waved him off with your free hand, still laughing softly as you swallowed your food. “It’s okay, really,” you assured him once you could speak, your voice light with amusement. “It was worth it.”

Spencer grinned, a little sheepishly but clearly relieved that you weren’t bothered. “I’ll have to work on my comedic timing,” he said playfully, leaning back in his chair as he watched you, clearly enjoying the easy flow of your conversation.

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. It was the kind of dinner where nothing had to be perfect for it to feel just right. Everything between you and Spencer felt natural—funny, even in the smallest moments.

You stretched your legs out under the table, completely unaware of Spencer’s position, and grazed his shin with your foot. Spencer jolted slightly, his body reacting immediately to the unexpected touch. His brow quirked up, and he gave you a playful look.

"Are you trying to play footsie with me?" he asked, pretending to sound scandalized, though the teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips gave him away.

You burst into laughter, immediately throwing your hands up in mock surrender. "I promise I wasn’t!" you said, still giggling. "I was just stretching my legs!"

Spencer narrowed his eyes at you in mock suspicion, pretending to glare as if he didn’t believe a word of it. "Likely story, Red," he teased, using your intimate nickname with ease.

Hearing him call you "Red" sent a warmth straight to your heart. It had been so long since anyone other than your aunt had used that name, and the way Spencer said it felt special, like a quiet understanding between the two of you. You grinned, feeling that warmth spread through your chest.

"I’m innocent, I swear!" you laughed, leaning forward slightly, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint.

Spencer held your gaze for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. "I’ll let it slide this time," he said, his voice light but filled with a quiet fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

The dinner had gone off without a hitch, and Spencer, walking beside you under the soft glow of the streetlights, couldn’t even remember why he had been so nervous in the first place. The evening had been perfect—easy, comfortable, and filled with laughter. He found himself entirely at ease around you, more than he had been with anyone in a long time.

As you strolled along the sidewalk, your arm occasionally brushing against his, you made small talk, keeping the conversation light and fun. Spencer listened intently, smiling at your stories, hanging on to every word, though you noticed that he still hadn’t shared all that much about himself. You figured he had his reasons, and you weren’t going to push. He seemed too genuine, too kind-hearted, for it to be anything more than him needing time.

For now, you were content to share bits of your life with him—telling stories about your childhood, your adventures in college, and the silly moments that had shaped you. You spoke about your aunt, and how much she had meant to you growing up. Spencer’s eyes softened as he listened, clearly enjoying every word you spoke.

"You sound like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Spencer said with a smile as you finished a story about sneaking into your college library late at night for secret study sessions with your friends.

You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. "Adventurous might be a bit of an overstatement, but I definitely wasn’t the most well-behaved."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can’t imagine you being anything but well-behaved."

You grinned at him, loving the way he teased you with that gentle humor of his. "You’d be surprised."

He seemed content to let you lead the conversation, and though he didn’t say much about his own past, you could tell that he was listening to every detail you shared. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it felt as though he was genuinely absorbing everything about you, like he wanted to know you better, but in his own quiet way.

When the two of you finally made your way back to the restaurant, where Spencer’s car was parked, he offered you a ride home. His thoughtfulness made you smile, but once again, you politely declined, explaining that you didn’t mind walking.

However, Spencer’s expression immediately shifted, his brow furrowing in concern as he quickly launched into crime statistics about women walking alone at night. His detailed knowledge on the subject was impressive, but it also sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You couldn’t help but ask, "Why do you know so much about that?"

His response came with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I, uh, I work for the FBI. I deal with a lot of crimes.” His words were quick, almost bashful, as though he wasn’t used to dropping that kind of bombshell in casual conversation.

Your eyes widened in surprise as the pieces clicked into place—the secrecy, the knowledge, it all made sense now. "Oh!" you exclaimed, relief washing over you. "Thank god, I was afraid you had experience in kidnapping or something."

Spencer laughed, clearly caught off guard by your reaction. He was so used to people being either overly impressed or intensely curious when they learned about his job, but your response was different—humorous, almost relieved.

"No, no," he assured you, pulling out his badge to prove his innocence, still chuckling. "Nothing like that."

You leaned in to get a better look at the badge, your fingers briefly brushing over the picture. Your eyes lit up with amusement. "Oh my goodness," you said, grinning up at him. "You look like a little baby in this!"

Spencer flushed slightly, laughing awkwardly. "Well, I was 22 when that was taken," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I’m 30 now… maybe I should retake it."

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "No," you said, your voice affectionate. "I like it. It still looks like you, just more… innocent."

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat at the way you were looking at him, your expression so warm and kind. He wasn’t used to being seen like that, not after years of working in the field, seeing the worst of humanity. But in that moment, you saw him—not as a brilliant FBI agent, but as Spencer, the person. And he liked that more than he could put into words.

He gave you a shy smile in return, slipping the badge back into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said softly, genuinely appreciating your words.

You nodded slightly, unsure of how to navigate the next moment. It seemed like the night was coming to a natural end, and you didn’t quite know how to say goodbye without feeling like you were cutting it short.

“Wait, Y/N,” Spencer said suddenly, his hand gently catching your arm. There was a soft urgency in his voice, like he wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end either. “I can’t let you walk home alone. Please, at least let me walk you.”

You laughed, partly at the irony and partly at his genuine concern. “Oh, well, you see,” you began, biting your lip as you explained, “I didn’t want you to know where I lived, you know, just in case you were dangerous.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned by your honesty, but you quickly followed it up with a lighthearted smile.

“But,” you continued, glancing down at your shoes with a playful sigh, “seeing as you’re probably my safest option, I would love a ride home. These shoes are starting to hurt.”

Spencer’s expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and amusement. “Oh,” he smiled, clearly trying not to laugh at the situation. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I passed the safety test.”

You chuckled, grateful for Spencer’s warmth and understanding as he quickly unlocked his car, holding the door open for you like the gentleman he was. “I promise I’m just your FBI chauffeur for the evening,” he said with a playful grin. “No funny business involved.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you felt more comfortable now, letting yourself sink into the soft interior of the car. “I should hope there will be some funny business,” you teased back with a grin.

Spencer laughed as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat, his smile still lingering as he started the engine. “Maybe, if you’re lucky,” he shot back, a hint of playful banter in his voice.

You smiled to yourself, remembering the playful back-and-forth from the first night at the bar. “Oh, I’m lucky, alright,” you teased, letting your words hang in the air.

The conversation during the drive was light and easy, flowing naturally as you both learned more about each other. Spencer shared bits about his life—how he was from Las Vegas, how he’d been a child prodigy, finishing school at an age when most were still navigating adolescence. You revealed more about yourself too, that you were 25 and had just moved to Quantico a month ago. It was the most you’d learned about him so far, and your heart soared with the thought that maybe he was starting to feel more comfortable with you, letting those initial walls down just a little.

When the conversation turned to your age, Spencer let out a visible sigh of relief, as you had teasingly implied you were only 18 when he initially brought up his own youth. You giggled at his obvious relief, knowing he had been worried.

As you both stepped out of the car, Spencer opened the door for you once more, a habit that hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was then that you saw your cat, Poof, sitting in the window, his eyes staring down at the scene below.

“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his eyes following your gaze.

You smiled, proud as always of your feline friend. “That’s Poof,” you said, your voice warm. “My boy.”

Spencer turned to face you, and for the first time, he seemed to muster the courage to place his hands on your waist, the touch gentle but deliberate. His fingertips pressed lightly against your hips, pulling you just a little closer.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his with a playful, sultry look. “I hope it’s not time for that funny business,” you said softly, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Poof is watching.”

Spencer’s soft laugh filled the quiet evening air, his voice slightly teasing as he said, “Can you ask him to look away? I’d like to kiss you.”

You rubbed your chin, pretending to think it over, drawing out the moment. “Hmm, I guess I could try.” You turned your head over your shoulder and called up to your cat, “Hey, Poof?”

Poof perked up in the open window, his eyes locking onto yours, and he let out a questioning meow.

“Can you look away, baby?” you continued, your voice playful. “Mommy’s going to do something naughty.”

Spencer immediately flushed at your words, his cheeks turning a deep pink as he laughed nervously, clearly caught off guard by your teasing. Poof, seemingly understanding the moment, let out one more meow before hopping down from the windowsill, likely heading toward the front door to meet you inside. Whether he truly understood or just wanted to meet you, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same: the two of you now had privacy.

You turned back to Spencer with a smile, feeling the playful energy shift into something more intimate. With Poof gone, the evening air felt still, and you reached your hands into Spencer’s hair. Spencer, still slightly flustered but unable to hide his excitement, leaned in. His hands remained gently on your waist, but there was a tenderness in his touch that made your heart race.

Slowly, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the world seeming to quiet around you as everything else faded. It was gentle, tentative, and cozy, his lips pillow soft and sweet. Spencer kissed you like he was savoring every second, as if this moment meant more than he could put into words.

When you finally pulled back from the kiss, your noses still brushing lightly, the moment reminded you of a scene straight out of Lady and the Tramp. Spencer’s eyes were half-lidded, his lips still curved in a soft smile, clearly affected by the kiss. He exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, “I think you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

The sincerity of his words hit you like a warm breeze, melting your heart into a puddle. But as much as you felt overwhelmed with happiness, your expression must not have mirrored what you were feeling inside, because Spencer’s smile faltered slightly. He was quick to backtrack, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush.

“Oh no, was that too much? Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry,” he stammered, his nervousness suddenly replacing the confidence he'd gained earlier. He was clearly afraid he had said something to ruin the perfect moment, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You shook your head gently, biting your lip as you looked up at him. There was a newfound shyness in your gaze, an almost vulnerable expression that hadn’t been there before. "Just... please mean it," you whispered, your voice soft, your heart racing as you waited for his response.

Spencer’s eyes softened instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist, like a silent reminder he wasn’t going anywhere. “I do,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Hearing those words, a slow, sweet smile spread across your face, and the warmth in your chest bloomed into something even bigger. You felt seen, appreciated, and for a moment, it was like the two of you were in your own little world—just you, Spencer, and the quiet glow of the night.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

Spencer’s nervousness melted away in that instant, replaced by pure relief and something that felt like hope. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and everything felt right. No more hesitation, no more second-guessing—just the feeling of being exactly where you both wanted to be.

—

Spencer Reid had never truly been in love before—not in the way people described it, that overwhelming rush of emotions, the constant thoughts about someone else filling your mind. But as he sat in his apartment later that night, thinking about you, he was almost certain that this—whatever he was feeling—was love. The way his heart skipped a beat just thinking about your smile, how his palms had been sweaty before your kiss, how you had effortlessly made him feel like the most important person in the world.

Still, Spencer was Spencer—his mind always searching for logical explanations, grounded in facts and science. He knew that love was largely chemical, that the brain released dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, making people feel giddy and euphoric. And he also knew, from one of the countless facts stored in his mind, that both chocolate—and oddly enough, peas—could stimulate the release of similar hormones, mimicking the sensation of love.

So, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he decided to conduct an experiment.

The next day, he went out to buy both chocolate and peas—determined to see if those foods could recreate even a fraction of the feelings you stirred in him. He figured that if it was purely chemical, those foods should make him feel the same warmth, the same fluttering excitement in his chest.

He got home, spread out the chocolate and peas on his kitchen table, and hesitated for a moment. Was he really doing this? Testing whether his feelings for you were real or just his brain tricking him? He almost laughed at how absurd it all seemed.

But, he pushed forward, nibbling on some chocolate first. He waited, focusing on his body’s reactions. There was a slight rush—sweet and satisfying—but no butterflies, no pounding heart. Then he moved on to the peas, knowing they were supposed to have similar effects on the brain's chemistry. But after a handful of peas, he only felt... like someone who had just eaten peas. There was no spark, no overwhelming sense of joy.

Spencer sat back in his chair, staring at the empty plates, and let out a soft laugh. The experiment, while amusing, had proven what he already suspected: his feelings for you weren’t something he could replicate with food. They were something much deeper—something entirely unique to you.

The thought filled him with a sense of peace, and in that moment, he realized that what he was feeling was real. He didn’t need science or logic to confirm it—he just knew.

And as he closed his eyes, picturing your smile, he knew that love was the only thing that could explain the way he felt when he was around you.

—

"Alright, pretty boy, let’s hear it!" Derek clapped his hands together, rubbing them with an exaggerated sense of excitement as Spencer returned from the break room, coffee in hand.

Spencer paused mid-sip, his wide eyes blinking behind his cup, brows raised as if he hadn’t the faintest idea what Derek was referring to. “Hear it?”

Of course, he knew exactly what Derek meant. The date. But a small part of him—maybe a larger part than he cared to admit—wanted to keep you to himself, at least for a little while longer. His team already knew so much about him, and this, well, this was different. This was special.

Derek wasn’t having any of it. He narrowed his eyes, giving Spencer a mock-glare. “Don’t play with me, kid. You went on that date, right?”

Before Spencer could even respond, Emily perked up from her desk, always eager for gossip when it came to her favorite awkward genius. “Oh yeah! How did it go?” she asked, leaning in, her face full of curiosity.

Spencer sighed, setting his coffee down on his desk with a soft clink. He wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. He tried to keep his face neutral, his body language calm, but the memories of the evening—the walk under the streetlights, your playful banter, and that kiss—flooded his mind, making it hard not to smile.

"It went... very well," he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

Derek wasn’t convinced by Spencer’s attempt at subtlety. “That’s it? Very well?" he repeated, mocking Spencer’s impassive tone. "Come on, man. You’ve gotta give us more than that.”

Emily leaned forward even more, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, spill! Did she like you? Did you kiss her?"

Spencer could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to show in his cheeks. He could lie, brush it off, or keep it vague, but he knew his team better than that. They wouldn’t let it go. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to give them every detail.

"Yes, we kissed," he said, avoiding their wide-eyed stares. He could practically feel Emily and Derek’s eyes burning into him. "And yes, I think she liked me."

"Whoa!" Derek exclaimed, slapping his hand on the desk in excitement. "Look at you, Romeo!"

Emily was grinning now, clearly thrilled with this development. “Oh my God, you’re finally seeing someone. I knew this was going to be good!”

Spencer shifted in his chair, trying to avoid the attention while hiding his smile behind his coffee. "It’s... still early," he said cautiously. "We’re going to see each other again, but I don’t want to rush things."

Derek chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “No rush, man. Just enjoy it.”

Spencer nodded, feeling both overwhelmed by their enthusiasm and touched by their genuine happiness for him. As much as he had wanted to keep it to himself, there was something nice about sharing even this small piece of happiness with his team—his friends.

Still, in his mind, the best parts of the date were tucked away, memories meant just for him and you.

Just as Spencer was about to respond, Hotch’s voice cut through the bullpen. “Briefing room, five minutes,” he called, his tone all business as usual. But then, with a rare hint of amusement in his voice, Hotch added, “Congrats, Reid,” flashing a brief, smug smile before disappearing back into his office.

The team erupted into cheers and playful whops, their laughter filling the room. Derek gave Spencer a knowing nudge, grinning ear to ear, while Emily clapped her hands together in excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head at how quickly news spread in the BAU. He gathered his files, his coffee, and his thoughts, preparing for the case briefing.

As they made their way to the briefing room, Spencer found his thoughts drifting back to you. He wasn’t one to be easily distracted, especially at work, but today, there was a lightness in his step, a quiet happiness that followed him.

No matter what the next case would bring, you were there in the back of his mind, a constant, sweet reminder of the night before. And for the first time in a long while, Spencer felt like he was allowed to have something personal, something good, to look forward to.

—

It had been a few days since your date with Spencer, and though you hadn’t seen each other since then, the excitement hadn’t faded. Every day, you and Spencer shared brief phone calls after work, recounting your days, each conversation leaving you both with a sense of comfort and anticipation. It was enough for now, enough to tide you over until the next time you could be together in person.

Spencer, however, had been cautious about texting you first. He was afraid of coming on too strong, not wanting to push if you weren’t ready. He longed to see you again, and he was planning to ask if you were free this weekend. But the fear of always making the first move held him back, making him hesitate. He wanted to know that you were just as invested, that you’d reach out too.

Before he could summon the courage to ask you out again, the BAU caught a case that took them out of town. Spencer wasn’t sure what the protocol was for this kind of thing—how much should he let you know? It wasn’t like you were officially together, but at the same time, he didn’t want to just disappear without a word.

He decided to wait for your usual nightly call and tell you then, hoping the timing wouldn’t be off, worried that he might miss the window if things got too chaotic. A part of him secretly hoped you’d make the first move and call him tonight—an assurance that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

As the day stretched into evening, the team found themselves in a stuffy precinct in Arizona, dealing with an uncooperative local police department. The frustration levels were high, and Spencer was barely holding onto his patience with an especially difficult sheriff. Just as he was about to lose his cool, his phone rang.

Relieved for the distraction, Spencer pulled it out without thinking, assuming it was Garcia checking in with some intel. He answered with a weary sigh. “What’s up, Garcia?”

There was a brief pause before your voice came through the line, hesitant and uncertain. “Um, hi?”

Spencer’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His heart leaped in his chest, excitement bubbling up at the fact that you had called him. But it was quickly followed by a wave of embarrassment as he realized his mistake. “Y/N! Hi!” he blurted out, his voice filled with a mix of apology and enthusiasm.

“Expecting someone else?” you teased, but he could hear the slight edge of insecurity in your voice, making his stomach twist with guilt.

“No, no, I’m so sorry,” Spencer rushed to explain, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall of the precinct, trying to escape the noise and tension around him. “I’ve been dealing with this case, and I just—well, I thought it was a work call. I didn’t look at the caller ID. But I’m really glad you called.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Spencer held his breath, hoping he hadn’t ruined this. He desperately wanted you to know that you calling meant more to him than he could say.

After a moment, you spoke again, your tone softening. “It’s okay, I figured you were busy.”

“I am,” Spencer admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I would never be too busy to talk to you.”

Rossi happened to overhear the exchange between Spencer and you. Though the older agent smiled with quiet amusement and joy for the young genius, he refrained from teasing him. This was a rare moment for Spencer, and Rossi respected that.

On the other end of the line, you giggled softly, your voice light and teasing. “Never too busy for me?” you repeated, playfully emphasizing the words. “That’s quite the line, Spencer.”

Spencer felt his face warm even more, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Mhm, you know me, smooth talker extraordinaire," he replied, his voice soft but playful.

Your laughter echoed through the phone, sending a wave of warmth over Spencer. He couldn't help the huge smile that spread across his face. There was something about making you laugh that filled him with an indescribable joy.

On the other side of the room, Hotch overheard the exchange. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced over at Rossi. “Did Reid just use sarcasm?”

Rossi nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "I think the kid’s in love."

While they observed, you continued telling Spencer a story about Poof. "Oh, and today Poof scared a little kid into dropping their ice cream when he meowed from the window," you said with a giggle. "The poor thing was so startled. I ended up running downstairs with a popsicle from my freezer to make up for it."

As you laughed, recounting the moment, Spencer's heart swelled at the thought of your kindness. His mind briefly wandered to the idea of you as a mother, imagining you with a little one on your hip, comforting them with that same gentle warmth. And, to his own surprise, the thought of you being the mother of his children crossed his mind, and it didn’t scare him—it made his heart race in the best way possible.

He shook the thought away, trying to focus on the present, but it lingered, a sweet hope tucked away for the future.

"That's... really sweet of you," he said softly, his voice full of admiration. "That kid’s lucky you were there. I’m sure Poof didn’t feel too guilty, though."

You laughed again, the sound sending Spencer into another moment of quiet happiness. "Nope, he was pretty proud of himself."

Spencer chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in days despite the tension of the case. Just hearing your voice, your stories, made everything feel a little easier.

—

After the team wrapped up the case and stepped off the jet, Spencer’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw your name lighting up the screen. A soft smile spread across his face as he read the message.

Fly safe :) Come around to mine after you’re settled? I have a surprise!

His heart fluttered at the thought of you preparing something special for him. After the tension and exhaustion of the last few days, knowing that you had gone out of your way to plan a cozy night in for him made his chest warm with appreciation. He could hardly contain his excitement as he picked up his pace, eager to see you.

As he sped through the BAU offices, Derek’s voice echoed behind him, laced with amusement. “Got somewhere important to be, pretty boy?”

Spencer didn’t even slow down, not bothering to stop by his desk or respond to Derek’s teasing. He was too focused on getting home, quickly freshening up, and heading straight to you. He had been looking forward to seeing you since the moment your text had come through. The idea of spending the evening unwinding in your presence—feeling the comfort you always brought—was all he wanted after this stressful case.

Once home, he quickly showered and changed into something more relaxed but still nice. The thought of you, the surprise you had planned, fueled his every movement. His mind buzzed with anticipation, wondering what you could possibly have in store.

Soon enough, he found himself standing outside your door, the night air cool but carrying a sense of warmth knowing you were just on the other side. Spencer took a deep breath, knocked softly, and smiled to himself. Whatever the surprise, he knew this night would be perfect just because he’d get to spend it with you.

As you opened the door, your heart swelled with affection the moment you laid eyes on Spencer. He looked so relaxed, dressed down in a casual red sweatshirt, something you hadn't seen him wear before. It made him look more approachable, more... himself. And to top it all off, he was wearing red—a color you were more than familiar with.

“Trying to steal my look?” you teased with a playful grin, your tone lighthearted.

Spencer, however, found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to shoot back a quick, witty reply—keep up with your usual banter—but the sight of you in those shorts, your legs fully exposed, completely derailed his train of thought. His brain short-circuited for a moment, distracted by how stunning you looked in such a casual outfit.

His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, trying to regain his composure. "I—uh—yeah, I guess great minds think alike," he finally managed to say, though his voice was a little breathless.

You caught the way his gaze lingered a bit longer than usual, and it only fueled your affection for him. There was something incredibly endearing about the way Spencer, usually so articulate and brilliant, could be rendered speechless by the simplest things about you.

“Well, I think you look cute,” you added, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing smile.

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to focus on your words rather than how much he wanted to reach out and touch you. “You look... amazing,” he said, his voice genuine, the distraction momentarily fading as his gaze softened.

“Come on, space-cadet, step inside the spaceship,” you teased, giggling as you made room for Spencer to step inside your cozy, inviting home.

Spencer smiled, still somewhat in awe of you and how effortlessly comfortable you made him feel. He let you take his hand, your fingers lacing together as you guided him through the charming kitchen and into the warm, welcoming living room. The soft glow of the lamps, the greenery, and the sense of warmth that filled the space made it feel like a perfect sanctuary after the long, stressful days he’d had.

"So… I hope it’s not too much," you began, swinging your linked hands back and forth gently, clearly a little nervous. "But I, uh, rented some movies and made some food." Your voice softened as you continued, your gaze meeting his with a hopeful glint. "I thought we could just cuddle and hang out?"

Spencer's heart swelled at your thoughtfulness. The idea of a simple, cozy night in with you, far away from the chaos of work, was exactly what he needed. He could already feel the tension from the case melting away as he stood in your warm, peaceful space. The fact that you had gone out of your way to make him feel cared for, even without saying much, meant everything.

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "That sounds perfect," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “Thank you… for doing all this. You didn’t have to.”

You shrugged with a playful smile, pulling Spencer toward the couch. “I wanted to. You deserve a break. And... selfishly, I really wanted to see you.”

Spencer’s heart swelled in his chest, and he had to wonder if it was healthy for his heart to be beating this rapidly, this often. “Thank god,” he said dramatically, bending at the knees a bit for comedic effect, enhancing his performance. “Because I was really starting to miss you.”

You crinkled your nose in affection, finding his antics utterly adorable. Leaning up, you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “We’re going to be that disgusting couple everyone hates to be around, aren’t we?” you teased, a playful gleam in your eyes.

That’s when Spencer swore his heart stopped altogether. His brain short-circuited as he replayed your words in his mind. Couple? Could this be real? His pulse quickened, and he suddenly felt like his chest was too small for his heart.

“Couple?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement and just a hint of disbelief. He looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out without much thought. For a moment, you panicked, unsure of whether you had moved too fast or if Spencer was even ready for that. “I—uh... I didn’t mean to say that,” you stammered, feeling the nerves bubbling up. “But... is that okay?”

Spencer’s expression softened instantly. His eyes were still wide, but now filled with something warm, something deeper than mere excitement. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tender hug, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It’s more than okay,” he whispered, his voice slightly shaky from the rush of emotions flooding through him. “I… I’d really like that.”

You laughed softly, relief washing over you as you melted into his arms. “Me too,” you whispered back, your hands wrapping around his back, holding him close. The tension that had built up between you moments ago dissolved into something tender, something warm and reassuring.

After a few beats, Spencer pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his smile small but full of meaning. “So… we’re that disgusting couple now, huh?”

You giggled, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “Looks like it,” you teased, your voice light, yet filled with affection.

Spencer chuckled, unable to stop smiling, the realization of what this meant finally settling into his mind. This was real—you were real—and the connection between the two of you was deepening in ways he hadn’t even anticipated.

And there, in that cozy living room, something beautiful had started to bloom, and neither of you could be happier.

Of course, that was until you playfully pushed Spencer down onto the couch, the unexpected movement making him let out a surprised laugh. You leaned over him, your lips finding his, and kissed him with a fervor that made his heart skip several beats. His hands instinctively found your waist, holding onto you as you kissed him silly.

Every time your lips met, Spencer’s mind grew foggier, lost in the warmth and softness of your touch. His usual articulate thoughts were reduced to nothing more than pure sensation, and in that moment, he was utterly and completely yours.

But then, when you shifted, your hips settling down on his lap, and ground yourself against him, a low gasp escaped his lips. Spencer’s hands gripped your waist tighter, and he swore he was through the roof with happiness. His pulse was racing, his mind spinning, and yet, all he could think about was how perfect this felt—how perfect you felt.

A breathless laugh escaped him between kisses as he looked up at you with wide, adoring eyes. “I think,” he said, his voice ragged from the emotions swirling inside him, “this might actually kill me.”

You giggled against his lips, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Good,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him again, your movements deliberate and full of affection. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you survive.”

When your tongue traced along Spencer’s bottom lip, he knew he was in trouble—there was no way he was going to survive this, and, really, he was okay with that. But as the intensity of the moment grew, something shifted inside him. He didn’t want you doing all the work, didn’t want to just be the one melting under your touch. No, he wanted to return the favor.

“Y/N…” he mumbled, his voice low and filled with need as you sucked on his tongue, causing him to let out a deep, involuntary moan. The sound echoed in the room, making the moment feel even more electric.

Before you could continue, Spencer gently pushed you back, his hands still steady on your waist. “I want—” he began, taking a deep, steadying breath, his heart racing. “I want to… please you this time.” His voice trembled slightly, the desire in his words clear.

You paused, gazing down at him with surprise and affection, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, feeling the shift in the air between you. There was something deeply intimate in Spencer’s request, in the way he wanted to take care of you.

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers tracing light, almost reverent patterns along your skin as he held your gaze. “Please,” he added softly, his voice now filled with a quiet determination.

The vulnerability in his eyes and the sincerity of his words made your heart race in response. You smiled down at him, leaning in close so your lips barely brushed his. “Okay,” you whispered, giving him a soft, reassuring kiss. “Whatever you want, Spencer.”

Spencer gently shifted your positions, moving you onto your back as he settled between your legs, his body hovering just above yours. You giggled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you wiggled your eyebrows playfully. “Hello, handsome.”

Spencer smiled down at you, a warmth blooming in his chest at how effortlessly playful and sweet you always were. “Hey, gorgeous,” he breathed out, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to kiss you again, slow and deep, savoring every moment.

This time, his hands were braced beside your head, supporting his weight as he kissed you. Your fingers traced soft, lazy patterns along his back, the gentleness of your touch contrasting with the intensity building between you.

But then, Spencer lowered his hips, grinding down into yours, and the sensation sent a shockwave through you. You couldn’t stop the high-pitched keen that escaped your throat, your fingers instantly digging deeper into his back, your body responding to him with a need that left you breathless.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his gaze heated as he looked down at you, his breathing ragged. “Did you like that?” he asked, his voice husky, thick with a genuine curiosity��but the way he asked it, the rough edge in his tone, made your heart race and your blood pressure spike.

You nodded, your breaths coming out in shallow, excited gasps. “Y-yeah,” you managed to breathe out, the simple action of speaking feeling overwhelming with the way he was looking at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him right now.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again, but this time his hips didn’t stop moving, rolling into yours with deliberate, teasing pressure that made you arch up into him, craving more.

With each roll of his hips, Spencer was more determined to make sure you felt everything, his quiet confidence growing as he watched the way your body responded to him. The playful teasing from earlier had transformed into something much deeper, more intimate, and as his hands roamed your body, he knew that this—being with you like this—was something he wanted to experience again and again.

“Spence, ungh,” you whined, your voice shaky as pleasure coursed through you. “Spencer, this—this feels so good.” Your words stuttered out as Spencer’s lips trailed warm kisses down the length of your neck, making you arch into him, but something inside you told you it could feel even better. “Can I… move you?”

Spencer paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Move me?” he asked, his voice soft and curious.

You nodded, your breath still coming out in shallow bursts. “If you were situated a little more to the left… you’d hit perfectly.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, the realization dawning on him. “Oh!” He laughed, the sound a mix of amusement and understanding, as his face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Of course.”

He braced himself as your hand went into his pants, repositioning just the way you needed, his hands still braced on either side of your head as his body moved into place. And when he pressed down into you again, the sensation hit in a way that had your back arching and a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“That better?” he asked, his voice low, and though the question was genuine, there was an underlying heat in his tone that sent sparks flying through your veins.

Your only response was a breathless nod, your hands clinging to his back, your nails digging into Spencer’s back as he moved just the way you had asked. The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and it was all you could do to nod frantically, your breath catching in your throat as he pressed deeper.

"That’s it," Spencer murmured, his voice laced with both awe and desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good." His words only heightened the moment, sending a shiver down your spine as his hips continued their slow, deliberate movement against yours.

The tension in your body built with each roll of his hips, and every breathless whimper you made only spurred him on. Spencer's usually calm, thoughtful demeanor had melted away, replaced by something more primal, more intense. Yet, there was still something so gentle about him, like he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

You tilted your head back, giving him more access to your neck as he resumed placing kisses there, each one sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Spencer," you gasped out his name, your voice trembling with need. "Don’t stop."

His lips curved into a small, pleased smile against your skin. “I won’t,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. Spencer moved again, his body aligned with yours in perfect harmony now, and the sensation made you gasp out loud, your back arching off the couch as his name fell from your lips in a desperate moan.

He watched your every reaction with fascination, his gaze full of warmth and desire. “Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with the same yearning coursing through him. “I’ll give it to you.”

The intensity of his words, combined with the way his body moved against yours, was overwhelming in the best possible way. You felt your grip tighten on his back, nails dragging lightly against his skin as the pressure built between you both.

Your breath hitched again, every nerve in your body sparking with sensation. "Just like that, Spence," you managed to gasp out, your body trembling with anticipation.

And Spencer, ever attentive, ever caring, gave you exactly what you needed, his movements steady and sure as he took you closer and closer to the edge.

Spencer’s eyes were filled with awe as he watched you, the intensity of your expression sending a rush of pride and arousal through him. "Are you going to finish?" he asked deeply, his voice tinged with both excitement and lust, clearly captivated by the way you were responding to him.

But as much as you loved the feeling of him against you, you knew that you needed something more to actually reach that peak. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing anything wrong, because he wasn’t—everything felt amazing. You just needed a little extra.

Shaking your head slightly, you met his gaze, feeling a little shy but determined to be honest. "Um, no," you admitted, your voice soft but clear. "Spence, I’m going to need something more..."

His eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on him, and he immediately slowed down, his expression one of care and attentiveness. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice gentle, full of nothing but the desire to give you exactly what you wanted. Spencer was nothing if not eager to please, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t giving you what you deserved.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but you pushed through the nervousness. "I just need more… contact," you said, your voice trembling a little, but you held his gaze, knowing that Spencer was the kind of person who wouldn’t judge you for asking. "Maybe your hands... or your mouth?"

The moment you said it, Spencer’s eyes darkened with understanding and desire, and he nodded quickly. "I can do that," he said, his voice now rougher, the edge of excitement clear in his tone. Without hesitation, he adjusted himself, his hands sliding down your body with deliberate care, his fingertips brushing lightly over your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

"Tell me how," he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure it feels good."

You nodded quickly, your lips brushing against Spencer’s as you whispered, “Touch me, please.” The desperation in your voice sent a rush of heat through him, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at how the roles had reversed. You were the one who was a mess now, needing his touch, and he found it both endearing and exciting.

But Spencer wasn’t one to leave you waiting—he was far too much of a gentleman for that. He wanted to make sure you felt every bit of pleasure you deserved. His hands moved with purpose, pushing your tiny shorts and underwear down as far as they could go in your current position, the fabric bunching up around your thighs.

His fingers hesitated just for a second, brushing lightly over the coarse hair, testing the waters as he sought your reaction. The moment his fingertips made contact with your lips, you let out a soft gasp, your body arching slightly, seeking more of his touch.

Spencer’s gaze flicked back to your face, watching your reaction closely, a mixture of curiosity and admiration in his eyes. He loved how responsive you were to him, how honest your body was in its need. Slowly, gently, his fingers traced lower, gliding through the wet heat of your skin, exploring with a tenderness that made your heart race.

“Like this?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath as his fingers found your most sensitive spot, circling your clit with deliberate care and pressure. He wanted to make sure he was doing it just right, watching for every little tell that told him you were enjoying this.

Your breath hitched, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you nodded, unable to form words in that moment. Spencer, always attentive, took your reaction as the encouragement he needed and continued, his movements slow but precise, building the tension inside you with every stroke of his hand.

As your body responded to his touch, the quiet sounds of your pleasure filled the space between you, and Spencer’s heart swelled with satisfaction. He leaned down to kiss you again, his lips moving against yours with a renewed sense of purpose as his fingers continued their steady rhythm, determined to give you exactly what you needed.

You were quickly becoming undone beneath him, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you. Spencer could feel it too, the way your breathing quickened, the way your hips subtly lifted to meet his hand. And in that moment, all that mattered was making sure you felt as good as you possibly could.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips, his voice soft but full of awe. "Just let go, Y/N. I've got you."

Spencer's deep voice, laced with desire and tenderness, sent waves of heat coursing through you, and when you whined, your voice high and breathless, "Harder, faster, I'm so close," it was all he needed to hear.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as his fingers immediately responded to your plea, pressing harder, moving faster. His focus was entirely on you, on making sure you got exactly what you needed. His lips brushed against your temple as his fingers worked you over, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing lightly.

"Like this?" he murmured, his voice rough with concentration, the husky edge to it sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched as you gasped out, barely able to hold yourself together. "Yes, yes, right there!" The sensation built inside you with a blinding intensity, every nerve in your body alight as Spencer's fingers moved expertly, just how you needed.

He watched your face, utterly captivated by how you were unraveling beneath him, your body trembling with need, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. His fingers pressed even harder, his movements precise and relentless as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on," he whispered softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Let go for me, Y/N."

That was all it took. Spencer’s deep voice, the way his fingers worked your body, the tension that had been building—it all came crashing down at once. You let out a sharp cry, your body arching into his as the overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over you, your muscles tightening, then releasing in sweet relief.

Spencer slowed his movements as you rode out the high, his hand still gently moving against you, guiding you through the aftershocks. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your jawline, murmuring soft words of praise and affection as you came down from the blissful peak.

"That's it," Spencer whispered, his voice low and tender, filled with awe as he looked down at you. "Wow. You’re so beautiful."

He sat back on his knees, needing to take in the full sight of you beneath him, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of admiration. What he saw made his heart race—your flushed face, damp with sweat, your hair slightly stuck to your forehead, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. The rolls of your tummy from the way you lay on the couch only made you more irresistible to him.

But what really caught Spencer’s attention was the wet spot beneath you, a clear indication of just how much you had enjoyed yourself. His eyes trailed up slowly, following the evidence of your release until they landed on the source of that wetness, the sight making something primal stir inside him.

He couldn’t help himself—his hand moved instinctively, reaching out to touch you again, his fingers gently brushing over the sensitive, soaked skin. The temptation was too strong, and before he could think about it, his fingers slipped inside you.

You flinched, your body jerking in a mix of oversensitivity and surprise. "S-Spence, wait—" you gasped, your hands grabbing onto his forearm, trying to find something to hold onto as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Spencer froze immediately, his wide eyes snapping up to meet yours. "Sorry!" he blurted out, his voice filled with concern. "I didn’t mean to—are you okay?"

You nodded quickly, your breath still catching in your throat. "Yeah, yeah... just sensitive." You smiled at him softly, appreciating his eagerness and concern, though your body was still recovering from the intensity of the high he had just given you.

Spencer smiled down at you, his lips soft and warm as he leaned in to kiss you gently. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and husky, though there was a hint of teasing in his tone.

You took a few more deep breaths, your chest rising and falling quickly as your body calmed, but there was no way in hell you’d ever ask him to stop—not when he was making you feel like this. Shaking your head, you looked up at him, a playful glint in your eyes despite the lingering sensitivity. "Absolutely not," you whispered breathlessly.

Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfaction and mischief dancing across his features. "Didn’t think so," he murmured, clearly pleased with your response. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips felt against his fingers resumed their mission.

His touch was gentler now, coaxing rather than demanding, and the feeling of his fingers moving slowly inside you after you just finished made you shudder, your body responding instantly despite the intensity you had just experienced.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Spencer whispered against your lips, his voice a soft promise, but there was an unmistakable eagerness in his tone. He wanted to keep going, wanted to keep making you feel this way, but only if you were ready.

You nodded, your heart racing again as you gave him the permission he was looking for. "I will," you promised, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, holding onto him as his touch sent more sparks of pleasure through you.

And with that, Spencer’s fingers picked up their rhythm again, slow but deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched every reaction, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.

“I—I won’t come like this,” you managed to gasp out as Spencer’s fingers sped up once again, the sensation intense but not quite enough to push you over the edge.

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes locked on where his hand was working its magic between your legs. The sound of his voice, low and comforting, sent another wave of warmth through you. “That’s okay, darling,” he said, his words dripping with affection and adoration. “I just wanted to feel you.”

The way he said it—so sincere, so captivated by you—made your breath catch, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers. You groaned, the sensation shooting straight through your core, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t expected.

Spencer noticed your reaction, his smirk growing as his fingers continued to move, sliding in and out of you with steady precision. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I love the way you feel around me,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

His words, the way his fingers kept you on edge without letting you tip over—it was driving you wild. Even if you couldn’t reach your release like this, the sheer pleasure of having him touch you, of knowing how much he wanted to feel you, was enough to keep you completely captivated in the moment.

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered back, “Keep going, please.”

Spencer grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he quickened the pace of his fingers just a little more, continuing to enjoy the way your body reacted to his every movement.

After Spencer had taken his fill, and you were far too sensitive to continue, you giggled, gently pushing him off as you sat up. You reached towards his waistband with a playful smile, teasing, “I can help the next customer now.”

But before you could get far, his hands caught yours, stopping you. When you looked up at him, you saw his face flushing pink, an adorably sheepish expression crossing his features. “I—uh, finished a long time ago,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost shy.

You blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. “What?” you asked, incredulous but deeply amused. “When?”

Spencer groaned, his face turning even redder as he leaned in, hiding in the crook of your neck. “When you did,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

Your eyes widened at the confession, a rush of heat pooling in your stomach as you processed what he said. "Fuck, that’s hot," you murmured, the thought of him finishing just from pleasuring you sending a fresh wave of excitement through your already sensitive body.

Spencer pulled back just enough to peek at you, his face still flushed, a mixture of surprise and bashful pride written across his features. “Really?” he asked, almost like he couldn’t believe that you’d find that sexy.

You nodded eagerly, your hands gently running up his chest as you leaned in closer. “Really,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Spencer exhaled a small laugh, clearly relieved and a little proud, the tension easing from his shoulders as he kissed you softly. Even though he had been shy about it, your reaction had made him feel comfortable.

After the intensity of the moment, you both excused yourselves to clean up, laughing softly as Spencer ended up borrowing a pair of your sweatpants. He wore them with a grin, clearly feeling more comfortable now. The two of you tidied up quickly, putting everything in order before settling back into the perfect evening you'd planned.

Before you knew it, your cozy movie night was underway, the two of you curled up on the couch together. The living room was warm and inviting, the soft glow from the screen casting gentle shadows around the room. Spencer's arms were wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest as you absentmindedly played with his curls. The sound of his breathing, steady and peaceful, combined with the soft hum of the movie in the background, made the entire evening feel even more intimate.

It wasn’t long before you felt the subtle weight of Spencer's body relaxing against yours, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep. You smiled to yourself, your heart full as you gazed down at him. His face was peaceful, his usually intense expression softened by sleep, and you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have moments like this with him.

Gently, you nudged him awake just enough to move to your bedroom, guiding him carefully as he stirred. Spencer mumbled sleepily, still half-asleep as he followed you, reclaiming his hold on you as soon as you both slipped under the covers. His arms wrapped around you again, his body curling into yours instinctively as you both settled in for the night.

With his warmth surrounding you and the peaceful rhythm of his breathing lulling you, you quickly drifted off, the perfect ending to a night full of closeness and connection.

—

Spencer was incredibly content when he woke up to find his head once again pillowed by your chest. The quiet comfort of the moment filled him with warmth, his body relaxed and his mind at ease for what felt like the first time in ages. You were still asleep, your breathing soft and even, giving him a chance to truly admire your beauty without distraction.

He gently stroked your hair, letting his fingers run through the soft strands as he watched the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. Your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I am so lucky," he whispered softly to himself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

But then, he noticed a small, sleepy smile forming on your lips. Spencer paused, realizing you were pretending to be asleep. He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation as he gazed down at you. “I just hope she doesn’t look me up on the internet… she'd find my porno…”

Your eyes popped open immediately, and you sat up with a start, your voice full of shock and amusement. "What?!"

Spencer couldn’t hold back his laugh, his cheeks flushing a bit as he tried to stifle it with his hand. "I’m kidding!" he said quickly, grinning at the horrified look on your face. "It’s just a joke."

You stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter yourself, smacking his chest playfully. "Don’t scare me like that! I almost believed you!"

Spencer chuckled, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Sorry, sorry. You were just too cute pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, still laughing, but you couldn’t help the warm feeling in your chest at how playful and lighthearted Spencer was with you. “I’ll have to keep my guard up now,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Good idea,” Spencer said, smiling into the kiss. “Though I promise, no more fake confessions. Just real ones.”

"Better not," you warned playfully, your smile soft as you settled back into the warmth of his embrace, the both of you falling back into that easy, affectionate comfort.

You traced lazy patterns on Spencer’s chest, your fingertips lightly grazing his skin as you asked, “What would I find if I looked you up, really?”

Spencer sighed softly, clearly thinking it over for a moment before answering. "Some peer reviews, research articles, child prodigy stuff, and, uh… probably some news stories from the BAU."

The mention of the BAU caught you off guard. “BAU?” you asked, your voice holding a slight edge of nervousness. You knew Spencer worked for the FBI, but he hadn’t gone into much detail about it.

Spencer, misinterpreting the nervous tone in your voice, mistook it for confusion. “Oh, sorry, the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he explained casually, not yet realizing the weight of what he was revealing. “It’s the part of the FBI where I work. We profile and catch serial killers, violent criminals, kidnappers… you know, things like that.”

“Oh… yeah,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sounds scary.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers lightly brushing through your hair. “But it’s really rewarding too. It’s sweet that you seem concerned.”

You laughed lightly, trying to shake off the lingering nerves. “Yeah,” you said, your tone warmer now as you tried to ease the tension. “Don’t want my boyfriend being in danger.”

The word had slipped out so naturally, but as soon as Spencer picked up on it, his eyes widened in surprise and excitement. “Boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice practically buzzing with joy. “You called me your boyfriend.”

You laughed softly, feeling the warmth of his reaction settle your nerves. “Well, aren’t you?” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

Spencer’s face lit up, his expression one of pure adoration. “God, I hope so,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and happiness. His arms wrapped around you a little tighter as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening but didn’t want to let go of the moment.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the soft hum of affection that flowed between you both. “Then kiss me,” you murmured against his lips. “Boyfriend.”

Spencer chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but I’m not going to question it.” His voice was filled with genuine emotion, as though this moment meant more to him than he could fully express.

You smiled, nuzzling into him, feeling more at home than ever.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic

294 notes · View notes

rcmclachlan · 4 hours

Note

Heard this was the place to come if we wanted to know about pregnant Buck talking to the baby about the station tasks 🤔

@dadvans is a dirty enabler. He's also the one who came up with the idea of Buck calling the kid "probie" fyi

When Tommy walks into the 118, it doesn't feel quite like a homecoming, but when Bobby catches sight of him and smiles as though Tommy's presence isn't just welcome, but expected, something inside him relaxes as though it were twenty years ago and he's about to walk up the stairs to sit down for another incredible family dinner.

"You guys get called to the thing with the Aon?" Grinning, he shakes Bobby's proffered hand as a matter of course, and part of him can't help but glow under Bobby's approving gaze.

It feels a bit like he's cheating on Captain Salazar, who took Tommy under her wing the second he got to Harbor and has given him free rein to do whatever he damn well pleases when he's in the air, but she doesn't cultivate the familial aura that cleaves to Bobby like a shadow. He likes and respects the hell out of her, but he probably wouldn't steal a helicopter and fly into a hurricane for her.

Some people were meant to be parents; Bobby Nash is definitely one of them. Tommy's working on it.

Bobby gives a sporting but ineffective swipe at the soot smeared across his forehead with his wrist. "Normally falling space junk knocking over a skyscraper would take the cake, but since twenty million bees weren't released into the city, I'm calling it a ho-hum sort of day."

There's something severely wrong with them that the third-tallest building in LA breaking in half like a Kit Kat Bar doesn't rank above bees, but Tommy had to fly through that shit storm, so he can't disagree. The next person who says 'bee-nado' is getting thrown off the Santa Monica pier.

Speaking of. Tommy throws a quick glance at the three engines parked in their usual spots in the hopes of catching a glimpse of movement, and he's either losing his touch or never had it to begin with, because he's clocked immediately.

Bobby gives him a knowing look.

Caught, Tommy chuckles. "At the risk of sounding patronizing, how much did he overdo it?"

"Buck didn't mind being on winch and hose duty," Bobby says wryly. At Tommy's dubious look, he adds, "Okay, he did try to sneak into the thick of it once or twice, but he complained only a little when I threatened to hogtie him and chuck him in the back of the ambulance."

"Only a little? That's unlike him." Tommy can perfectly picture the mulish pout on Evan's ridiculous lips because someone forbade him from running into a building that was hanging at a 240° angle.

"Hen may have also hinted that she'd break out The Powerpoint again if he didn't stop whining," Bobby admits. The capital letters are audible.

Tommy gives a low whistle. "That was diabolical of her."

He unfortunately hadn't been there when Hen presented You're Living For Two: A Comprehensive List of Things Buck Will Avoid for the Next 8 Months or Hen Will Have Him Committed (With A Foreword Written By Maddie Han) to Evan and the rest of the 118, but Eddie had texted Tommy throughout the whole thing like he was live tweeting a football game. At slide 40, which had five charts demonstrating the rates at which acute physical stress increased the risks of miscarriage and low birth weight, Eddie sent him a picture of Evan's cowed expression. Slide 43 ("Deli Meat A No-No"), on the other hand, got him a video of Evan in a heated argument with Hen, Howie, and Bobby about the merits of that.

It ended when Bobby shouted, "It's not just you that you're risking, Buck! Every time you deliberately put yourself into harm's way, you're also risking my grandchild!" and Evan burst into tears and sobbed, "You can't say things like that when you're taking hot dogs away from me!"

When Evan came home that day, he announced that mentioning The PowerPoint—and anything to do with Microsoft in general—was verboten for the next thousand years. Tommy couldn't help but quip, "It looks like you're upset about your family wanting you to carry this pregnancy safely to term. Would you like help? Yes, no, or cancel?"

He was forced to sleep on the couch for three nights. He regrets nothing.

"Where is everyone?" The station is eerily quiet for a day spent trying to get ahead of a falling building.

"Burrito run. Buck volunteered to stay behind. He still getting carsick in traffic?"

"Let's just say we've been putting the emesis bags Howie gave us to very good use. Is he busy?" Tommy lifts the bag in his hand so Bobby can see the grinning face of the Colonel himself. "I come bearing gifts."

Bobby laughs the laugh of a man who knows firsthand that Evan's insatiable cravings for KFC's mashed potatoes is the only thing keeping the lights on at the location on W Pico Boulevard. He gestures past Tommy toward the engines. "Last I saw him, he was giving a class on proper hose maintenance."

"Appreciate it, Bobby," he says and starts heading in that direction.

"Tell him he'd better not be promoting bad coupling habits." Tommy turns around, wide-eyed, but Bobby's already got a hand up to forestall the laughter he must know is inevitable. Bobby's grimacing so hard it looks like he might severe his carotid. "I regretted it the second I said it. Do me a favor and phrase it a little better?"

"I make no promises." Snickering, Tommy turns back to the engines and swings the KFC bag cheerfully as he goes, making a mental note to mention this in the OG 118 group chat. That ought to give Howie enough ammo to last through Christmas.

As he rounds Engine 3, he hears the susurrus of voices, which he expected, but as he gets closer he realizes it's just one voice, which he didn't. He comes to a stop right where the engine's rear strip on the storage compartment ends and ducks behind it a little to try and figure out exactly what he's looking at.

Bobby had said Evan was teaching and Tommy figured that meant he was holding court with the station's two newest recruits, but he's kneeling on the floor and carefully re-rolling a hose while he talks to an audience of precisely zero.

"Now this is called a straight roll," Evan says, voice modulated to be slow and easily understood. It's textbook perfect pacing. Tommy has no clue who it's for. Maybe he's filming a video? "I'm folding the male coupling over and then rolling it to the female coupling, which are unnecessarily gendered terms, but I wasn't in the room when they came up with the names, so."

Tommy's so distracted by how the muscles in Evan's arms strain against the sleeves of his uniform as he methodically rolls the hose that he almost misses what Evan says next.

"Now Daddy wants to do a Dutch roll, because it takes about five seconds and it's hilarious, but Grandpa Bobby would slaughter Daddy if he ever found out. Apparently letting the couplings drag on the ground is the eighth deadly sin." Evan rests back on his shins and pants a little, then pats the planetary curve of his belly with a grin. "Hope you're taking notes, probie. There will be a test."

There are two things in Tommy's life that he will never be able to forget, even if he had a full-frontal lobotomy; even if he wanted to:

The first is the way Evan's shoulders curled inwards as if bracing for a blow while he haltingly apologized about goading Tommy into fucking him after the condom ripped, about how Tommy didn't have to worry because Evan was relieving him of all responsibility, and that he didn't have any expectations because Tommy never asked for this and he hoped someday Tommy would forgive him for keeping what they'd accidentally created together.

Tommy isn't a violent man, but sometimes he fantasizes about going back through Evan's life and beating the shit out of everyone who ever made him feel unwanted, or treated him like a consolation prize. Even in the early days of their relationship, when Tommy's respect for certain boundaries or simple acts of kindness would make Evan visibly recalibrate, Tommy had to stop himself from demanding a list of names. He has one now, and part of him would like nothing more than to start with Evan's parents and work his way down.

The second is the teary, disbelieving grin that broke across Evan's face like a sunrise when the sonographer pressed the ultrasound wand to his belly and the room filled with the jackrabbiting whup-whup-whup sound of their kid's heartbeat. Evan had looked over at him, laughed wetly at the struck-dumb expression Tommy knew he was sporting, and said, "Sounds like the Bell 206."

When he reached out for Tommy, the fluorescent lights had glinted off the engagement band Tommy'd bought like a complete lunatic four months after Evan kissed him in the lobby of First Presbyterian. He'd kept it hidden in his toolbox until three months later, when Evan put on a brave face and tried to let him off the hook.

But he didn't have far to go, because Tommy was already reaching back for him. The metal of the ring was warm where it pressed against his fingers. And if his heart was so full of love and wonder that he cried a little, no one commented on it. Well, Evan did when they got in Tommy's truck after their appointment and then went straight to KFC, but that was to be expected. He'd taken the ribbing like a champ.

Watching Evan—now in the second week of his third trimester, the hem of his shirt fighting for its life where it stretches around his belly—earnestly teaching the kid still cooking inside him about proper hose care, Tommy knows he'll never forget this one either. He's pretty sure his life is going to be one unforgettable moment after another from here on out.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he walks out from behind the engine and gets a hand under Evan's elbow to help him get to his feet. It takes every ounce of his willpower to stand back and let Evan carry the hose over to its compartment and attach it to the main connection site himself. He's learned to grit his teeth and give help only when it's asked for. He has no desire to start up that argument again.

"So?" Tommy happily takes Evan into his arms while Evan happily takes the KFC bag out of his hand. "Is our kid going to graduate from the Academy or wash out completely?"

Evan grins at him. Tommy knows at least 45% of the love in his eyes is reserved for the mashed potatoes. "I'm calling it now: they're gonna be fire chief by the time they're twenty. Youngest in the entire country. What do you think, Probie? You up for the challenge?"

Tommy places a hand gently on Evan's belly and immediately feels movement against his palm. Their kid hasn't given Evan a moment's peace since week 15; at any given moment, they're flipping around in there like they're doing zero-gravity training for a space mission. The familiar fluttering feeling makes his heart cramp.

That's their kid in there. They made that.

"I think that's a yes," Tommy murmurs, pressing a kiss to Evan's temple, then hanging there for a moment, breathing him in. Breathing them in. "Love you."

"God, I love you so much, you don't even know," Evan says, cracking open a container with a pleased hum.

Tommy smiles dopily, then reality trickles in. "You're talking to the potatoes, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Evan lies through a mouthful of KFC's finest spuds.

#i've never seen a man who needs to be pregnant more than evan buckley #this was inspired by my ongoing discussion with dadvans about the adventures of preggo!buck and his long-suffering but smitten babydaddy #bucktommy #kinley #tevan #mpreg

127 notes · View notes

foxtrot91 · 2 days

Text

shovel talk

“So,” Maddie says, eyes squinting as she looks Tommy over, wine glass cradled in one hand while the other rests on her hip.

They’re in the hallway of Bobby and Athena’s new place, and Tommy doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that she’s catching him in the bathroom hallway just as Tommy’s about to return to the party. Remembering another conversation at another party, he suddenly wishes he was holding a slice of cake; though he gets the feeling Maddie wouldn’t be easily deflected with it, Hen certainly wasn’t.

“Are you looking for the bathroom?” He asks instead, tossing a glance behind him. “It’s right over there, second on the left.”

He gives her his best grin; just because he knows this conversation is inevitable doesn’t mean he has to make it easy on her. Her eyebrows raise and Tommy thinks someone so small shouldn’t give him the same feeling as being dressed down by his sergeant once did. He hopes for Chim’s sake that he doesn’t find himself in the doghouse too often.

“So,” she says again, ignoring his directions to the bathroom. “I was just thinking that we haven’t really had a chance to properly meet.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, still suspicious about where this conversation is going. “I guess we haven’t.”

It’s true, it’s only been a couple months since he and Evan got together and between their differing schedules and the drama going on behind the scenes at the 118, there hadn’t been much time for larger get togethers. For the most part, Tommy and Evan have either spent their time just the two of them or hanging out with Eddie in an effort to keep his mind off of Christopher’s departure. Which, thank god that has since been resolved, for awhile there Eddie had been a bit of a basket case. There had been the wedding, of course, but even a normal wedding doesn’t leave time for the bride and groom to spend much time with individual guests, and there’s had been anything but normal.

“You know, Buck was really nervous when he told me about you,” she says, eyes glittering as she looks him over before taking a sip of her wine.

“Coming out to someone you care about will do that to a person,” Tommy says simply, eyebrow raised.

“Of course,” she says with a soft chuckle before continuing, “it made me realize that he’s never told me about any of his other relationships before.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I knew they existed and I knew their names, but he never once talked about them, I barely even knew a thing about Ali. Even Taylor, she was his longest relationship and I barely heard a word about her. Then there’s Natalia who was barely a blip.” She pauses here and takes another sip from her wine before shifting her gaze back to Tommy. “Actually, there was one person I heard a lot about, even if I never got the chance to meet her.”

“Abby,” Tommy says, figuring with what he knows of Evan’s relationship history that she’s a safe bet.

“Mmhm,” she hums, nodding in agreement. “But since that first day he told me about you, you’re all he talks about now.”

Tommy feels warmth bloom in his chest at that admission, the thought of Evan feeling happy and secure enough in their - admittedly young - relationship to talk about it with others leaves him feeling pleased.

“It kind of reminds me of how he was with Abby, actually,” she continues, “before he’d accepted that she was gone I got to hear all about her, almost felt like I knew her.” There’s a bit of a wistful edge to her voice, though Tommy can tell it’s less about Abby and more about Evan's happiness. “He hasn’t been that way with anyone since, at not least until now. So I guess you could say that as his big sister I thought I'd better check to make sure that he’s not going to wake up one day and find you’ve suddenly discovered a burning desire to – I don’t know, Amelia Earhart your way around the world and leave him behind.”

Her voice grows firmer on that last bit as she pins Tommy with her gaze, eyebrow raised. Despite the teasing edge still present in her voice, Tommy can tell she’s serious, and truthfully, he can’t say he blames her. Eddie once told him over a shared six-pack that Evan has abandonment issues the size of the moon, and everything he’s learned about his past relationships - both romantic and familial - supports that. If Evan has avoided talking about past girlfriends, Tommy wonders if it had anything to do with a fear that they’d leave him behind too. He wonders what that says about the fact that he apparently talks about Tommy with those closest to him.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Amelia Earhart's disappearance is a pretty strong deterrent for that. Also— can’t do Muay Thai in the sky,” he says, unable to resist responding with his own personal brand of humour. Maddie doesn’t respond during the pause he takes to gather his thoughts, her face giving nothing away. “But... the truth is, that I can’t tell you the future, I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, let alone six months from now.” He pauses, suddenly wishing he had his own glass of wine to occupy his hands as he contemplates his next words. “What I can tell you is that I didn’t step into this lightly, and that I care about him a lot.” He takes a moment to let the truth of that sink in before adding, “and for what it’s worth, if you talked to any of my friends, I’m pretty sure they’d tell you the same thing, which is that I talk about Evan so much that they’re probably sick of hearing about him now.” It's true, Sal barely manages to repress the eyeroll whenever Evan's name comes up, and Angela and Jenkins have started a drinking game during Trivia Night based on how often Tommy says his name. It's made them terrible at trivia.

The beat of silence that passes between he and Maddie isn't exactly uncomfortable, but he does find himself holding his breath a little wondering if he passed. He has the idle thought that she’d be good at poker with how little she’s giving away with her facial expression. But then, a smile stretches over her face, and Tommy finds himself sighing in relief. This was different than his talk with Hen and Karen that had obviously been more teasing in nature. While Maddie may have done a good job in keeping her tone overall light, Tommy’s under no delusions that she wasn’t serious in sizing Tommy up to determine if he was fit to date her brother.

“Good,” she says simply, and then tilts her head slightly towards the kitchen. “I need a top-up, and you seem like you could use a glass, have a drink with me?”

“Absolutely,” Tommy agrees, his own grin stretching across his face.

He follows Maddie into the kitchen where she grabs a second glass for him before pulling out the wine she and Chim brought – a merlot – and pouring him a glass before topping off her own.

“So, you’re a pilot,” she says, a statement, not a question.

“I am.”

“Could be handy having a pilot in the family,” she comments, eyes twinkling, “Chim said you flew Eddie to Vegas.”

It's said nonchalantly, with a hint of expectation but before he can respond, Evan’s rounding the corner, clearly having heard at least part of their conversation. “Oh no,” he groans, “you do not get to commandeer my pilot boyfriend so that you and Chim can have some private date weekend in Vegas.”

“I said no such thing,” Maddie claims, hands raised, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“But you thought it,” Evan says accusingly.

Tommy watches them, barely suppressing his own laughter as he grabs a potato-chip from a nearby bowl to munch on. He lets them go back and forth, trading verbal jabs in the way all siblings do before he takes his moment to jump in.

“I’d be happy to fly your sister to Vegas,” Tommy says, grinning at Evan’s indignant look and Maddie’s triumphant one.

“Thank you,” she says, voice overly sweet as she pats Tommy on the hand before picking up her glass. She starts towards the door, presumably to rejoin the others, but he doesn’t miss it when she leans in and whispers to Evan, “he’s a keeper,” before smacking a kiss to his cheek as she heads out the door. Evan’s face softens at Maddie’s approval, and Tommy’s does too.

Evan joins him at the table, cheeks pink as he swipes Tommy’s glass to steal a sip.

“You disappeared on me,” he says, looking up at Tommy. “How bad was it? She give you the third degree?”

“It wasn’t bad at all,” Tommy says honestly, “I like that you have people who care.”

“Hm,” is all he says, though Tommy can tell he’s at least a little pleased by it too. “Still, we need to have a talk about how you’re supposed to take my side in arguments with my sister,” he adds, semi-serious.

Laughing, Tommy stands from his seat and comes around the table, offering Evan his hand before pulling him back towards the door. “Evan, the only useful relationship advice my dad ever gave me was to ‘get in good with the family.’” He adds air-quotes and deepens his voice for effect. “Of course, he thought my relationships would look a lot different, but the advice is still solid,” he says, before adding, “besides, I like your sister, and flying Maddie and Chim to Vegas for a weekend would also mean flying you and I there.”

Evan perks up at that, “yeah?”

“Separate hotel rooms, of course,” Tommy adds, letting his smile take on a suggestive edge as they open the door to the balcony.

“Separate hotels,” Evan says, his own lascivious smile spreading across his face.

Whatever their faces are doing as they join the others must make it obvious what they’re both thinking about because the next thing he hears is Chim saying; “Mm, I don’t like that look, too reminiscent of Buck 1.0. Does anyone have a spray bottle? Gotta squirt him like an overgrown tomcat before he gets outta control.”

Tommy lets the subsequent laughter at Evan’s indignant squawk envelop him, somewhere in the background he hears Christopher question what Buck 1.0 means and Eddie insisting he doesn’t want to know. Tommy finds he’s enjoying himself, even if the laughter is at their expense. He wasn’t lying to Evan when he’d told him before that he’d been jealous of the family the 118 had become but for once, Tommy isn’t jealous. He doesn’t need to be, because this time he’s a part of it.

Read on ao3

#bucktommy #fanfiction #fox writes #maddie buckley #tommy kinard #evan buckley #I just feel like Buck talked a lot about Abby #and then like never discussed his other girlfriends much #but I’m convinced he talks incessantly about Tommy #just realized I forgot Natalia #that’s how relevant she was I guess

110 notes · View notes

daydreamerwoah · 1 day

Text

Love Through It All Pt. 7

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; rollercoaster of emotion; sadness; mentions of therapy/counseling; a jealous and worried Ghost; violence; brief sexual scene (18+)

Read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

The chair felt weird. Hard and cold... just like the darkened room you found yourself in. You glanced around, only to see darkness except for a plush bed in front of you. It glowed from the moonlight that illuminated the cover and pillows through the window behind. Where the hell were you?

"C'mere darlin'," a voice called out.

You knew that voice. Simon. It was strange though. You heard him but couldn't see him anywhere.

"Simon?" you called out, glancing around yourself once more.

He hummed, telling you to come to him once more.

You attempted to stand up from the chair, but something was wrong. Your legs didn't move; you couldn't move. You tried again to get up, but it felt like your skin was glued to the chair. What was wrong with your legs?

"I'm coming," another voice playfully said. The high-pitched tone making you snap your head up as you heard soft footsteps get closer to the room.

The one person you never wanted to see stepped closer to the bed, before laying on it, giggling as she propped herself up on her elbows. She was naked, her body slightly glistening in the moonlight. She was looking at whatever was in the corner of the room. Or at least it looked like it was the corner. You couldn't see anything but her.

A heavy set of soft footsteps was heard before the broad stature of your husband walked up to the bed... naked. He was hard, eyes glancing down the woman's body. His mask was discarded as he looked at her waiting for him. Your eyes widened as you looked at him; your body attempted to move once more.

"S-Simon," you called out for your husband.

His eyes didn't look toward you. It was like he couldn't see you sitting there. Instead, he knelt on the bed, hovering over the woman for a second before closing the gap to kiss her. Your eyes shut tight as you glanced down at your hands in your lap. Fuck you needed to get out of there. You grunted as you wiggled your body so forcefully you almost thought you'd topple to the side on the floor.

A breathy moan made you look up, and god you wanted to claw your eyes out. Positions changed, Simon's body was behind her as she was on her hands and knees. How did you not hear them move?

"Simon please," you whispered, not even realizing you were crying.

You sucked in a breath when green eyes looked at you; her eyes. A deeper frown formed on your face as she smirked at you before moaning for Simon to go harder. And he did. His large hand pushed her head down on the mattress, causing her hands to give way as her chest touched the sheets below. She turned her head to the side, eyes cutting away from yours, but that didn't make it any better. The thick groan that left his lips when he fucked her harder made you sob. They were fucking right in front of you and you couldn't stop it.

Simon leaned forward, trapping her down with his wide chest as he grabbed her jaw and forced her to look back up at you. "Eyes up yeah? Want her to see how good I make you feel," he said between groans as his eyes locked directly on yours.

His thrusts didn't stop, making her moan louder as they both looked at your teary face. A knowing look in both of their eyes as you tried to cover your face with your hands.. only to find they were stuck to your side.

Your body lurched as your eyes snapped open. The nightmare slowly fading away from your vision as you woke up. It was only a nightmare.... even if it felt so fucking real.

With a shaky groan, you sat up and glanced to find Simon's side of the bed empty. He had gone to work already. You knew this. But waking up from that dream made you wish he was still asleep, still there with you.

Would you ever get over what was spiraling between you and him?

Pushing all thoughts away of the dream in your mind about Simon and her, you got up and headed to the bathroom, opting to take a cold shower as a distraction. You glanced down at the floor, remembering you discarded the dress you wore the night before next to the ensuite. But it wasn't there.

Huh?

You weren't drunk. You specifically remember taking it off before finding your way to bed. But now it was gone. You walked into the closet, quickly looking in the laundry to find the item scrunched on top of the other clothes that needed to be washed. Simon had picked it up when he got in from work last night.

************************************************************************

After your individual counseling session with the chaplain, you didn't want to go to work. You wanted to go back home instead, but your boss had been such a patient and understanding person with being flexible when you needed to attend therapy.

But you couldn't go back to work just yet, either. Simon had texted you earlier, asking again for you two to get lunch together. You almost told him no, but with the dream still lingering in the back of your head - even with talking about it in therapy - you agreed. So there he was, waiting for you in the lobby as you walked out.

He was wearing his skull-printed balaclava, and no eyeblack covered the skin around his eyes. But he looked just as exhausted as you felt. Possibly even nervous. Although the crinkle of his eyes let you know he was at least smiling a bit under the mask.

"Look beautiful, sweetheart," he whispered.

The butterfly feeling in your stomach and the slight blush on your cheeks betrayed your mind. Why did his words mean so much?

Simon recommended a small restaurant on base where soldiers usually went to grab a bite to eat. It was nice; nothing to feel like you were overdressed for... except you did. The moment you and Simon walked in, you saw the bustling soldiers either sitting at tables talking loudly or standing in line to order food. Even though a few individuals had on regular clothes, you pretty much were the only woman in there with heels on.

You tried to ignore the stares from some of them. Whether they were staring at you because of what you had on or because of the man standing next to you, you couldn't be sure. But it made your pulse quicken with slight anxiety. Even when you stood at the counter to place your order, the young cashier glanced at you, then at Simon, then back to you like he was going to burst from anxiety himself.

"We'll bring your food out when it's ready," he said after he swiped Simon's card and gave it back to him.

Your husband nodded before guiding you to a table near the back, away from the loudness of the restaurant. You internally thanked him because you needed some privacy; it was the first time in a while since you two really sat down together to eat.. especially in public.

And now you were at his job... on base... surrounded by other soldiers and personnel... eating lunch.

Simon's eyes bounced over your face from your lips to your hair before settling on your eyes. You tried looking at the people walking around or the salt shaker on the table, but the silence coming from him was making you fidget in your seat. A quick sigh left your lips before you finally locked eyes with his.

"How'd therapy go?" he asked.

You shrugged, fighting to roll your eyes, "Fine."

He paused briefly, "Still gonna go while I'm gone?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, "Why wouldn't i?"

A worker brought your food to the table, pausing your conversation briefly as she set the tray down. You shot a quick smile to her in thanks before she rushed off to the next table.

It was his turn to shrug a little, glancing down at the table before meeting your eyes again, "We haven't exactly been communicating much. Wanna make sure you still wanna work through this."

The dream quickly floated through your mind, making you look at the table again. "Simon-"

"And that y'won't leave me. Not while I'm gone...... or do somethin'" Your eyes snapped up, seeing him somewhat in deep thought.

When he glanced down past your neck, landing his vision on your shirt, you felt a swirl of emotions run through you. "What are you talking about?"

Even with the mask on, you saw his throat bob as he swallowed the lump in it, "Last night?"

You would have burst out laughing if you weren't on edge already.. and not surrounded by so many eyes.

Of course, you knew Johnny told Simon where you were. They were considered best friends, after all. But was he really worried about you leaving him? No. Doing something to hurt him? Of course, he was. As soon as Price dismissed them, he all but sped home to you. He hoped that you would be awake, as it was only just after 11pm when he got there, but you weren't. Instead, he found your sleeping form curled under the sheets and your dress left by the door of the ensuite. When he picked it up and looked at it, his heart could have dropped to his stomach.

The low v-cut almost stopped in the middle of where your chest would be. And that it did. Simon could only imagine how it really looked on you, and he felt conflicting emotions cloud his mind. He wanted to rip the fucking dress up and throw it in the trash. He also wanted to wake you up just to ask you to put it back on so he admired how fucking sexy you'd look in it. If he thought that, he could only worry about what anybody else thought when they saw you.

"I had drinks with Ava and her sister," you replied, the annoyance in your voice making him internally cringe. He didn't want to upset you. "So what? You have your friends keeping tabs on me now?" You couldn't help it, your voice raised a little.

"Sweetheart no. Please just listen-"

Realizing that you didn't need anyone hearing your conversation, you lowered your voice, "I'm not the one who comes home late all the time."

"I told you, she's gone, sweetheart. She's not here anymore," Desperation running through his voice.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose to stop the oncoming headache, "Simon we shouldn't be talking about this here," you changed the subject before things got more complicated, "Still leaving tomorrow?"

He reluctantly nodded. He knew you were right, but he wanted to talk. He wanted to know what you were thinking... really thinking. "I'll be home early tonight. We leave out at 3am tomorrow."

"Okay."

Things were a bit awkward after that as you ate your food. From a distance, it just looked weird - you sitting there eating while Simon's gaze was on you. But it wasn't at all. Your husband rarely ate in public, and he wasn't about to start now with other soldiers around him. You ended up subtly stuffing your face so you'd hurry up and get out of there.

************************************************************************

It was 2:30 in the morning when Simon quietly kneeled down on the floor on your side of the bed. You were fast asleep, a tiny snore leaving your lips every few moments. The light from the hallway provided enough brightness for him to see your face. You looked beautiful, even with a strand of hair resting across your nose. His gloved forefinger softly brushed it behind your ear as he continued to look at you; to memorize you.

He was leaving for his mission. That wasn't shocking. He'd been doing this before he even met you, and he continued even when you got married. But this time, it was different. You were different. Would you go out with Ava while he was gone? Would you wear another one of those revealing dresses? Would you leave him?

You couldn't. He didn't want that. And he tried to convey those feelings to you again as he climbed into bed a few hours earlier. Anyone else would have thought it was childish... you two didn't cuddle, but he softly clasped your hand into his as he fell asleep. But even with your eyes closed - pretending to be tired and sleepy, you let him be. Deep down, you didn't want him to go either.

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered before leaning in and giving you a loving yet quick kiss on your cheek.

When he made it on base, the other three members of Taskforce 141, along with two units of marine soldiers, were moving around, either packing the Humvees or putting on their tactical vests. Simon eventually made his way to the armory, where he double-checked to make sure he had everything he needed. He stuffed a few extra magazines in the pockets of his bags, but when one of them seemed to have an issue sliding all the way in, he frowned. Something was stopping it. He emptied the pocket, trying to see what was already in there when he pulled out a paper that was folded several times.

Huh?

Unfolding it, he was half expecting it to have been evidence from the previous mission that he forgot to give to Price. What he wasn't expecting was a note....... from you.

Simon, I know it's been hard between us since I found out about what you did. It's been killing me inside honestly. I never thought you'd hurt me. That you'd hurt us like this. My husband who I married because I fell madly in love with hurt me to the point where I don't even know what to do anymore. A part of me fights every day with myself because I know I should leave. I should let you be happy. I feel like you were happy being with her. You don't love me. I don't know if you ever did. To this day I don't know why you want to be me. But I also don't know why I want to be with you. But I do. I still love you even though you stomped all over my heart. You broke my trust so much. I started going to therapy because you said you would give me the divorce papers but I'm going because I want us to get through this. And I'm such an idiot for it. Please be safe when you're gone yeah? I'm so scared about you leaving this time. I'm honestly terrified. I'll be here when you get back. I love you xx

Simon's heart could have broken in two at that moment if he didn't have to think about heading out to the Humvee in a few minutes. Broken because he fucking smiled cause you said you'd be there when he got back, but broken because he didn't like the fact you felt it was wrong to still want to be with him. He was the idiot.. not you. He fucked up and he would be paying for that for the rest of his life. But he would gladly do it to save his marriage.

More suffering is going to come. Simon hasn't made it his crazy... possessive moment yet lol!

Feedback welcome as always 🙃

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @5starbullshittery @azazel-nyx @firefoxkairan @devonsworld @theclassicvinyldragon

141 notes · View notes

aklaustaleteller · 2 days

Text

An Unofficial Date

Klaus has had a certain starry-eyed girl on his mind, so when he walks into a museum, not at all with the hope of finding her inside, he can't help but strike up a conversation, which might've just led to Y/n agreeing to see him again.

Warnings - none that I can think of!

Word Count - 1.6k

Masterlist | Please reblog the work to share!

Been writing something that has had me researching left, right, and center! So I thought that while I worked on that one, I'd write a quick little something to freshen up a tad. Hope you enjoy a giddy Klaus hahah!

On a random, foggy Tuesday morning, Klaus found himself taking a quick stroll to the new Art Museum that had appeared out of nowhere in Mystic Falls. Well, for him anyways, for he hadn't come across the building in the months that he had been existing in the small town.

But one couldn't fault him for that, seeing that he had been so busy messing with a group of teenagers, or rather – with a couple of centuries old vampires, a newborn werewolf, and even a newfound witch, should he say.

But what took up most of his time was this starry-eyed girl with whom his eyes always seemed to meet whenever they were in the same room. That was all he got, though. The chance to look into her eyes for a fleeting second before she was shifting her gaze onto something else, leaving him breathless and wanting for more.

He never caught her name, or even a smile. Each time he saw her, he had been in search for a muse. And each time, she succeeded in sending a surge of creativity flowing through his entire being that consumed him so fully that he would race home and embrace that rush of adrenaline until he needed more.

Then, he would go out to steal another glance at her. The problem was, he hadn't been seeing her around for a week now. And he was anxious that she might've left the town, for she was the type of person whose absence went unnoticed for all but those who'd even once shared her company.

So, he felt a bit hopeful since he hadn't heard of Damon or Bonnie complaining about their loss of time with her. But he was also dreadful, wanting nothing more than to meet with her again knowing that this time he wouldn’t miss the chance to speak to her.

If Klaus had to be honest, he'd confess that the sole reason he was even heading to the museum was because he had a feeling that this could be one of the places he'd find her.

On his walk, he came across wildflowers and rose bushes, a couple of pinecones and a odd looking lemon tree, that stood lonely in midst of all the fog that had settled around it. And Klaus wondered if she paid attention to such details, if he should pick out a rose in case he did come across her? But he settled on not doing that, since that would surely give him away instantly.

He strolled through the corridors, sparing each art piece a single glance because he couldn't feel the emotions of looking at them for the first time and the curiousity of trying to unwind the stories in them due to his ages old knowledge that proved the collection in this museum to be quite poor.

There were a few people inside, a few dreamers scattered throughout the place, either sitting on the floor, sketching out what they could see in the painting or standing as if trying to count the stars, their eyes set on complicated pieces that pretentiously twisted the wires of their brains.

His eyes were wandering, and he was people watching now, rather than looking at the art that hung in frames. Which is how, there was a stutter in the search of his eyes when he caught sight of someone sitting against a wall opposite a painting, dressed in something quite vintage with a bowl of blackberries in their lap. A smile threatened to slip on his mouth.

He suppressed it though, looking at the ground to wait-out the disappearance of his blush before he squared his shoulders.

"Hello there," Klaus smiled, looking down at her and nodding when he had her attention. "Think I've seen you around?"

She broke a smile then, a small frown settling between her brows. "Hi, and …think I’ve witnessed a couple instances myself!" She laughed, her palm twitching awkwardly as she battled whether she should continue to eat, offer him some or wipe her stained hands on her thrifted dress.

She offered him to sit beside her instead, and then offered him her snack.

"Why thank you," Klaus murmured, his heart racing inside his chest the moment he caught a whiff of her perfume.

"I'm Niklaus, by the way."

She looked at him intriguingly, swallowing as she nodded to herself. "That's a nice name," she admitted. "Any meaning behind it?"

Klaus looked away, pretending to look at the painting in front of them in order to hide the sudden blood-rush to his face.

"Yes, yes it does," he said. "It comes from a Greek word, um, Nikolaos, I think? Means victory of the people."

"Well, I'm Y/n," she extended her clean hand out and Klaus shook it, electricity coursing through his being.

He sighed and locked his arms around his knees.

"So, Y/n," he tasted her name on his tongue and right away, wanted more of it. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing special, been writing a thesis lately. Came here for a break and some change of scenery," she shrugged.

"A thesis?" Klaus asked, feeling intrigued and when she nodded nonchalantly, he felt baffled. "On what, if you don't mind me asking?"

She was smiling bashfully now, looking down at the remaining blackberries. "You'll laugh," she said.

"And why would that be?"

She clenched her eyes shut. "Because it's on hotels," she raced to say, peeking at him with one eye to see his reaction. He wasn't laughing so she looked at him properly, dumbfounded, noting that his expression was the same as before, if not more interested.

"Tell me more about it," Klaus asked, leaning his head on his knee to look at her.

She was blushing, and Klaus made a mental note to try and get the shade right on his canvas when he went back home.

"Well, it's going to be a tangent, so don't complain, okay?" She looked at him warily. He blinked softly, urging her on and she felt something shift between them.

"You asked for this," she sighed, and he chuckled, picking up another berry as she turned so that she was facing him, sitting cross-legged with a straight back.

She went on then, and Klaus was absorbing every single word that she was saying along with her wild hand-gestures that he felt like were going to hit him at some point. He noticed the sparkle in her eyes doubling-up as she talked about something she clearly felt passionate about.

Her cheeks had grown slightly red, and her mouth was stained by the blackberries. She mentioned how she had an even softer spot for haunted houses and hotels, making him grin with her.

It felt vulnerable for some reason, and Klaus' heart felt like it was growing inside of his chest.

She was spilling for him all of the research she had done so far, and it was admirable how well she was doing at explaining to him all of it. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to look at the hotels the same way again, knowing now the way she looked at them.

And he knew that he was going to pester her again sometime and ask her about the gold chain that she wore, in the middle of which hung a glass globe that held something in the shape of a star preserved inside it. He had a feeling that everything that adorned her body held some meaning to it for her.

"And I think that's all I've got on it, so far anyways," she finished with a deep breath, looking at him with a big grin on her face. She had lipstick on her bottom teeth, or maybe it was just the berrie’s stain; Klaus looked away.

"I think I have a newfound soft-spot for hotels now," Klaus sighed, straightening his back and leaning against the wall, craning his neck to look at her.

"I'm so very glad to hear that," she chuckled. "My apologies for talking your ear off, but hey, you asked for it!"

"I've got a feeling that I might ask for it again," he winked, and she looked away immediately, the corners of her mouth lifted up.

"Can't be now because I need to get going," she shrugged, checking her wristwatch whose leather band was beginning to wither off.

"Sure, think I wasted some of your time there," grinning sheepishly, Klaus rubbed the back of his neck.

But she laughed as she packed away her book and the empty container back into her bag. "No, Klaus, thank you for listening," she said, genuinely.

"Anytime," Klaus muttered shyly, watching as she got up and waved him goodbye.

Klaus waved back with a wistful smile, watching her walk away when he suddenly realised.

"When will I see you again?" He shouted, ignoring the incredulous looks he got from the strangers. He slipped his hands in his pockets and shrugged when she turned around to look at him with wide eyes.

"I love taking evening walks around the neighbourhood," she said at a normal volume, and Klaus heard her just right.

He was going to be delusional and tell him himself that today had been an unofficial date, maybe he'd ask her out for an official one when he saw her the next time.

He nodded at her, giving her a salute as he rolled on the toe and then the heels of his feet, grinning shamelessly as she laughed and walked away, sparing him one last glance before turning around the corner, out of his sight but not once out of his mind.

84 notes · View notes

pressureplus · 15 hours

Note

HEYA HELLO HI

first, i want to genuinely thank you guys for the account's existence and your hard work. reading through the posts is often the highlight of my bleak days, and im immensely grateful for you providing those moments of joy :]

SECOND UH ID LIKE TO ORDER A SPECIFIC KINDA HEADCANONS LIST IF NO ONE MINDS AND IT HASN'T BEEN WRITTEN ALREADY ALRIGHT YEAH

a nonbinary reader who is pretty similar to Seb's stubborn, independent and sassy persona but WOMP WOMP, they're suddenly head over heels for him. NEITHER WANTS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE FEELINGS (aka "HE'S FUCKING MARRIED, IT'S NOT MUTUAL AND IM BUSY WITH NOT DYING, BUT I CANT GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD" & "I HAVE A WIFE AND THEY'RE JUST SOME EXPENDABLE BASTARD, GET OVER IT, SOLACE"). the distracting, unnecessary, painful pining. how do both cope and who's gonna break first? and most importantly, is either gonna throw their ego and rationality out the window to confess despite the fear of looking pathetic?

oooof i hope it's not too much and it's not breaking any rules. thank you in advance if you find it interesting enough for writing! :D

Awww, thanks so much! Although I should make it very clear the wife in question will remain vague and is NOT BASED ON ANYONE! Thanks for the request ❤️

♡Married! Sebastian Solace x NB! Similar! Reader Headcannons♡

Warnings: Sebastian is Married and Y/N is technically an Affair Partner

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had found you interesting from the moment you opened your mouth and got sassy with him, mostly because most people don't have the balls to do it

Despite finding this slightly irritating, he also found it refreshing, so he didn't immediately shoot you if only for his own entertainment

A terrible mistake he'd soon find out

He developed some definitely unhealthy feelings the first time one of your comebacks had an almost flirtatious undertone

It was an accident on your part, but it got him thinking

He was a married man fawning quietly over you, how awful is that?

I mean of course he’s flashed the wedding band, and of course he's mentioned his wife when others flirt with him, but that doesn't change his feelings

If you flirted with him, would he really reject you?

Could he?

He hadn't known the touch of his wife in years, the softness of her hands, the warmth of her kisses

After everything that's happened he couldn't even remember her name. He should be able to remember his wifes name right?

Does he really even care about her? Does he love her now? Did he love her then?

It comes with an odd sense of guilt he doesn't like to look at. Especially when you do something that makes his heart flutter.

You, on the other hand, probably didn't develop any real feelings until he actually saved your ass.

You'd been running for your life and he’d snatched you up and into the vents, tossing you easily into his shop and shutting it behind you

His gaze transfixed on said vent, a hand on his gun. Something about him choosing to save your life while also putting up with your attitude was a little attractive…

Okay, insanely attractive

Sure, Sebastian’s guilt for being attracted to you is bad, but so is yours

You’re attracted to a married man who has absolutely gushed about his wife in front of you before. Even if it was only because someone tried to get a little flirty, what does that matter?

Honestly the mutual attraction makes it hard for you both to focus

Everything about that man is intoxicating, his smile, his laugh, his attitude. Can you really be judged for this?

Neither of you can focus on anything but each other whenever you’re both in a room.

It’s led to Sebastian getting surprised whenever another person buys something off him because he had no idea anyone else was in here

Its also led to you freaking out whenever one of the other expendable touches your shoulder without you having realized anyone was standing behind you

You hide it well…at least you hope you do?

The longing glances and quiet staring on both sides is unbearable though

Especially considering you’re both making those dolly eyes at each other, batting lashes and daydreaming

It’s cute but it’s also incredibly wrong of you two and you’re painfully aware of it

No amount of sharing food and acting like it’s not a date will make it less of a date

He’s already long since decided that he’s going to offer you come with him so you both can leave together

And though neither of you will have the heart to confess for quite a while, I think he’d do it on your way out. Something about you almost dying when you both escape makes him desperate to tell you how he really feels

When that ‘I think I’m in love with you’ slips out while he’s bandaging your arm that’s been cut by glass, how can you refuse?

Especially when you’re in love with him too?

He’ll toss that ring into the ocean once you reach the surface, his wife never loved him like you did anyway

43 notes · View notes

lieutenantfloyd · 7 hours

Text

Pizza Hut and Silent Observation (Also Known as Stalking) - Deadpool x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Through a series of strange but undeniably on-brand events, Wade Wilson has found his opposite—and falls in love with them along the way. But as they both reckon with their feelings, reader pulls away, though this only hurts them both.

Warnings: fluff, opposites attract, attempts at humor, violence, Wade had ADHD, mercenary! Reader, language, mutual pining and a bit of mutual stalking, gentle tapping of the fourth wall, and Wade being Wade.

Authors Note: As much as I love all the Poolverine x Reader stuff, I’m craving some solo Wade x Reader! So consider this to be me being the change I wanna see in the world lol

Read on AO3

A series of strange but undeniably on-brand events had led to Wade Wilson finding his polar opposite—The soft, quiet, and sweet to his rough, loud, and explicit.

For reasons unknown even to himself, Deadpool swears to keep his distance. Yet the more he tries to avoid you, the more you seem to cross paths. Keeping out of each other's way when you wind up trailing the same target quickly morphs into shared glances across bars and grocery store aisles. Wade is all too aware of the universe's fucked up sense of humor, and when he quite literally runs into you for a third day in a row, he swears that the sweet, melodic laughter that graces his is coming from the universe itself.

Despite the stolen kills and strange lack of conversation, Wade quickly grows fascinated by you. As you approach your sixth month of stilted interactions, the last remaining bits of optimism he has leave him wondering if this could potentially be the slowest slow burn of all time, only for those dreams to be crushed by the weight of everything that lies beneath his fancy spandex suit.

Nonetheless, his feelings about you—and how you operate in the field—grow into something far more than a simple curiosity. It becomes a wide-eyed admiration with an increasingly lewd undercurrent. You're everything he’s not. Clean and efficient with a one-track mind that never strays from the mission at hand.

Or at least that's what he tells himself.

It took exactly three meetings with the spandex clad mercenary to realize he might be the single most obnoxious person on the planet, and another five before you were willing to admit that he was also the single hottest.

You had always been someone who built their walls high and kept their defenses higher. It's why you found it so strange that the first crack in your emotional fortress was brought on by a mouthy mercenary taking a bullet for you without a second thought and making a joke about pegging with what should have been his dying breath.

His strange effect on you was something you used to justify your actions over the past several months. Frequenting his favorite bars and choosing to pursue the targets you knew he'd go after was simply just reconnaissance. You needed to know the why and how of what he made you feel, and getting close to him—while swearing it was for professional reasons only—felt like the best course of action. Sure, your heart raced every time you spotted him across the room, but that was only because you were satisfied by getting the timing of your meeting right. Maybe you let your eyes wander a little when he sunk his baby knife into the neck of your target, but you kept your thoughts of what else he kept hidden in that suit of his to yourself like any other well respecting person.

You weren't a stalker.

This wasn't stalking.

A grey area? Maybe. But definitely not stalking.

Or at least that's what you told yourself.

It was during your eighth month of silent observation that Wade realized that wherever he went, you were his sweet little shadow that kept him distracted. You had spoken to him barely a handful of times, yet you were always there to listen. You didn't care that he couldn't sit still or that he quite literally never shut up. No, you—his silent but darling angel—laughed at his jokes and brought him fidget toys. Alternatively, he never pressured you to speak up or forced you (too far) outside of your comfort zone.

The mutual respect between you grew larger and more profound until you were practically attached at the hip, becoming an unofficial duo both in the field and not. He'd always feel like he didn't deserve you, but at this rate, you were practically all he had left.

Logic—along with everyone in your lives—said that you should hate each other's guts. Yet from the first moment you met, You both just made complete sense to each other. You didn't ask to see what he hid underneath his mask and he didn't ask why you bought your groceries at the shop by His and Blind Al's apartment even though it was 45 minutes away from your own place. Things were simple. Good, even. But they still weren't enough for either of you.

He thinks about you constantly.

Thinks about you so much that he finds himself googling 'Can a person be a hyperfixation?' and 'signs you've found your soulmate' at 3am. Yet as much as his feelings for you have grown, whatever you had felt in return seemed to have disappeared along with your presence in his life.

Now what little focus he had was slipping. All because you had pulled away.

He'd taken more than a few knives to the skull over his last several missions, but the target he'd been tracking all year had finally made a home of an unmarked grave. He should feel excited—or at least somewhat satisfied—but he just felt numb. It'd been weeks since he'd last heard from you, but that didn't stop him from feeling phantom buzzes from his phone or searching crowds for your lovely, angelic face.

He'd even stopped by your place a few times. He forced himself to knock before picking the locks and entering your home. His genuine feelings of concern and abandonment were replaced by a gnawing pit in his stomach when he realized that your cozy apartment had become sterilized and vacant. He stayed there, frozen in place, for far longer than he would ever care to admit.

Deep down he'd always known this would happen. He was a depraved fuck up at best, and nothing good ever stuck around for him. But he thought—no, he knew—you were different. Only then did Wade admit that he was obsessed, if not teetering on the edge of stalkerish. He knew this was a glaring sign that he should back off, but Deadpool is anything, he is a man of maximum effort.

So he started waiting. Hoping that maybe you'll miss his unending self-deprecation and come back for him.

You promised to keep your distance. Wade was a good, albeit complicated, man who deserved something better. Someone who completed him. Who matched his energy and didn't forge a friendship based on an act of failed reconnaissance.

You'd been clean and clear of anything regarding him for over a month and were finally feeling good enough to head back to your old apartment and turn in your keys.

If you hadn't stopped in the hallway to reread the text from your landlord stating to leave the keys on the kitchen counter, you would have never noticed the shiny metallic scratches around the lock. Your line of work ensured that you knew instantly that it'd been picked, but you still moved in closer for a better look.

Whoever had broken in was either too inexperienced to know how to cover their tracks or brazen enough not to care. Given that the apartment was tucked away on the sixth floor with a freshly posted 'for rent' sign on the door, you couldn't see why this would be a random attack. You'd kept to yourself while living here, and you didn't have any valuables your more shady friends could be searching for. These were the facts you told yourself as you slipped the keys back into your pocket and ignored how only the latter, more reckless possibility had your heart racing.

Your typical evening plans were pushed aside in favor of pulling the security camera footage and settling in for an unconventional movie night.

Most of the tape was mind-numbingly boring, but your eyes were glued to the screen nonetheless. Searching for any piece of evidence to confirm your suspicions. Just as tiredness began to seep its way into your shoulders, you spot him. Even if he wasn't wearing the suit, you'd recognize him just by the way he dances into frame and gives a sarcastic wave at the camera. Seeing Wade again—even just in video format—fills you with so much affection that how you managed to leave him alone this long feels like a damn miracle.

The day of your return was unnotable in every way.

The sky is blue, the weather is mild, and you'd been tailing your target since before sunrise.

The job you were currently working requires fast, efficient work with no loose ends left behind. It was perfect for you, but the payout was enough to catch the eye of every mercenary in the local area and beyond. This was something you were banking on—the perfect way to say "I'm sorry" and "let's start over" to Wade without showing up cryptically on his doorstep.

The target pulls into a parking garage, and you know instantly that this is the other opportunity you've been hoping for. You follow them inside and park a few spaces away. You wait for them to walk in view of your rear view mirror before exiting the car. Their pace is relaxed and unalert as you fall in step with them—exactly how you prefer it—which giving you the green light to move in.

Your footfalls are silent as you close the small distance between you, weapon in hand. Hyperfocused and only a step behind them, you nearly run square into their back when they suddenly freeze and gasp.

"I'm on a tight schedule and you know what you did, so let's just cut to the chase, K?"

A second later, a blade lodges through their chest. As it retreats, their body falls limply to the ground, leaving your position completely exposed. Wade's eyes land on you instantly, and the way the whites of his mask widen has something in your chest growing tight.

"Hey," you stutter, thrown off guard by his sudden appearance. Though with everything you know about him, a part of you honestly should have prepared better for this.

"For what it's worth, I've been super busy since you decided to up and abandon me. So busy that I've only had time to cry twice in the last twelve hours," he says, slipping his katana back into place with precision.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You're gonna have to do better than that to get back into my good graces, sugar plum."

His humor remains as unwavering as always, but the edge to his usually carefree voice betrays a glimpse of his inner workings. If it hadn't been obvious before, you know now, without any doubt, that your attempt to protect his feelings had only done the opposite.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Wade."

"Well, you failed spectacularly!" He deadpans.

You breathe in sharply and take a cautious step closer to him as his hands rise to rest on his hips. "I like you, you know. Which for me is…a lot."

You can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he speaks. As if he's holding back his true feelings for once.

"It took me far too long to admit it to myself, but I like you too, Wade." He's shockingly quiet as you speak, and the silence drags on for several seconds afterward.

"Do you maybe… like like me?" He asks in a soft voice that has you gearing up for his inevitable teasing. You sigh, and he takes up a pose that says he's the picture of innocence. Yeah right.

"Against my better judgment, yes."

His hands fly to his face, and he gasps so loud you wonder if your sliced-and-diced target had suddenly come back to life.

"You're telling me—mouthy merc Wade Winston Wilson—that I created such a stirring in that-" his eyes flash downwards before rising back to yours "great chest of yours that the only way you knew how to deal with it was to ghost me like fucking Casper?!"

Your half baked plan honestly sounds stupid when you hear it out loud, but he's undoubtedly right.

You nod in a mix of amusement and defeat, which sends his fists flying into the air.

"YES!" He screams "I'm finally getting my third-act-confession-in-a-hallmark-channel-romance-movie moment! Take that you ableist studio execs!"

You roll your eyes, refusing to believe you're letting his weird quips charm you once again.

"I'm sorry Wade, truly," you say.

Guilt sets in then. While you'll probably always think he deserves better—or at least something different—than what you can give him, you've realized that breaking his heart by leaving hurt you both more than whatever may or may not happen if you let your feelings be known.

You awkwardly poke the stiffening body of your target with the toe of your boot before you take a page out of Wade's book and finally bite the bullet.

"You stole my kill, and that means you owe me dinner," You say with a surprisingly playful air.

Wade shrugs, not missing a beat as he counters you.

"I mean, 'stole' doesn't really apply when it was full on open season for this hit, and you just happened to be too slow."

"Wade, do you want to take me out or not?" You bite back.

"Hold your horses there Dr. House, yes I do!"

"Good." You nod.

"Good?" He questions with mock offense. "That's all you have to say when a handsome man such as I is about to take you out for a candle lit date at the third finest Pizza Hut in the city? I even offered to pay with the dirty money from my most recent kill!" He exclaims, eying the increasingly pale body between of you.

"I should stayed away," you mutter half jokingly under your breath as you turn to leave, knowing that he'd follow.

"What was that, pookie?" He asks, using his gloved hand to cup his ear dramatically as he crosses the distance between you with flourish.

You roll your eyes as he falls in step with you, though it doesn't go unnoticed by the usually unobservant mercenary.

"I saw that, sugarplum," he croons. You snort out an exasperated laugh and nearly repeat your previous eye roll just to stir the pot a little more.

"I know you're probably not as well versed in this whole enemies to lovers, will-they-won't-they dating thing, but I've read enough fanfiction to know that this whole dark and brooding thing you've got going on is supposed to be reserved for others, not you're darling love interest."

"I'm glad that you admit that I'm the main character," You laugh. Wade's eyes widen as he realizes the mistake he's made. Yet instead of pressing the issue, he slips his phone out of his spandex suit—where it's kept is something you don't care to think about—and calls in the kill.

You continue on walking, heading nowhere in particular. You’re just happy to have Wade by your side once again. The call comes to an end quickly, the phone disappears once more, and he loops one of his strong arms around your shoulders.

"So, pookie, about that dinner date…"

You raise your eyebrows instantly, recognizing that his tone of voice as the one he uses right before dropping bombshells.

"The money is on a thirty six hour hold—a surprisingly formal rule given our shady choice of gig—so would you mind paying? I'd tell you I'd pay you back but we both know I won't." He smiles innocently.

You scoff, only for a soft smile to bloom on your own face.

"You better sweep me off my feet," you tease, wrapping your own arm around him as you both make your way through the busy city streets. Cars race by and neon lights flicker overhead, reflecting in the puddles left by the afternoon rain.

He shoots you a sideways grin from beneath his mask, "Sweep you off your feet? That sounds like soooo much work. I'll just stick to charming you with my usual irresistible appeal instead."

You snort sarcastically. "irresistible appeal? You mean being an insufferable pain who always leaves me behind to clean up your messes?"

You turn the corner, arriving at the restaurant Wade had promised. You'd been here together before, though usually after a job gone wrong, and it had become your go-to hideout whenever your paths crossed.

Sliding into your usual booth, you lean back against the cracking vinyl and cross your arms, almost amused by the situation.

"You stuck me with the bill, so you better order something cheap," you joke as he eyes the menu.

Wade leans forward, his elbows resting on the table beside his now discarded red and black mask.

"Best I can do is treat you to dessert if you behave," He smirks, very much not talking about baked goods or confectionery.

You narrow your eyes at him, though he sees the playful spark swimming beneath them.

"Behave? That's rich coming from you. I'll be lucky if you don't have a knife buried in your head by the time the food comes out." He grins, a flash of mischief dancing across his eyes.

"What can I say? I like to make life exciting. Besides, we can't all be dark and brooding on the sidelines, now can we?"

You roll your eyes before looking back at the menu, an action that causes his smile to grow bigger.

The familiar heavy but playful energy between you has returned as if the past weeks had never happened. Things are comfortable, if not easy. It's the kind of rhythm you and Wade always fall into, no matter how long you spent apart.

From across the booth you see Wade's head fall to the side, his eyes examining you closely.

"What?" You ask, your eyes staying on the menu but not really looking at it.

"You seem…excited. Well, as excited as you can get, really." He says in a surprisingly soft tone.

"Me? Excited? Never."

"Perhaps then you just missed this sexy face? You wouldn't be the first…" he smirks as he looks at you with annoyingly innocent eyes.

"Or perhaps I'm waiting on the other shoe to drop. It seems like every time we're together, one of us is getting shot at or double-crossed. I wouldn't call that particularly exciting." You counter, though you know he's got you pinned.

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Come on, Wednesday Adams, admit it—You. Missed. Me."

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you, like you weren't just two messed up mercenaries thrown into the same mess over and over again. Like there was something more to be had than all your teasing and banter. And as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You had missed him.

"I missed this place, not you," you deflect, though your smile betrays you.

"You missed this shithole?" he replies, eyes twinkling. "I knew your standards were low—I mean you are on a date with me after all—but holy fuck."

You shake your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles up. "Hey! This isn't a date!"

He leaned in, his voice dropping lower as it fills with that infuriating charm he's known for. "Oh, don't you worry pookie. This is just the first step in my plan to date the hell outta you."

For a moment you sit there, the noise of the restaurant fading as your eyes lock with his wild ones. A truth hangs between you—no matter how many times you tried to downplay it, there was an undeniable electricity that always sparked between you. Something crazy and unpredictable, not unlike your daily lives.

You shake your head. "If it's a date, then you're paying," you say, finally breaking the tension with a happy smirk.

"Fine," he says with a huff, drawing out the last syllable as he leans back in his seat. "But next time, you're buying the drinks."

"Next time?" You ask, raising your eyebrows.

"Oh, you know there's always going to be a next time," His eyes gleam as you let out a soft laugh, glancing at him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

"You're maddening, you know that?" You say, though there's no bite behind your words.

He gasps dramatically once more. "Is this the part of the movie where you say I drive you crazy before we go back to my place and have a heated makeout session?!"

For a moment you just watch him, eyebrows furrowed but a lazy smile hanging on your lips. The noise of the restaurant and the city beyond it fades into the background. It was almost funny how you and Wade always ended up back here, side by side, cracking jokes and deflecting feelings you both refused to admit you had.

Yet as his hand drops onto the table it brushes softly against yours, and you can't imagine a world in which you pull away. He's incessant, annoying, exasperating, along with a million other words, but he's here with you despite everything. A gesture that proves that maybe a bit of humor is exactly what you are missing from your life.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #deadpool x reader #deadpool x you #deadpool x y/n #wade wilson #wade wilson x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #x men

24 notes · View notes

nothingbutnowhere · 2 days

Text

Paid In Full (18+)

The Apartment Anthology

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Contains: 18+, Unethical and creepy maintenance man!Simon, I don't know how else to put this but he comes on your toys in your shower when he enters your apartment for maintenance, come eating, if I missed anything lmk

It could be worse. Really, the building you live in isn't that old or in disrepair, just out of date. There's only been one thing you've needed to call maintenance for.

Despite this, you see the maintenance guy around a bunch, or at least his truck full of various tools and parts parked outside the buildings. The man himself proves to be elusive and you've only seen him when he came into your apartment to fix the heat. Tall, stoic, and handsome. Polite with his face mask and shoe covers. His eyes glance around your apartment, seemingly bored with the way his eyelids droop. Neither of you attempt small talk while he works and you stand awkwardly across the room. He scribbles down some info about the repair on a carbon copy sheet and tears one off for you, nodding when you thank him. His eyes travel down your body, making your genuine smile fade as you silently wish for him to leave.

It's the time when you don't see him in your apartment that causes an issue.

You're a person who likes to play solo. Regardless of whether or not you're getting laid, there's fun to be had in reveling in your imagination while you masteurbate.

And what better place to play than in the shower? Warm, steamy air, nice and wet and sensitive...

So not one or two, but three toys sit in the corner of your shower, their own little city line of dildo skyscrapers, varying in lengths and thicknesses.

Therein lies the problem. You usually keep them there. And why not? No roommates, the only one in there is you!

Until you're not.

You return to your apartment one day to a pink slip sitting innocently on your bathroom counter. The scribble you can barely make out reads: Ceiling fixed- upstairs bathroom tub leak, with the date and an illegible signature.

Your face drains of blood as you look over and see the open shower curtain.

Without a doubt the maintenance guy saw your toys.

Well it's time to leave the country and change your name and start a new life.

But something catches your eye. You step over to the tub and take a closer look. Lines of white streak the toys, some sort of liquid running down them.

That's- no. There's no way. That can't be come.

Against better judgment you reach out tentatively, pointer finger sliding through the mess, which sticks to you when you pull back.

You look at the slip clenched in your other hand. At the bottom, something is written directly on it in pen:

6pm for payment

Ok first of all that's not how that works, and second of all: fuck. He has a key. And you've seen him before, he's huge and muscular enough he can definitely pull the chain right out of the wall if you used it to keep him out. You're screwed. You're going to have to leave the country, this time for another reason. You should march right down to the rental office and demand to be let out of the lease. You should be grabbing your emergency bag and going to stay with a friend. You should be filing for a fucking restraining order.

But you're frozen, breaths ragged and loud in the enclosed space and your heart pounds in your chest so hard it nearly rattles your ribcage. The- stuff- on your finger is a glossy, milky white. You definitely should not be touching it. But you have to admit that deep down the real come (and not your own) on the toys looks good.

You stick your finger in your mouth.

...

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

Part 2

More Simon

So This amazing fic jogged a memory of the maintenance guy seeing my toys in the shower- mortifying btw- so naturally I decided to extrapolate into a fic. Because I'm totally normal!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #my writing #x reader

23 notes · View notes

wishcamper · 17 hours

Text

Nessian Week Day 5 - Behind Closed Doors

I meant to write a sexy, Casino Royale-esque poker scene but it somehow ended up as Cassian fangirling over his wife for 3k words so uh. Here you go.

Read here or on ao3!

High Stakes

A/N: This prompt really made me want to play with the idea of layers of intimacy in long-term relationships because a) I don’t think we have enough representations of healthy, fulfilling, functional monogamy and b) I‘ve always thought there was beautiful potential for Nessian to know and understand each other to the point where they can see all the layers of the other person, and be able to hold space for the other’s complexity. I’d just really like to believe that’s possible. So I hope that comes across.

I’m exploring some of these same ideas in ACOVAV, my ongoing ACOSF fix-it. Questions around the character’s experiences and my own, like: what does it look like to build tension in a story and depth in a relationship without miscommunication or people treating each other badly? What if it’s two people trying their best to get close while also wrestling with their own individual shit in very real, understandable ways? What exists at that intersection between me and us? Something interesting, I think.

If that interests you too, you can read that fic on ao3 :)

---

“Mr. Archeron.”

“Marlowe. How’s she looking tonight?”

Two males stood before the door of a long-vacant tavern, sweating slightly in the night air thick and lush as it only was in summer, Velaris bursting with vitality after dark. The cobblestone streets were full of revelers who passed by without a second glance, ignorant that beyond the hidden entrance lay a world where fortunes were won and lost, where the honor of courts rose and fell at the discretion of a female known only in whispers as the Queen of Cards.

A female who just happened to be Cassian’s wife.

“A strong start,” Marlowe said as he ushered Cassian into the candlelit basement, flickering shadows belying the bustling street above. “The High Lord from Autumn has cheek, though.”

“Yeah, Eris gets like that when he’s losing.”

They shook hands and Cassian made his way down the dim hallway, the sounds of chatter and shuffling and clinking coins drifting toward him. He could hear Eris braying high above the others, Rhys’ smooth voice giving back just as good. When he reached the arched entrance to the playing room, everyone had their backs to him except Nesta, who glanced up from her three-card hand and smiled.

She always faced the door during games, ready to protect her players’ privacy in case someone got past Marlowe, though it had the unintended effect of giving him a moment to take her in uninterrupted. Her gown was midnight blue tonight, long sleeves in tiers of iridescent silk like a dragonfly’s wings, hair cascading over one shoulder studded with opals that turned fiery in the faelights.

A glittering queen holding court. And damn if Cassian didn’t want to go to his knees before her, still, after all this time.

“Can we get on with it or do I need to send you two to time out?” she asked the still-squabbling High Lords without missing a beat, tossing her cards in and signaling to the silver clad dealer to begin the next round before. She threw in her ante next, silver bracelets chiming at her wrist with the movement.

With some grumblings the players turned to their hands, and Cassian edged along the wall to where Emerie sat at a high table on her own, grazing on the arrayed refreshments and accounting her winnings in a worn ledger.

“I was up and didn’t want to push my luck,” the female whispered when he nodded in greeting, giving him a sly smile. Cassian smiled back - Emerie always came out on top. He suspected Nesta was subtly losing to her friend on purpose after the female refused to let her fund an expansion of her shop. And he suspected Emerie knew it, too, but both were too proud to say it aloud. She licked the tip of her pencil and made another note. “Plus, it’s fun to watch your mate knock a few High Lords down a peg.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the real game,” he confessed, and Emerie grinned smugly, wings ruffling with delight.

They observed the game in silence for a moment, allowing Cassian time to survey the other players in attendance tonight. There was an endless rotating cast of characters at Nesta’s now-famous monthly games, the invitation so coveted they’d had all manner of bribes delivered to the House of Wind by very confused messengers. Thankfully all gifts were now rerouted to a third-party location, after a lesser lord of Summer sent a dozen peacocks they’d chased about the House for hours.

There were seven of them tonight as usual, including Emerie, all faces he recognized buried in their cards around the half-moon table. Granted, it helped that nearly half the players were his wife, her best friend, and Rhys, whose pile of coin looked so pitifully low Cassian couldn’t help but smirk when he caught his brother’s eye.

“We should raise the blind,” Rhys interjected. “What's the point of playing if you’re eschewing risk?”

It still surprised Cassian sometimes that Rhys kept coming back despite showing no taste for gambling in the past. But he supposed Rhys had always been weirdly competitive with Nesta, and even though they’d buried the hatchet long ago Nesta still loved winning her brother-in-law’s money fair and square. Which she did without fail, hand over fist, with a silent pact between them not to tell Feyre.

Neither of her sisters knew, by design he suspected, and Mor was off in Montesere ‘finding herself’ again, whatever that meant. Azriel had a brief, brilliant run before his competitiveness got the best of him and he was banned for brawling at the table, one of the only standing rules. Emerie and Eris were regulars, and he’d seen the others in attendance before: broad-shouldered Megrin Stonecutter of the Velaris maester’s guild and Nuan of Dawn, who perched cross-legged in her chair, a pair of elaborate spectacles whirring on her round face

Opposite Nesta tonight sat the High Lord of Day, still radiant despite having foregone his usual golden adornments. Helion looked nonplussed by his own losing streak as Cassian watched him toss his cards face down in front of him, leaving only Rhys, Eris, and Nesta still alive in the hand.

“I fold. You all are vicious. Are you not joining us, Cass?”

“And add one more body to the slaughter? No thanks.” He’d never had much interest, content to watch Nesta splatter egos against the wall.

Megrin grunted in agreement and slid her cards to the dealer past the large pile of gold in the center. “I’m out, too. Clearly someone knows something I don’t.”

“It’s yours to call, Eris,” Rhys said breezily. “Unless you’re waiting to ask your father’s ghost for permission.”

Cassian snorted, making eye contact with Rhys again, who shot him a shit-eating grin as Eris covered his mouth with a stiff hand, brow furrowed.

To everyone’s surprise, Beron Vanserra had been felled two years prior by an ordinary fever. No one in Autumn nor elsewhere could make sense of it - it was as if one day the hands of hel simply reached up and snatched him back into the earth. So a court that had once been destined for a bloody coup passed the crown peacefully, which was a good thing all around, though Rhys loved painting Eris as a cowardly dawdler whose target put himself in an early grave just to end the waiting.

The Autumn lord sneered at the insult, still waffling. “Some of us prefer to think about our actions, Rhysand, instead of barrelling forward with whatever scheme will inflate our self-importance the most. Stealing things from other courts, for example, books, brides -“

Nesta glanced over at Cassian then, crossing and uncrossing her fingers where they lay against her cheek, and he had to stifle the laugh that bubbled forth at the private joke, just for him. It was her signal that sexual tension was present in the room, sometimes to indicate she wanted to leave whatever function they were at, sometimes so they could share a roll of their eyes. In this case he knew she meant the squabbling lords, as many a late night they’d mused that Eris and Rhys could get past their rivalry if they just had sex about it.

“As much as I enjoy seeing Rhysand’s self-importance punctured,” Nesta drawled when the latter opened his mouth to retort. “You can’t delay your bet with old, petty scores. We’re all rather bored with it. If you’re going to cheat, at least use some imagination.”

She sipped at her glass of pomegranate juice, a frequent gift of affection from Helion and a nod to the other rule: no alcohol.

Rhys’ expression flashed briefly with betrayal, but he schooled it quickly, knowing better than to give himself away. But Cassian knew Nesta’s smoky eyes clocked it before they turned to Eris.

“I remember you once tempting me with an invitation to Autumn, to see how a High Lord plays. Is this what you had in mind?” She gestured to the modest pile of gold in front of him. “I rather think I made the right decision, don’t you?”

Emerie chuckled beside him, and Cassian felt a thrill low in his stomach to see Nesta so self-possessed, lit from within. After everything they’d been through with the Trove, with their families, a part of him wondered if he’d ever see her ferocity again, if the sharp point of that viper’s tongue would smooth over for good.

She’d become very soft for about a decade after the Blood Rite, and they’d taken long walks through the Illyrian Steppes and the Myrmidons, swam in streams and lakes and the oceans of Summer, watched the bees drift lazily from flower to flower in Elain’s gardens in Day. It was as if she’d needed to come completely to rest before deciding what to do next. And the solitude seemed to give her a sense of clarity, but he’d been glad as fuck to be an exception to that rule, to witness the private puzzlings and support her in finding purpose in her life.

They’d only just returned to Velaris the previous spring, when the threads of family and duty pulled them home at last. Their time away was intimate and lovely, some of the best years of his life, yet Cassian enjoyed seeing Nesta confident out in the world again. The poker game had been the first of many things to draw her out, and he couldn’t wait to see what she’d surprise him with next, his strong, clever, deadly little wife.

Eris grumbled and tossed a few coins in the middle. “Happy now? Or would you prefer to seduce it out of me?”

Cassian watched her swallow the barb, which would’ve sent her into survival mode in the past and now rolled off her with barely a ripple. Leashed his own instincts to leap across the room and tackle Eris to the ground, because Nesta wouldn’t hesitate to kick him out for breaking the rules too, mate or no, and he’d miss his favorite show.

“Your luck doesn’t extend that far tonight,” she said demurely, and Cassian knew the smug prick was too stupid to see her coiling up to strike when the time was right. Nesta won the hand a moment later to groans all around, her Winter flush beating Rhys’ three pixies and Eris’ two pair, nymphs and kelpies.

“I propose a wager," Nesta declared as the next hand was dealt, her voice velvety and inviting. "The victor of the evening wins one favor of their choosing...” Eyes lit up around the table, anticipation deepening. “...from my husband.”

They all turned toward Cassian where he was leaning against the wall with an amused grin now, and he raised an eyebrow at his mate. Her eyes flashed silver where she stared back at him, and he felt her send a soothing wave down the bond, assuring him of her intent. Inviting him into the ruse. Cassian made a show of looking chagrined, shuffling his feet as he looked down.

Rhys was the first to respond, smirking. “I’ll take that bet.”

Cassian knew he was incensed at the idea of losing, wrongly fancying himself more clever than his sister-in-law. Nesta knew it, too, and that arrogance made him play more recklessly.

“Count me out,” said Helion, winking. “You’re pretty, Cass, but my minister of finance will have my head if I lose any more.”

“Ah, why not?” Nuan flushed, uncomfortable with the attention now drawn her way, and chuckled nervously. “Not sure what use I’d have for you, dear, but who knows what worth it may hold!”

Megrin pursed her lips, sizing him up. “He has a strong enough back I suppose. I’ve been meaning to rearrange my forge.”

“Any favor of my choosing?” Eris mused, and Cassian felt the Autumn lord’s gaze roving over his body and then Nesta’s, possessive and hungry. The years hadn’t changed everything. Nesta answered with nothing but a feline smile.

The next few rounds passed in a blur of bluffs and bold plays. Nesta remained composed even on the hands she lost, an almost bored air to the way she watched the males bluster and crow. Eris' anger grew while Rhys shot daggers with his glare at her every win, turning each hand into an unnecessary battle of wills that made him play sloppy. Nuan ducked out when it became clear the prize wasn’t hers, and Megrin hung on for a while longer, bluffing her way through until her luck ran dry, to Cassian’s relief.

One by one, Nesta outplayed them, her composure never faltering as she watched her opponents fume, each loss reigniting their fervor to win.

At last the players were down to the final hand, and the air in the hidden basement crackled with anticipation. The dealer laid down the community cards as bets went around: a wyvern, a lord, a lady, and a cave troll. Each still in signaled for new cards, Nesta tapping once against the table, her face revealing nothing. Cassian could feel his chest tighten as they sized each other up before Rhys pushed all his chips into the pot with a confident smirk.

"All in."

Unfazed, Nesta called his bet, gesturing idly at her pile for the dealer to sweep into the center with his crook. That left only Eris to decide his own fate, as well as Cassian’s.

He puzzled for a long while with his head in his hands before he finally spoke, low and deliberate. "I’ll call."

Coins cascaded into the center, a shower of gold. Then the final card was revealed—another lady. All coins in the center, it felt like everyone held their breath as the three remaining players revealed their hands.

Rhys set down two lords, the grin spreading across his face triumphant and sure, the poor bastard. Eris only clucked his tongue and revealed his full house, ladies full of wyverns, smug despite achieving it on the last draw.

But Cassian knew it wasn’t over yet. He turned to where his wife was toying with the edge of her hand, and he’d seen that pose too many times not to recognize it at once: You Have Just Royally Fucked Yourself. Silver rolled over Nesta’s eyes, and with prim efficiency she laid down the three remaining trolls in the deck, one after another.

The room erupted, Eris upending his chair as he leapt to his feet, Rhys shouting about cheating and Helion tipping his head back to let loose a peal of laughter soon joined by Emerie and Nuan’s, by Megrin’s groan. Cassian couldn’t help the dopey grin that spread across his face, how at home Nesta looked in the sea of chaos when she winked at him, calmly piling her coins into neat stacks.

Once everyone had regained their heads they all passed a lovely hour in conversation, the air hazy from the cigarettes Nesta usually smoked with Lucien at their gossip sessions disguised as afternoon tea. Rhys departed first, claiming a return to his fatherly duties, though they all knew he was off to beg Feyre’s sympathies while he licked his wounds for reasons he’d never confess. Emerie left with a tight hug and a promise to have them up to Windhaven soon to see her new expansion, and Eris gave Nesta a begrudging bow before Helion swooped in and kissed her on the cheek. He did the same to Cassian, and they heard his warm voice echoing down the corridor, giving Eris shit all the way up the stairs.

Alone now, Cassian came up behind where Nesta was tucking a handful of coins in a pouch for Marlowe, looped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. She batted at him but he felt her lean backwards all the same, cracking the door to that soft place within, that only her loved ones were allowed to enter. He knew she liked the affection, even if part of her still hated to admit it, if she only wanted it when it was just them.

“Wicked woman,” he teased, and he felt her smile against his cheek, the press of her nails into his forearm. “Were you seriously going to let Eris have his way with me?”

Nesta turned in his arms and he took her in close up for the first time all day, having left her snoring softly that morning when he departed for Windhaven. He warmed to see her face still relaxed and open, the ease in her posture.

“If he won, sure.”

Cassian snorted. “I don’t know if that’s a testament to your confidence or your willingness to torture me.”

The candlelight flickered silver around them for a moment and he drew her close once more, breathing deep the vanilla and jasmine scent of her hair, the lingering smokiness. Nesta linked her hands behind his back and squeezed him hard, impatient.

“Can’t it be both? Now take me home, Lady Death is tired.”

“Is that your favor for winning, sweetheart?”

“No,” she said, eyes dancing and devious when he pulled back. “I’ve much bigger plans for you.”

And oh, she did.

They ended the night in Cassian’s favorite way, with him sprawled atop her, head pillowed on her chest, her long fingers working through the snarls in his hair he’d earned in their pleasure. The House dimmed the lights in the bedchamber that was once his, the door now warded to both their hands. Hands that bore twin golden rings and tattoos of an eight-pointed star, tokens of their promises, both his and hers.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

Nesta’s voice was thick and fuzzy, and he felt a quiet contentment on her end of the bond. It was rare for her to inhabit it in public as much as she had tonight, and Cassian remembered when her end of the bridge between them had been locked tight, impenetrable. He’d made a fool of himself trying to break through early in their love, using brute force to smash past her defenses, leaving her exposed.

But now he knew the secret that should’ve been obvious, that he only had to knock.

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

She smiled with her eyes closed and pursed her lips, kissing the air before sleep dragged her under.

#nessianweek2024 #nessian #nesta x cassian #day 5: behind closed doors

16 notes · View notes

songbirdseung · 2 hours

Text

you're here, baby / lee heeseung

where you surprise visit your long-distance boyfriend after their tour finally ended genre long distance au, established relationship, fluff

Heeseung settled onto the couch, his phone propped up on the armrest as he waited for your call. It was your usual routine—after his long, exhausting days of practice or after he’d spent hours in the studio, you would sync up over video calls, watching movies together as a way to stay connected despite the distance between you. It had become the highlight of his nights, and while nothing could replace having you right there with him, those virtual movie dates made the separation feel a little less painful.

His phone buzzed, and your face appeared on the screen. He grinned immediately, all the exhaustion he’d been feeling melting away the moment he saw you. You were still as beautiful as ever, and even through the screen, you always had a way of making him feel at ease.

"Hey, babe. What movie are we watching tonight?" he asked, trying to seem casual, though he was always giddy just to see you.

"Actually, before we start..." you said, your voice taking on that playful tone that always made him curious. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“What is it this time?” He laughed softly, already used to your random little requests. You were always full of surprises, sending him gifts or packages to make him smile on the days you couldn’t be there.

"Can you do me a favor?" you asked, your smile widening as you watched his expression shift into slight confusion.

"Another package, huh? You’re spoiling me too much,” Heeseung joked, sitting up a little straighter. "What is it this time? More snacks? A hoodie?"

You giggled, biting your lip to contain the excitement bubbling inside you. "Just... step outside your house for a minute. Trust me, okay?"

"Outside? Babe, it’s late, and I was just getting comfortable," he said, pouting slightly, but he still got up from the couch. He couldn’t say no to you, even if it was something as odd as stepping outside in the middle of the night.

As he slipped on his shoes by the door, he still couldn’t shake the curiosity. “Alright, alright. I’m going, but this better be good.”

Heeseung opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, glancing around in the dim glow of the streetlights. The night air was cool, and the streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of passing cars. He scanned the area, searching for whatever surprise you had in store for him. “Okay, I’m here. Now where’s this package?”

"Are you sure you’re looking in the right place?" your voice teased through the phone, barely holding back your excitement. You knew he’d catch on any second now.

Heeseung laughed, his brow furrowed as he looked around again, but nothing was out of place. “Yeah, I’m looking. Did you hide it or something? Come on, give me a hint.”

Then, you dropped the surprise. "You wanna leave your lover outside?"

Heeseung froze, your words making his heart skip a beat. He turned slowly, his eyes landing on a figure approaching the house from the street. His breath caught in his throat, disbelief clouding his mind as he saw you, standing there in person, walking up the driveway toward him.

"No way," he breathed, the shock rendering him momentarily speechless. His phone nearly slipped from his hands as he fumbled to shove it into his pocket. In an instant, he dashed toward you, closing the distance between you in seconds.

You grinned as you saw him sprinting toward you, your own heart racing as you finally reached him. Before you could say anything, Heeseung enveloped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground in a tight embrace. His laughter filled the air, the joy and disbelief evident in the way he held you close.

“You’re here,” he gasped, his voice filled with pure elation as he pulled back slightly to look at your face, his hands cradling your cheeks like he needed to make sure you were real. "You’re actually here... How? When did you—"

You laughed softly, still catching your breath from the excitement. "Surprise, Hee."

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh, hugging you again, spinning you around slightly as if to convince himself that this moment was real. The feel of your warmth against him, the familiar scent of your perfume—it was all too good to be true.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he murmured, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "I missed you so much."

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him just as tightly. "I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to come see you."

After what felt like forever in his arms, you finally nudged him gently. "Come on, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here."

Heeseung nodded, still holding onto your hand as he led you back inside the house, his heart still racing from the excitement. As you walked in, you kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your jacket, making yourself comfortable like you’d done a million times before. It felt like home, being there with him.

But Heeseung stayed by the door, his back leaning against the frame as he watched you move around the house, his eyes filled with wonder. You were really there, in front of him, not just on a screen. It felt surreal.

Noticing him standing there, you turned around and gave him a curious look. "What’s wrong?"

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowly made his way over to you, his footsteps quiet as he approached. When he reached you, he stopped just a few inches away, his hands gently resting on your arms as he stared at you, his expression soft and filled with love.

“You’re really here,” he whispered, his voice quiet and full of emotion. "You’re actually here, baby."

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I’m here. It’s real."

Heeseung leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment as he took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it,” he said softly. "I missed you so much. Seeing you through a screen wasn’t enough... I needed this. I needed you."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. "Well, I’m not going anywhere for a while. I’m all yours."

Heeseung let out a quiet laugh, his lips brushing against your forehead as he held you close. "Good. Because I’m never letting you go again."

The weight of the past months, the long nights of missing each other, melted away in that moment. It didn’t matter how far apart you’d been—right now, you were together, and that was all that mattered.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #heeseung #lee heeseung imagines #heeseung lee #lee heeseung #heeseung imagines #heeseung enhypen #heeseung x reader

19 notes · View notes

acewithobsessions · 3 months

Text

having thoughts about Thomas tipping his head back in the bath.....he didn't want to look himself in the eyes......

#catching a glimpse of his reflection and seeing for the first time what Baxter sees #what Mrs Hughes sees #what Anna sees #all the good in him #and not being able to face it #a second glance; and he's just another person #just another boy #he looks away because that boy is hurting and it's all his fault #he tips his head up and doesn't look back #tw suicide #edit okay it's no longer late at night and I've realized the obvious #HE CAN'T SIT UP #but I still like these tags so please ignore this post entirely or something idk

5 notes · View notes

tonycries · 3 months

Text

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too.

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room.

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this.

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle.

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already.

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked.

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them.

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious.

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

A weighty beat passes. One. Two.

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this?

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What?

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face.

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity.

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better.

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word.

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually.

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth.

“Out.”

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now.

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?”

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him.

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him.

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw.

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar.

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal.

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away.

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan.

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his.

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this.

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth.

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended.

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast.

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers.

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants.

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth.

And Gojo keeps going.

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily.

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good.

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?”

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs.

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit.

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous.

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together.

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute.

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone.

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife.

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch.

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly.

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance.

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you.

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there.

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least.

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.”

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear.

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side.

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?”

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him.

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find-

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted.

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles.

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are.

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices.

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper.

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you.

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes.

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his.

“Clean that room up.”

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie.

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

24K notes · View notes