#and he'd be jealous over some of the differences. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeyhae-svt · 2 days ago

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Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: emotional tension, love triangle (we're getting serious), jealousy, angst, possessiveness, unresolved feelings, conflict, intimate situations, mature themes (smut), emotional hurt/comfort smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (fictional! not ideal IRL), rough sex (explicitly described thrusting, intense actions), overstimulation, desperate kisses, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom), creampie (fictional context), consent (implied and verbal), emotional vulnerability (expressed through intimacy), body worship and attention to physical details, breath play (heavy breathing, audible reactions), dirty talk, descriptive sexual acts (explicit descriptions of genital stimulation), post-coital intimacy (gentle moments after sex) wc: 10,994 ♪ playlist ♪ : adore you (harry styles), into you (ariana grande), slow hands (niall horan), you (the 1975) a/n: pls i think i made this shit messier. im gonna die wtf im just warning that its too much drama so read at your own risk (please enjoy tho ! dont let my own words deceive you lmaooo)

It started with little things. The way Jeonghan's gaze lingered a moment too long when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way he seemed to show up at your workplace more often—always with some excuse. "I was in the area," or, "I needed your opinion on something."

Today was no different.

You were packing up for the day when Jeonghan strolled in, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. His hair looked freshly styled, loose waves framing his face in a way that made it impossible not to notice how effortlessly good-looking he was.

"You're getting predictable," you teased, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "What's the excuse this time?"

Jeonghan grinned, unfazed. "No excuse. I figured you'd want coffee after work. Am I wrong?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider. "Not wrong, but suspiciously convenient."

He simply held the door open for you, his smile widening. "I'll take that as a yes."

The café was one of those cozy, dimly lit spots with worn leather chairs and the faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air. You'd been here before with Jeonghan, but today it felt different.

He ordered your usual without asking, then led you to a corner booth, his easy demeanor masking something unspoken.

"So," he said, leaning back in his seat as the two of you waited for your drinks. "How's everything going? Work, life... Wonwoo?"

You froze mid-reach for a napkin, your fingers curling back as you met his gaze. His tone was casual, almost too casual, but there was a glint in his eye—mischievous, probing.

"Wonwoo?" you echoed, feigning innocence. "Why are you bringing him up?"

Jeonghan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "No reason. Just curious."

The barista arrived with your drinks, breaking the moment, but the tension lingered. You stirred your coffee absently, unsure how to respond.

"We've just been hanging out," you said finally, keeping your tone neutral. "It's not a big deal."

"Hmm." Jeonghan's lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp. "It's funny. I don't think I've ever seen him so... animated. He must really enjoy your company."

"Jeonghan," you said, a warning laced in your tone.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Relax, I'm just teasing. But..." He trailed off, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew about us."

Your breath caught, the words hitting like a subtle jab and lingering in the air. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeonghan tilted his head, his expression unreadable yet impossibly confident. "It means I think he'd be curious. Maybe even a little jealous."

You scoffed, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. "There's no us, Jeonghan. You're just stirring the pot, as usual."

"Am I?" he asked, his tone softer now, almost teasing. "Or are you just trying to convince yourself of that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you couldn't find the words to reply. He leaned back again, taking a sip of his coffee as if he hadn't just flipped your world upside down.

The conversation shifted after that, easing into safer territory—shared stories, light jokes, and discussions about work. But his earlier words lingered in the back of your mind, their weight impossible to shake.

As you walked out of the café together, the cool evening air biting at your skin, Jeonghan slid his hands into his coat pockets, his gaze fixed ahead.

"By the way," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "You've been distracted lately. Is something on your mind?"

You hesitated, your grip tightening on your bag. "Not really. Just... a lot going on."

He nodded, his expression unreadable once again. "Well, whatever it is, don't forget I'm here. You don't have to figure everything out on your own."

There it was again—that maddening ability of his to slip past your defenses without even trying. As much as you wanted to brush him off, the sincerity in his tone made it impossible.

"Thanks," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan turned to you then, his smile soft and almost wistful. "Anytime."

And just like that, the moment was over. But as you parted ways, his words echoed in your mind, leaving you more confused than ever.

That evening, as you settled into your couch with a blanket and your phone, you couldn't shake Jeonghan's words from earlier. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew about us..." They replayed in your mind, making it harder to focus on anything else.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. It wasn't like Jeonghan to speak so candidly—or maybe it was, but this time it felt different. Intentional. And the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong.

Your phone buzzed on the armrest, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Wonwoo.

The notification was simple:

Wonwoo: Hey, you free right now?

A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. There was something about the way Wonwoo messaged you—straightforward, no games—that felt grounding.

You: yea what's up? Wonwoo: Feel like getting some air? I'm parked outside.

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the first time he'd done this—shown up unannounced but with impeccable timing, as if he knew exactly when you needed a distraction.

You: give me five

When you stepped outside, Wonwoo was leaning against his car, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, the cool night air making his breath visible. His gaze softened when he saw you, and he straightened up, opening the passenger door with a quiet, "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, climbing into the car. "You always this spontaneous?"

He chuckled as he slid into the driver's seat, the sound low and warm. "Only with you."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you brushed it off, letting the quiet hum of the car's engine fill the space.

"Where are we going?" you asked after a moment, glancing at him.

"You'll see," was all he said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

The drive was peaceful, the city lights giving way to quieter streets as he took you somewhere more secluded. When he finally pulled over, you realized he'd brought you to a lookout point overlooking the city.

The view was breathtaking, the skyline glittering like stars on the horizon. Wonwoo turned off the engine but left the music playing softly in the background—a familiar tune you couldn't place but found comforting.

He leaned back, resting his arm along the top of his seat as he turned to you. "You've been quiet."

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "Just... thinking."

"About Jeonghan?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "What makes you think—"

"You're bad at hiding it," he interrupted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "And Jeonghan's been... different lately."

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "I don't even know how to explain it. He's always playing these mind games, making me second-guess everything."

Wonwoo's gaze darkened slightly, his usual calm giving way to something sharper. "That's just how he is. But if he's messing with your head, maybe you should take a step back."

You stared at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. "Why do you care so much?"

He didn't answer right away, his jaw tightening as he looked out at the city. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. "Because I don't want to see you get hurt. Not by him. Not by anyone."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, almost on instinct, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on the console.

"Wonwoo..."

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours, and suddenly the space between you felt impossibly small. You didn't know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but before you could think, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow at first, careful and deliberate, as if testing the waters. But then his hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and something shifted.

You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie as the kiss deepened, all the confusion and tension of the past few days melting away in the warmth of his touch.

His lips moved with ceratainty, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. You opened it for him, and that's when your tongues felt like they were tangled.

It was then when he adjusted to lean closer to your seat to kiss you better from different angles, leaving your lips all swollen and red, not because of the lipstick, but because of how he nipped and sucked at your lips like it's the last thing on earth to do.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

"This isn't just attraction anymore," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "At least not for me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his confession crashing over you. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat.

Because as much as you wanted to deny it, part of you knew he was right.

The night felt quieter than usual as Wonwoo drove you home. The streets were empty, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the silence in the car was heavy, not uncomfortable but laden with unspoken words.

"Thanks for tonight," you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly, his profile illuminated by the passing lights. "Anytime," he replied, his voice calm but distant, as if there was something on his mind.

When he pulled up in front of your place, neither of you moved to get out right away. The stillness stretched on until you finally turned to him, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Wonwoo, are you okay?"

He let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Kind of," you teased gently, hoping to lighten the mood.

But he didn't smile. Instead, he turned to face you fully, his dark eyes searching yours. "I'm not good at this... saying how I feel. But tonight, being with you, it just... felt different."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Different how?"

"The way I look at you... it's not just about attraction anymore," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand reached out, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It's more than that. You make me feel things I wasn't prepared for."

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, but the words escaped you. Instead, you leaned forward, your lips finding his in a kiss that started slow, careful, deliberate.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as the kiss deepened. It felt like all the confusion and tension of the past few days melted away in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pulled back, breathless yet again, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

Your heart pounded, but before you could say anything, he leaned back, his hand dropping to his side. "It's late. You should get some rest."

You nodded, slipping out of the car with a soft "goodnight," though the weight of his confession stayed with you long after the door closed behind you.

The Next Morning

The café was unusually busy, but Jeonghan didn't seem to mind. He sat across from you, coffee in hand, his usual playful smirk firmly in place.

"You've been distracted lately," he said, his tone light but his gaze sharp. "Something—or someone—on your mind?"

You rolled your eyes, playing along with his teasing. "Don't flatter yourself, Hannie."

He laughed, reaching across the table to nudge your arm. "See, that's the fire I like. Don't ever lose that."

The two of you lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing, and by the time you left, he had his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his laughter ringing in your ears.

What you didn't notice was the figure standing across the street, watching the two of you with a mixture of hurt and frustration.

Wonwoo stood frozen, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched Jeonghan lean in close, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh. The way you looked at Jeonghan—so relaxed, so comfortable—felt like a punch to the gut.

By the time he turned away, the image of the two of you was burned into his mind, and the questions he'd been wrestling with all night came rushing back with a vengeance.

It started with a text.

Wonwoo: Busy tonight?

You stared at your phone, the memory of Jeonghan's laughter from earlier still fresh in your mind. Wonwoo's timing felt uncanny, almost as if he could sense when you were thinking about someone else.

You: nope You: why Wonwoo: Come over. I found a new game you'll like.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the screen. The invitation felt simple enough, but there was something about the way he asked—direct, no room for excuses—that made your heart skip a beat.

You: whats the game Wonwoo: You'll find out when you get here. Don't keep me waiting.

The last message came with a small but unmistakable sense of urgency, and before you could second-guess yourself, you were grabbing your jacket and heading out the door.

When you arrived at his place, the atmosphere felt different. The usual dim lighting and faint smell of coffee greeted you, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken in the air.

Wonwoo was already setting up the game, his back turned to you as you stepped inside. "I was starting to think you weren't coming," he said without looking up.

"You don't exactly leave much room for saying no," you replied, your tone light but teasing.

He glanced over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Good. I'd hate to lose my gaming partner to... other distractions."

The way he said it made your stomach flip, but you chose to ignore the implication. "So, what's this game you're so excited about?"

"Sit down, and I'll show you."

It had become a thing between the two of you—gaming sessions at Wonwoo's place, where you'd sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, sharing laughter and mild trash talk over the sounds of button-mashing and victories. But tonight felt different. The way his knee brushed against yours when he adjusted his position, the way he leaned a little closer when explaining the controls—it all felt deliberate, as if he was trying to pull you into his orbit.

Tonight was no different, except something felt off. Wonwoo was quieter than usual, his responses shorter, his usual calm demeanor tinged with something heavier.

"Alright, spill it," you said after another round ended, setting your controller down and turning to face him. "What's up with you?"

He didn't look at you immediately, his fingers still hovering over the buttons as if debating whether to start another game. Finally, he sighed and leaned back against the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV screen.

"You're making this really hard for me, you know?" he said, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, confused. "Making what hard?"

"This," he gestured vaguely between the two of you, finally turning to meet your eyes. "Being around you. Pretending I'm okay with... whatever this is."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you were at a loss. "Wonwoo, I—"

"I know," he cut you off gently, running a hand through his hair. "I know you're caught up in something with Jeonghan, and I'm not trying to make this more complicated for you. But I can't keep pretending it doesn't kill me to see you with him."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and before you could think, you reached out, your hand resting on his arm. "Wonwoo..."

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissipate. But then he shifted closer, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn't.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, the kiss slow and searching at first, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, when you instead leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more urgent.

Wonwoo's hands found your waist, pulling you into his lap as the kiss grew more intense. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hitching as your hands slid under the hem of his hoodie, your fingers grazing the warm skin beneath.

"You're driving me crazy," he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"Good," you replied, your own voice breathless as you nipped at his bottom lip.

He groaned, his grip on your waist tightening as he guided you against him, the friction making you both gasp. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that had you arching into him, your hands tangling in his hair.

"Wonwoo," you breathed, his name coming out like a prayer as he continued his assault on your senses.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he explored every inch of skin he could reach. "Tell me if I need to stop," he said, his voice strained but sincere.

"Don't stop," you whispered, your own hands tugging at his hoodie, eager to feel more of him.

His hoodie was the first to go, leaving him in just a plain black t-shirt that clung to his frame. You caught yourself staring for a second too long, but Wonwoo didn't seem to mind. His lips were back on yours before you could even form a coherent thought, his hands slipping under your shirt again, this time more purposeful, more confident.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and edged with restraint.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible but resolute.

That was all the confirmation he needed. In one fluid motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, followed by the unclipping of your bra. His eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts. His hands were back on you immediately, roaming over your bare skin with a mix of reverence and hunger.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there before trailing down to your collarbone. His hands squeezing one of your breasts, thumbs grazing your sensitive nipples.

Heat pooled from your soaked cunt as he kissed his way lower, his hands firmly gripping your hips as if grounding himself. Your own hands found their way under his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, and the sight of him—flushed, disheveled, and entirely focused on you—made your heart race even faster.

When he leaned back to pull you closer, your legs straddling his hips, you felt every inch of him pressed against you, the friction sparking something primal between you. His lips were on yours again, his kiss deeper, hungrier, as his hands slid down to the waistband of your jeans.

"You can still stop me," he murmured against your lips, his fingers pausing just shy of the button.

Your response was immediate. "I don't want to stop."

His lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk before he made quick work of your jeans, tugging them down just enough to leave you exposed to him. He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over you with an intensity that made you feel both vulnerable and desired.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before his hands were on you again, his touch igniting a fire that consumed every thought, every hesitation.

Wonwoo's hands trailed down your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as he mapped out every curve. The heat in his gaze was undeniable, a fire that matched the one building within you. When his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, he paused, his dark eyes flickering to yours.

He slid your underwear down slowly, his lips pressing soft kisses along your inner thigh as he did, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made you tremble beneath him.

When his mouth found your soaked pussy, a gasp tore from your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked you over with an expertise that left you breathless. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to have your hips bucking against him, seeking more.

"Fuck, Wonwoo," you moaned, the sound of his name falling from your lips only spurring him on. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you firmly in place as he pushed you higher against him, his tongue reaching that one spot, your body teetering on the edge of bliss.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. "You taste so good," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he was back over you, his body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it only heightening your arousal. His hand slid between your legs again, his fingers teasing you, sliding through your slick folds before slowly pushing inside.

A cry escaped your lips, your back arching as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. "You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he watched your every reaction. "So perfect."

Your hands roamed his body, desperate to feel every inch of him. When you reached for his waistband, he let out a low chuckle but didn't stop you, his breath hitching as you freed him from his sweats. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and the guttural groan he let out when you stroked him made you feel powerful despite the way he had you unraveling beneath him.

Your palm did well enough, but when you took his cock in your mouth, that's when his precum was leaking out. You bobbed your head and licked the tip of his cock until he finally came in you.

His hot load leaking from your lips as you swallowed hard.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with restraint as he positioned his cock at your entrance. He paused, his gaze locking with yours. "Tell me if it's too much. I don't ever want to hurt you."

You cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I trust you," you whispered against his lips. "Take it in."

With a quiet groan, he pushed into you slowly, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. He stilled once he was fully seated inside you, his breath ragged as he gave you a moment to adjust.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Better than I ever imagined."

You whimpered in response, rolling your hips against him in silent encouragement. He took the hint, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, his movements measured but deep, each stroke drawing a moan from your lips. The way he filled you, stretched you, left you trembling, your body meeting his with every thrust.

"Wonwoo," you gasped, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace, his hands gripping your hips to guide you. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he lost himself in you.

His cock was slamming into you real hard as if there was no time to waste. Your moans only encouraging him to move faster to reach his climax and yours.

The room was filled with the sound of your labored breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin, and the occasional groan or whimper as he drove you both closer to the edge. The intensity of it—the way he worshipped your body, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—had you spiraling, the tension coiling in your stomach until it snapped.

You came undone with a cry, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his groan muffled against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the heavy rhythm of your breathing. Wonwoo finally pulled back, cock dripping with your mixed cum, his lips brushing over your forehead as he gazed down at you with an expression so tender it made your heart ache.

"That wasn't just about lust," he murmured, his voice soft but certain. "Not for me."

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of them sinking in. You wanted to respond, to tell him everything you were feeling, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him into another kiss—slow, lingering, and filled with all the emotions you couldn't yet put into words.

You were almost too smug for your own good, leaning back with a satisfied grin as you glanced at Wonwoo, wearing nothing but his hoodie that was oversized in your frame.

"You got lucky," he grumbled, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Admit it," you teased, leaning toward him, your breath brushing against his ear. "I'm just better than you."

His eyes flickered to yours, a spark of mischief in their depths. "Oh, is that so?"

Before you could react, he reached out, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. You gasped in surprise, dropping the controller as his arms locked around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Wonwoo swore under his breath when he recognizes his scent from your body.

"Still think you're better than me?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You blinked, confused by the sudden change in his energy. "Wonwoo, what are you—"

Before you could finish, his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was anything but playful. It was deep and hungry, the kind that made your knees weak and your heart race.

The controller clattered to the floor, forgotten as your hands instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands roamed over your body, sliding under the hoodie to grip your waist, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a way that made you gasp against his lips.

"God, you're distracting," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours.

"You started it," you shot back breathlessly, your hands clutching at his plain black t-shirt.

"Maybe," he admitted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "But you're going to finish it."

Before you could respond, he reached for the controller with one hand, the other still firmly on your hip. "Let's see if you can focus now," he challenged, restarting the game.

"Wonwoo, you can't be serious—"

"Oh, I'm dead serious," he cut you off, his voice low and teasing as his free hand trailed down to your thigh, squeezing gently.

"What's the matter? Can't handle a little distraction?" he murmured against your neck, his voice low and teasing.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on the game, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of his touch, the way his fingers traced patterns against your inner thigh, slowly inching higher. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, the sensation intensifying with each teasing touch. It was getting harder to keep your eyes on the screen.

"Wonwoo, I swear—" you started, your breath catching in your throat.

But before you could protest further, his hand slid between your legs and grazed on your soaked cunt, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. You gasped, the controller slipping from your hands as your body leaned into his touch. The game was the last thing on your mind now. His fingers were careful, deliberate, and oh so teasing as they brushed against your soaked clit, sending waves of pleasure through you that you couldn't escape.

Wonwoo's teasing turned into something deeper, his desire evident in the way he touched you, his movements becoming more urgent as he lifted you slightly to adjust your position.

"Fuck the game," he muttered against your lips, his patience snapping as he pushed you down onto the couch, his body pressing against yours. "You win."

Your head fell back against the couch, the words tumbling from your lips without thought, every part of you overwhelmed by his touch. You couldn't think straight, couldn't even remember what the game was about as he kissed along your neck, moving lower, his hands never leaving you. His lips, warm and insistent, found your skin, marking it with soft bites and caresses that made you shudder.

"Wonwoo... please..." Your voice was thick with need, and you didn't care that he could hear the desperation in it. You wanted him closer, deeper, as your body arched against his, silently begging for more.

He smiled against your neck, a slow, confident grin that made your pulse spike. "You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

You let out a soft laugh, though it was shaky, breathless. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm not teasing," he murmured, his fingers slipping inside you, drawing out a sharp gasp from your lips. "I'm giving you exactly what you need."

His thumb circled your clit in rhythmic, deliberate movements as his lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans. It was slow, methodical, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building deep in your stomach, the pressure mounting with every stroke of his fingers.

You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, your body pressing into his as if you were trying to become one. The connection between you felt almost overwhelming, like every touch, every kiss, was laced with raw emotion—desire, yes, but something more.

Something tender.

He pulled away for a moment, his eyes searching yours, intense and unguarded. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice soft, filled with genuine concern. It was a question that showed just how much he cared, how much he wanted to make this more than just physical.

Wonwoo positioned the tip of his cock onto the entrance of your pussy.

You nodded, breathless, and smiled up at him. "I'm more than okay."

And with that, he kissed you again, this time with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine, before he shoved his dick in you and began moving faster.

The game continued in the background, forgotten, as you surrendered completely to him. And this time, it was different—it wasn't just about the physical, it was about the intimacy, the way you fit together perfectly in that moment.

He groaned softly against your skin, his movements becoming more urgent. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Your hands slid down his chest, your nails grazing lightly over his skin as you urged him on. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice thick with need. "Please don't stop."

He didn't.

The way he continued thrusting in you felt like a bliss. Every hard slam with his balls slapping your already-soaked ass added to the heat of everything.

The night had been nothing but kisses, gaming, sex, gaming, and sex.

Wonwoo grabbed one of your legs up to get him a better angle before thrusting real hard into you. His heart pounding like never before.

And when it finally came—when that wave of pleasure crashed over you both—it was nothing short of overwhelming. You clung to each other, bodies trembling as the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together, lost in the moment.

As you both slowly came down from the high, Wonwoo kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"And you're a sore loser," you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips even as your heart raced.

He laughed lowly, a sound that made your pulse spike, and leaned down to kiss you again. "Maybe. But I think I'm about to make up for it."

Wonwoo brushed your hair back from your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek as his dark, smoldering gaze softened. "You know, I wasn't just talking about the game earlier," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Your breath caught at the sudden shift in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're incredible," he repeated, his fingers tracing along your jawline. "Not just here, not just now. I mean everything about you. You drive me crazy in ways I didn't even know were possible."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. For a moment, you didn't know how to respond, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. But instead of fumbling for the right thing to say, you cupped his face, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone as you leaned in.

Your kiss was slow and deliberate, a silent answer to the emotions swirling between you. He responded immediately, his lips moving against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as though he wanted to pour every unspoken word into that kiss.

When you pulled back just enough to rest your foreheads together, you whispered, "You mean just as much to me, Wonwoo. Maybe even more."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips. "That's impossible."

The teasing edge to his voice made you smirk, the playful tension between you rekindling. "Guess we'll have to agree to disagree," you quipped, your fingers gliding down the firm planes of his chest, now bare and warm under your touch.

His lips curved into a wicked grin, his gaze darkening as his hands roamed over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve. "Still feeling smug, huh? Should I knock you down a peg?"

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The sofa creaked beneath you as he shifted his weight, his body pressing more firmly into yours. His fingers trailed lower, tracing lazy circles along your thigh before gripping it and hitching it higher around his waist.

"Smug? No," you teased, your voice breathless. "Just confident."

Wonwoo let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling against your skin. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, he dipped his head, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His tongue teased yours, slow and deliberate, his kisses deep and unrelenting as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers skillfully reigniting the fire that hadn't had time to die down.

You gasped against his mouth, your back arching off the couch as he explored you, his touch knowing and intentional. "Wonwoo," you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with desire and something deeper, something raw. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to kiss you again.

The rhythm of his touch became more insistent, drawing soft moans from you as your fingers dug into his shoulders. He didn't rush—each movement was deliberate, every touch meant to drive you closer to the edge.

"You're driving me crazy," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with need.

"Good," he muttered, his lips trailing down to your neck, leaving a line of heated kisses as his hand disappeared to adjust himself. "Because you've been driving me insane all night."

Before you could respond, he lined his cock up and pushed into your cunt with one slow, deliberate thrust, your bodies melding together perfectly. Your pussy had already recognized the way his cock seemed to slip in you, it still had you gasping, your nails raking down his back as he buried himself completely, his breath coming out in a shaky groan against your ear.

The pace was slower this time, more intimate, but no less intense. Every thrust was deliberate, his hips rolling into yours as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you. His lips found yours again, silencing your cries as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your waist to keep you steady beneath him.

The air between you was thick with heat and unspoken emotions, your bodies moving together as if they'd been made for this—made for each other. His name spilled from your lips in breathless whispers, your hands roaming his back, his chest, desperate to feel more of him.

"Look at me," he demanded softly, his voice strained. When your eyes met his, the intensity in his gaze nearly undid you. "I want to see you. Every part of you."

Your heart ached at the raw vulnerability in his tone, your chest tightening as you reached up to cup his face. "Wonwoo..."

He leaned into your touch, his movements growing more urgent as he chased both your highs, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "I love this," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of your labored breaths. "I love you."

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the world, the room, the lingering tension that had always existed between you. There was only him, and the way he made you feel whole.

Your body tensed beneath him, the pleasure building until it finally crested, leaving you trembling and crying out his name. Wonwoo wasn't far behind, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside you, his groan vibrating against your skin.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your heavy breathing, your bodies still tangled together on the sofa. Wonwoo shifted slightly, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You win," he muttered, his lips curving into a tired but satisfied smile.

You laughed, the sound light and breathless as you nuzzled into his chest. "Damn right, I do."

He chuckled, his hand trailing lazily down your back. "But you're still wearing my hoodie next time we game," he teased, his voice low and teasing. "You're too distracting without it."

"And you're not?" you shot back, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"Fair point," he admitted, his grin widening as he pulled you into another kiss, one filled with unspoken promises and endless possibilities.

You and Wonwoo were still wrapped up in the warmth of each other's embrace, your body pressed snugly against his as you both lay tangled on the sofa. The soft glow of the paused game screen flickered across the room, the controllers forgotten on the floor amidst the aftermath of your intimacy.

Wonwoo's fingers traced lazy patterns along your bare back, his lips occasionally brushing against your forehead in quiet affection. You were just beginning to drift into that blissful post-climactic haze when the sharp sound of a knock broke through the quiet.

"Wonwoo," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door. "I'm here for the CD. Open up."

Your heart dropped into your stomach. "Oh my god," you whispered, your eyes wide as you shot up, scrambling to pull the throw blanket over your completely naked body.

Wonwoo cursed under his breath, sitting up as well. "Shit. I forgot he was coming."

"You forgot?" you hissed, grabbing at the nearest piece of clothing—Wonwoo's hoodie—but realizing it wasn't enough to cover you entirely.

"He said he'd stop by today, but I wasn't exactly thinking about it in the moment!" Wonwoo muttered, running a hand through his messy hair, now tousled from your earlier activities.

Another knock came, this time sharper, with Jeonghan's unmistakable impatience seeping through. "I can hear you in there. Don't make me wait, Wonwoo."

Your eyes met Wonwoo's in a silent panic. He quickly threw on his discarded black t-shirt and sweatpants, his movements hurried but calculated as he adjusted himself to look as composed as possible. Meanwhile, you grabbed the throw blanket and curled up at the corner of the couch, doing your best to look casual despite the unmistakable heat still lingering between you.

Wonwoo opened the door, and there stood Jeonghan, looking as effortless as ever in his beige trench coat and sharp gaze. He didn't bother with pleasantries, stepping into the apartment as if he owned the place.

"I told you I needed the CD back today," Jeonghan said, his tone light but edged with something sharper. His eyes flickered briefly to Wonwoo before scanning the room—and stopping dead when they landed on you.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he took in your disheveled appearance, the way the blanket was draped over you, and the faint blush still coloring your cheeks. "Oh," he said, his voice dipping into a dangerous kind of curiosity.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, trying to draw Jeonghan's attention away. "It's, uh, on the shelf. I'll grab it for you."

Jeonghan didn't move, his sharp eyes now pinned on Wonwoo. "Am I interrupting something?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Wonwoo, on the other hand, let out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "No, we were just gaming," he lied, but the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

Jeonghan's brow quirked as he slowly crossed his arms. "Gaming," he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief. His gaze darted back to you, lingering on the blanket and the clear absence of any actual gaming activity.

"It's just a little warm in here," you blurted out, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan's lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was no humor in his expression. "Right. Warm."

Wonwoo returned with the CD, holding it out to Jeonghan. "Here. You can go now."

But Jeonghan didn't take it right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes darting between the two of you. "This is the game you wanted to show her, isn't it?" he asked Wonwoo, his tone casual but laced with meaning.

Wonwoo stiffened, his jaw clenching slightly. "Yeah. It is."

Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, finally taking the CD from Wonwoo's hand. "Took you long enough," he said, turning the case over in his hands. Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he glanced back at you.

"You've got good taste in games," Jeonghan remarked, his gaze lingering just a little too long. "I wonder if that extends to... other things."

The air grew heavier, the tension crackling like static electricity as Jeonghan's words hung in the air. You could feel your pulse racing, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket as Wonwoo's posture shifted, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Jeonghan," Wonwoo said, his voice low and warning.

But Jeonghan just smirked, slipping the CD into his coat pocket. "Relax," he said smoothly. "I'm just making an observation."

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. But just before stepping out, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Enjoy your game," he said, his eyes locking with yours for a moment longer than necessary. Then he was gone, leaving behind an air of unease that neither you nor Wonwoo could shake.

The door had barely clicked shut behind Jeonghan when you exhaled shakily, the weight of his lingering presence still pressing on you. Wonwoo paced in front of the sofa, his jaw tight, and his hands clenched into fists. You could see the storm brewing inside him—frustration, jealousy, and a simmering anger that he was trying to keep under control.

"I should go with him," you blurted out, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Wonwoo stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping toward you. "What?"

You adjusted the blanket around you, avoiding his eyes. "I need to explain things to him. He knows, Wonwoo. He's not stupid. If I don't clear this up, it's just going to get worse—for all of us."

Wonwoo's expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "So, what? You're just going to run after him and... what? Smooth it over with some bullshit excuse? Jeonghan doesn't care about explanations. He's probably already twisting this into whatever narrative suits him best."

You stood, the blanket slipping slightly as you moved to grab Wonwoo's hoodie from the floor. "I can handle him. You know I can."

Wonwoo stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. "This isn't just about handling him. Do you seriously think he's going to let you walk out of there without digging deeper? Without trying to... to turn this into something else?"

You pulled the hoodie over your head, the familiar scent of Wonwoo enveloping you like a second skin. "And what do you suggest I do? Sit here and let him assume whatever he wants? Let him keep showing up, throwing out veiled threats and smirks until we all lose our minds?"

Wonwoo's hands found your arms, his grip firm but not rough. "You stay. With me. Let him stew in his own suspicions—who cares what he thinks?" His voice softened slightly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't want you to go."

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his gaze, but you shook your head. "Wonwoo, this isn't just about us. Jeonghan's your friend, your teammate. If we don't handle this carefully, it's going to blow up in all of our faces. Let me do this. For both of us."

He hesitated, his grip faltering as he weighed your words. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he let go, stepping back. "Fine. But don't let him manipulate you, okay? He's... he's good at that."

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was pounding. "I won't."

With that, you slipped on your shoes and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway where Jeonghan was leaning casually against the wall, as if he'd been waiting. His sharp eyes flicked to you, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

"Changed your mind?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze far too calculating for comfort.

"It's late," you said evenly, crossing your arms. "Wonwoo thought it'd be better if I went with you."

Jeonghan's smirk widened as he straightened, pushing off the wall. "Of course he did."

The two of you walked toward the elevator in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. It wasn't until you were both inside, the doors sliding shut, that Jeonghan finally broke the quiet.

"So," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. "How long has this been going on?"

You turned to him, your expression carefully neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on. Give me some credit. The disheveled look, the way you wouldn't meet my eyes, Wonwoo acting like a deer caught in headlights—do you really think I don't know?"

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. "It's none of your business, Jeonghan."

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small space. "See, that's where you're wrong. It is my business—because whatever's happening between you two is already affecting him. And if it affects him, it affects me."

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "What do you want from me, Jeonghan? An apology? Fine. I'm sorry if this complicates things for you, but it's not your place to judge."

Jeonghan's expression shifted, the smirk fading as something darker flickered in his eyes. "I'm not judging," he said quietly, his voice almost too calm. "I'm warning you. Wonwoo's not the only one who knows how to play games."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, breaking the tension. Jeonghan stepped out first, turning back to look at you with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Let's see how well you handle this, hmm?"

As you stepped out of the elevator with Jeonghan, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, studying every shift in your expression. The silence stretched as you walked toward the parking lot, your nerves taut with anticipation.

When Jeonghan finally spoke, his voice was as smooth as ever, but there was a sharpness underneath. "You know, I almost didn't come by tonight. Figured I'd give you two more time to... bond."

You stiffened, but kept your voice steady. "You're reading too much into this."

He hummed, unlocking his car with a casual flick of his wrist. "Am I? You're wearing his hoodie. That doesn't exactly scream subtle, does it?"

You glanced down at the fabric, suddenly hyperaware of how it clung to you, still warm with the scent of Wonwoo. "It's just a hoodie, Jeonghan."

He opened the passenger door for you, his smirk returning as he gestured for you to get in. "Right. Just a hoodie."

The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. Jeonghan didn't push, didn't prod—he just let the silence stretch, knowing it would fray your nerves more than words ever could.

Finally, he broke it with a question that felt more like a trap. "Did he tell you about the game?"

You frowned, caught off guard. "What game?"

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head as he turned onto the main road. "The one he's been obsessing over for weeks. The one he wanted to show you."

Your breath hitched. Of course. The CD. You hadn't even realized it was the same one he'd been talking about that night.

Jeonghan noticed your reaction immediately, his smirk widening. "Guess not. Too busy with... other things, I suppose."

You shot him a sharp look. "If you've got something to say, just say it, Jeonghan."

He pulled into a small café, the kind that stayed open late, and parked the car. Turning to you, he leaned against the steering wheel, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "What's your endgame here?"

The question caught you off guard. "What are you talking about?"

He tilted his head, his gaze unrelenting. "With Wonwoo. With me. With whatever this is. You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart, and I'm not sure you even realize it."

You bristled at his tone, but before you could respond, he got out of the car, motioning for you to follow. Inside the café, the dim lighting and soft hum of conversation provided a strange sense of calm, though the tension between you and Jeonghan remained electric.

Over steaming cups of coffee, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "You're trying to fix this, aren't you? Trying to keep everyone happy, keep the peace. But you've already made your choice."

You frowned, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. "And what choice is that?"

Jeonghan's smile was slow, calculated. "You stayed with him. You didn't run when I walked in. That says a lot."

Your grip tightened on your mug, the heat seeping into your skin. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" he countered, his gaze piercing. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've already picked a side. You just don't want to admit it."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the table. Wonwoo's name lit up the screen, and Jeonghan's eyes flicked to it, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

"Speak of the devil," he murmured, leaning back in his chair.

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you reached for the phone. But before you could answer, Jeonghan's hand shot out, his fingers brushing against yours as he slid the phone away.

"Let him wait," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at him, caught between frustration and something you couldn't quite name. "What are you trying to do, Jeonghan?"

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Just testing the waters. Seeing how far you'll go to protect him—or yourself."

As the tension in the café thickened, your fingers twitched, itching to pick up the phone, but Jeonghan's grip on it was firm, his fingers brushing against yours just a second too long, sending a jolt of something through you. His eyes locked onto yours, almost daring you to make a move.

"Jeonghan, let me answer," you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, the frustration barely masked by the cool facade you were trying to hold up.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk. "Why? So you can pretend everything's fine with him? That you're not tangled up in this mess already?"

You swallowed, the words stinging more than you wanted to admit. His eyes were practically burning into yours, waiting for a crack, a sign of weakness. And before you could stop yourself, you found yourself speaking before thinking.

"You don't understand," you said, your voice low but steady. "This isn't about choosing sides. It's about—"

"About what?" Jeonghan interrupted, cutting you off smoothly, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes. "Tell me. Is it about keeping everything under control? Because, trust me, darling, I can see it. You think you have all the power, don't you? But you're just as tangled in this as the rest of us."

His words sliced through the air, and you froze, the weight of them settling like a heavy blanket around you. You didn't know how to respond, how to argue against what he was saying. It was hard not to feel like he was right—like you were walking a tightrope between both of them, trying to balance something you didn't even know you wanted.

Just then, your phone buzzed again—this time, Wonwoo's name lighting up the screen, flashing with urgency. The phone vibrated against the table, the sound loud in the silence. You reached for it without thinking, but Jeonghan's hand was faster.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, stilling you. His grip was gentle but firm, and for a moment, you couldn't move. You looked at him, your pulse quickening at the proximity. The tension between you two felt like it was about to snap.

"Don't answer," Jeonghan whispered, leaning in, his breath hot against your ear. "Let him wonder. Let him feel what it's like to be on the outside for once."

You inhaled sharply, your breath catching in your throat at how close he was. His thumb traced lightly across your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. And even though you knew you should pull away, there was something magnetic about his touch, something that made you question everything you thought you knew about loyalty and desire.

But before you could fully process the moment, the door to the café swung open, and the sound of footsteps echoed across the room.

Wonwoo.

You felt your heart skip a beat as your gaze shot to him, standing at the entrance, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. His expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched tight, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"Jeonghan," he said, voice low, like a warning. "You're not—"

But Jeonghan wasn't fazed. He didn't even look up, still holding onto your wrist with a gentle but insistent pressure. "I'm just making sure we're all on the same page. Aren't we, sweetheart?" he purred, eyes flicking over to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo's nostrils flared, his gaze flickering to you, his eyes softening just a fraction before hardening again. "Let go of her."

You could feel the tension snap like a live wire, the air between the three of you crackling with something you couldn't quite put into words. Jeonghan's smile didn't falter as he finally released your wrist, but there was something dangerous in the way he looked at Wonwoo.

"Why don't you take a seat, Wonwoo? We were just talking about how much of a mess all of this is. Don't you think it's time you joined the conversation?"

Wonwoo stepped forward, his fists clenched, but you could see the war raging in his mind—between walking away and confronting Jeonghan right there, in front of you. His voice was low, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't your business."

"Isn't it?" Jeonghan said with a cold chuckle. "You're both tangled in something you can't even control. You think this is some kind of game, but it's not. It's real. And now... the question is, which one of you will claim what's already slipping through your fingers?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, caught between the two of them, the world spinning as the air in the café seemed to close in around you. You wanted to scream, to stop this madness, but something inside you told you this was just the beginning of something bigger, something that would tear all of you apart.

With Wonwoo standing there, muscles tense, his eyes burning with something unspoken, and Jeonghan smiling like the puppeteer he was, you realized that no matter what choice you made next, nothing would ever be the same again.

The drive home was silent, save for the hum of the car engine and the occasional shift in the seats. Wonwoo didn't say anything, and neither did you. You were both still processing what had happened—the tension between you, Jeonghan's unexpected arrival, and the fact that everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something much bigger.

When you arrived home, Wonwoo parked the car in the driveway but didn't immediately turn off the engine. He glanced over at you, his face soft but burdened.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, even though you weren't sure if you were. "I'm fine," you muttered, but it was more for his sake than anything.

He reached over, placing a hand on yours, his thumb rubbing gently over your skin. "You don't have to pretend for me, you know."

You felt the weight of his words. The evening had shifted something in you, and you weren't sure where it was leading. "I just... don't know what to do about Jeonghan. Or us." Your voice trailed off, heavy with the unsaid.

Wonwoo sighed, a mixture of frustration and understanding in his eyes. "It's not easy," he admitted. "But I'm here for you. Always."

You leaned against his shoulder, closing your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. After a long moment, you finally spoke again, your voice small. "I don't want to lose either of you."

Wonwoo didn't answer at first, but when he did, it was with such a quiet certainty that it made your heart race. "You won't. Just... let me figure things out with you."

He walked you to your door, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead before heading back to his car, leaving you standing in the doorway, lost in the silence.

The Next Day at Work:

The office felt colder than usual when you arrived. Your heart sank as soon as you saw Jeonghan. He didn't even acknowledge you. It wasn't like him to ignore you, but there he was, sitting at his desk, completely absorbed in his work.

You walked toward him, hoping to get a word in. "Jeonghan?" you asked quietly, trying to catch his attention.

He didn't look up, and the coldness in his demeanor made your chest tighten. "Busy," he said curtly, not even sparing you a glance.

The sting of his indifference hit harder than you expected. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Were you supposed to apologize? Or was it something else? Before you could gather the courage to say anything more, Wonwoo appeared, stepping between you and Jeonghan.

"Hey," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but firm, a protective stance around you. "You should go take a break, Y/N. I'll handle things here."

You blinked, feeling both grateful and conflicted. But as you walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that everything between the three of you had shifted in ways you couldn't fix overnight.

Later That Day:

You were sitting in the break room when Wonwoo found you, a cup of coffee in hand. He slid into the chair next to you, not saying anything at first. The silence between you felt familiar but different now.

"Jeonghan's... not speaking to me," you said, the words coming out before you could stop them. "I don't know what to do."

Wonwoo leaned in, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You don't have to fix everything right now," he murmured. "Take it slow. Let him come around, if he does. But I'm here for you."

You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to let the comfort of his presence sink in. Despite the chaos of the situation, there was a small part of you that felt safe in his arms.

The next day at work felt like stepping into a different dimension. Jeonghan’s presence had always been a constant—a mix of charm and sharp remarks that kept you on your toes—but now, it was as if he’d built an invisible wall around himself.

You caught sight of him as soon as you walked into the office. He was leaning against the desk near the window, flipping through some documents, but his eyes didn’t so much as glance in your direction. Normally, he’d throw in a sly comment or even a teasing smirk just to annoy you. Today? Nothing.

You tried not to let it bother you, but as the hours ticked by, his cold shoulder was impossible to ignore. He barely acknowledged your presence during the team meeting, speaking only when necessary and directing his comments to everyone but you. The tension was palpable, and it made concentrating on your tasks a Herculean effort.

By lunchtime, you’d had enough. As he stood by the coffee machine, you approached cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jeonghan,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t look up right away. When he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something distant and closed off. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, turning his attention back to his coffee cup.

The words stung more than you wanted to admit, but you weren’t about to give up. “Please,” you pressed, stepping closer. “I know something’s wrong. Can we at least clear the air?”

Jeonghan sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he set his cup down. For a moment, it looked like he might relent, but then he shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his tone clipped. “Just focus on your work.”

His words were like a slap to the face. You blinked, struggling to keep your composure. “If this is about Wonwoo—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply, his gaze finally locking onto yours. His eyes, usually so warm and full of mischief, were cold and piercing now. “Don’t bring him into this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let yourself break in front of him. “Fine,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you want it.”

The silence between you and Jeonghan was as heavy as the weight in your chest. His hands remained tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, his jaw tight, his gaze somewhere beyond you. For a second, you thought he’d finally say something, but he only let out a quiet exhale, the faintest fog of breath forming in the cold air.

You took a hesitant step forward. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice trembling, unsure if it was from the cold or the overwhelming tension. “I don’t—” You bit down on your lip, searching for words that wouldn’t make things worse. “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but I just need you to hear me out.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and guarded, but he didn’t speak.

Your stomach churned. “It wasn’t—” You struggled, the words tangling in your throat. “It’s not what you think it is.”

Jeonghan’s laugh was bitter, sharp like the snap of a twig underfoot. “Isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. The question hung in the air, daring you to answer.

“I—” Your voice faltered, and for the first time, you felt the hot prick of tears welling in your eyes. You blinked them away, refusing to cry now—not here, not in front of him. But the lump in your throat grew heavier.

Jeonghan’s expression hardened. “You’re unbelievable,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of the usual playfulness or charm you associated with him. It stung more than you cared to admit. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Jeonghan, please, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially not you.”

For a moment, his mask slipped. His eyes softened, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man who used to tease you with sly smiles and effortless charm. But just as quickly, the vulnerability disappeared, replaced by that same cold, distant stare.

“I don’t think it matters what you wanted,” he said finally, his voice low, almost pained. “Because it’s already happened.” He shook his head and took a step back, the distance between you growing in more ways than one. “I need to go.”

“Jeonghan, wait—”

But he was already turning away, the echo of his footsteps fading into the night. You stood there, frozen, the tears you had fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over.

The sound of a door creaking open pulled you out of your daze. You turned to see Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene. He didn’t say anything, just held out a hand, inviting you back inside.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand. Then, with a deep, shaky breath, you walked back toward him, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelope you as he pulled you inside.

He didn’t ask what happened, didn’t push for answers. Instead, he guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a blanket and sitting beside you. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if to remind you that, no matter what, he was here.

The silence was comforting this time, a stark contrast to the tension that had followed Jeonghan’s departure. But even as Wonwoo’s thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, offering a quiet kind of reassurance, you couldn’t shake the lingering ache in your chest.

Because no matter how warm Wonwoo’s touch was, no matter how safe you felt beside him, the rift between you, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo was something that wouldn’t heal easily.

And deep down, you weren’t sure if it ever could.

an: ik its way too dramatic but lmao. you stayed till the end you definitely deserve an award. iloveyou.

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere

@lovrchl @codeinebelle @httpnamu-u @httpnamjoonie94 @6nadia9

@jjonghaniee @ateez-atiny380 @squishysquishjimin @jeonghaniya @thelost-soul

@foulcolorclodoaf-blog @133456789000000000000 @sunshinewonu @forsoonie @fyvubub

@soleihea @seuncheolcherrybaby @sigxx123 @hjs953012 @caratochan

@smileflawerr @indianmiss @kunfused0101 @jades-archive @i69flora

@whore-anghae @fyvubub @bemysolaces @09yyeol @kaepjjangiya

THANK YOU FOR READINGGG MWUAAAHH ! <3

knowing yall enjoyed this ongoing shitshow makes me really happy. all the late nights and used up free times writing this makes me really super extra happyyyy. loveyou guyyssss mwauuuuaaahhhh !

reblog / comment to be added on the taglist.

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hadesknockedupintheunderworld · 3 months ago

Note

What would movie Tails think about Tails Sails Mangey and Nine?

Hohoho...

Just to warn you in advance then, my answers will be a mixture of canon interpretation and headcanon.

ㅤ

Prime!Tails:

First impression:

I think in the case of Prime Tails, he'd largely see the similarities and be like "Oh! We're the same!" Whether it's a first meeting or meeting him from afar, I think he would have a healthy mix between seeing him literally as another him, while also wondering just how similar they actually are.

After getting to know him:

At this point, Movie!Tails would know just how similar and different he and Prime!Tails are. Ultimately though I think he'd be surprised by how similar they turned out in personality and image regardless. Other than that, I think Movie!Tails would be jealous that Prime!Tails' Sonic actually saved him from bullies and that they've been able to adventure and be best friends for so long. Movie!Tails would probably hope his relationship with Sonic could become as strong as theirs one day, while also taking it as a sign that it will be.

ㅤ

Sails:

First impression:

Definitely "A pirate me?" I think he'd wonder how Sails became a pirate or whether he was just kind of born into it. If they get a first meeting though, I think Movie!Tails' first impression would be that Sails is surprisingly nice for a pirate (not that Sails is usually nice to the first random people he meets (*cough* the first meeting with Sonic *cough*) but Movie!Tails doesn't know that). He would find him friendly, and he'd assume that Sails' contraption is exemplary of him still being a tech/mechanical guy in this universe.

After getting to know him:

I think he'd still consider Sails a pirate version of himself, but he'd see that Sails isn't necessarily a peach either. He's still a pirate, and he still itches for excitement, but he's also loyal to his crew and his friends, something that movie!Tails can respect.

Now, Prime never really gave us backstories for anyone other than some of the New Yoke variants. Personally, I like to headcanon that Sails was an outcast on his island, and he was in a bad spot when Dread first found him. I like to headcanon that post his initial failure to get the Devil's Lighthouse, he still couldn't ditch the sea life. So, though he wanted to put himself in a position where he'd never zero in on that treasure and hurt people again, he still needed a crew to continue the sea living. With this, the idea is that Dread picked up his crew members out of bad spots and offered for them to join his crew. Under this framework, my personal headcanon is that it was Dread that saved Sails (either by directly confronting his bullies or by taking him in while he was in poor spot health wise in the wake of his treatment as an outcast). If this was the case, I think Movie!Tails would be surprised at the knowledge that this world doesn't have a Sonic, but he'd definitely be able to relate to Sails. I think he'd be able to understand why being a pirate on the Angel's Voyage is home to him by relating the similarities in their lives.

Anyhow, the tech/mechanics thing. With getting to know him, Movie!Tails would find out (as Sonic did) where his strengths lay. Sails has a natural talent for it of course, but he gets his start in "contraption making". His world does not have the same technology as Movie!Tails' world.

ㅤ

Mangey:

First impression:

I must admit, if he watches how Mangey acts out of context, his first impression would probably be that Mangey is "me but crazy" or have questions about his intelligence level. As long as Movie!Tails doesn't present himself as a threat and make a bad first impression on Mangey, though, in a first meeting he'd probably thing of Mangey as a sweet little thing.

After getting to know him:

If you spend a while with Mangey you get to understand who he is and his situation better, and Movie!Tails is no exception to this. He may even feel a bit ashamed for assuming that Mangey was "crazy" or "savage". While he can't personally relate with Mangey quite as well as he could with the others, I think he'd still be able to relate with that idea of having found home. I also think he'd logically end up learning of Mangey's inate technological talent as well and would patiently learn how to communicate with him. Not that any of that is easy, it's just that I think at some point Movie!Tails would "see the signs" so to speak and realize that even though Mangey is different and life is different for people here in general, he's still a person with thoughts and feelings. I can also see him apologizing for how he initially saw and/or treated Mangey.

ㅤ

Nine:

First impression:

It depends upon what era of Nine's life Movie!Tails sees him in or meets him in. In general though, I think he would see Nine as "me but a villain" at worst, and "bad end me" at best. Nine is a version of himself who is isolated and also doesn't have a Sonic, so though Movie!Tails' opinions are dependent on how much knows at this point, I can see him at baseline feeling a bit sorry for Nine. Even if he thinks Nine is a bad guy who caused all of these problems, I think he would baseline feel sorry after imagining a possibility in which Nine was him.

Idk. Like I said his opinions would be very context heavy. If his first impression was like. S3 Nine at his worst, I can see him sort of shutting down the empathy center and just seeing him as a bad guy. But if he's just seeing him pre-meeting Sonic, being bullied or trying to stay isolated, he would just straight up feel bad for his living situation. It's...nuanced.

After getting to know him:

I think in a way the level to which he relates to Nine would be a little scary. It wasn't scary with Prime!Tails because the two aren't terribly different on the surface. Just two people who met Sonic and became heroes in a bit of a different way.

But if he learns Nine's story, where Prime!Tails' story is interesting in it's similarities and differences, a story that holds shared happiness in finding someone like Sonic to look up to and relate to, Nine's story is more terrifying in the ways Movie!Tails relates. In its most basic and shallow form, Nine's backstory is exemplary of what would happen if there was no Sonic (or if there was no one who would save Tails from bullies or inspire him). Even before meeting Movie!Sonic, Movie!Tails was already a tech and mechanical guy. We know he straight up had traps and weapons in his backpack, he'd developed the Miles Electric, and could fly a plane. With Nine's story as reference, I personally headcanon that if Movie!Tails hadn't started watching Movie!Sonic live and become fixated on him as someone he could relate to, he would have had a similar end as Nine (code: just trying to isolate himself from others so he won't be hurt again).

Essentially, I think that if Movie!Tails got to know Nine's story, it would probably shake him to see what might have happened had he never learned about Sonic, and had he eventually taken it upon himself to get rid of his bullies permanently. And I think if he knew how things turned out for Nine by the end of Sonic Prime, he would feel very sorry for him (both for his great loneliness and in not being able to be around Sonic or really, truly at home).

In other words, complicated feelings. Nine's reality would probably make him feel uncomfortable, but in the end, Movie!Tails would want for him to be happy and truly "home" as well.

ㅤ

Thank you for the ask, anon! While I see most versions of Tails as surprisingly judgy (surprisingly in the way that they can be a bit surface level and dependent on first impressions), I think especially when it comes to other versions of himself Movie!Tails would become more sympathetic or empathetic upon actually getting to know them. And since none of these four are really bad guys at the end of the day, I think he'd be willing to see them subvert his initial impressions of them.

#sonic the hedgehog #tails the fox #sonic prime #sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #nine the fox #mangey the fox #sails the fox #nine sonic prime #miles nine prower #sails sonic prime #miles sails prower #miles mangey prower #movie tails #i just be ramblin #anon interview #good tldr here is that the first impressions are largely surface level but he'd become more empathetic/understanding after getting to know #them. The similarities between him and Prime!Tails would be comforting #and he'd be jealous over some of the differences.#The similarities between him and Nine would be scarier and uncomfortable‚ and in their differences he'd feel both glad he didn't turn out #the same way and sorry that Nine doesn't have the same things he (Movie!Tails) has.#If anon or anyone else has any other questions they'd like to ask pertaining to these characters or anything else‚ feel free to shoot me #another ask!🥰#Something I also didn't really mention in the body of the post is that no version of Tails to me is a 100% pure good guy through and throug #So with Prime!Tails for example‚ the surface level bit is him wondering whether his appearance is completely genuine or whether he's a bit #more...secretly morally grey #long post

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fushitoru · 1 month ago

Text

ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! a gojo satoru fic/drabble

cw: gojo x reader, established relationship, fluff LOLLL, gojo being a pathetic loser for his gf, use of baby, babe, reader referred to as gf and wears makeup, gojo being jealous, crack, based off this (instagram link)

"Ranking types of hugs I'd be comfortable with another guy giving my girlfriend." Satoru squints at the scene, reading out the caption on the TikTok as he watches the guy on the screen, long ass spider legs laid out on the couch while waiting for you to get ready. Curiously, he clicks on the filter without fully watching the video and starts filming to generate the different types of hugs.

"A back hug." The curious smile on his face slowly fades away as a grimace takes place as he gains the thousand yard stare. "Nine. Okay, not at a good start so far—"

He groans, face scrunching in pain as he exhales out at what he sees on the screen: slow dance hug. Then, he imagines you, a man's hand on your waist and you smiling just like those stupid fucking drawings at someone who's not him—"Ten. Oh my fucking god."

Clutching the lower half of his face, he looks concentrated as he waits for the shuffler to give him some less painful option, groaning in pain once again, looking back at the scene, and then groaning again. "One armed hug," he strains out, blindly reaching for the lowest number he could rank it as.

The filter shuffles yet again, and he's almost in tears, groaning immediately on instinct but then doubling back at his screen. "Polite hug." He contemplates it. "Okay, a two, not so bad, not so—"

A pause. "A classic hug." He stares at the screen like it just betrayed him, until he decides it's not so bad. Reluctantly, he ranks it at three.

Then, he waits for the filter to give him another painful vision, and it delivers. "A slow catcher hug—oh my godddd." Satoru is shaking his head, eyes teary as he groans loudly at the though of you jumping up to another man, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in for a hug. If someone was listening to him, it would seem like he was dying with the way he was covering his mouth, shaking his head, and exclaiming "what the fuck"'s as he stared at his phone screen in sheer shock.

Unfortunately for you, you were within earshot, blending in your blush and doing finishing touches as you heard Satoru's shrieks coming in from the living room. He seemed to be on the edge of tears, and worriedly, you set down your brush and rushed to where his sobs were coming from.

And there he was: in fetal position, phone on the floor as he shook his head as if in shock. "Baby," you hurried to him, grabbing his face so you could figure out what was making him so distressed.

He didn't seem to be injured as he meets your eyes, upset. "I can't do this bruh," he laments while turning to be on his back and rubbing his eyes. You just look at him confused.

"Do what?"

He turns, and pauses. Scans you in your champagne dress for the fancy place he was taking you and the way you did your makeup so sultry. It's just for him, but after the events of that Tiktok—that's now stopped filming—all he feels is petty jealousy because other guys can see you like this.

Out of nowhere, he declares, "I can fight."

You blink. "What?"

"I can fight," he repeats, nodding emphatically as if trying to convince himself. Then, after a beat: "Why do I have such a pretty girlfriend?" He groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Baby, why do you look so good right now?"

While he does this, you inspect him for any signs of injuries or things that could've caused him this much distress. Finding none and used to his theatrics, you sigh and pat his cheek. "I’m going to finish getting ready," you say, deciding he’s not in mortal peril after all.

As you return to your vanity, Satoru calls after you, still sulking. "Just so you know, I ranked the polite hug at two. Because I love you. And I can fight."

"Good to know, Satoru."

a/n lowk spiderman!gojo coded. i love writing fluff i would lowk want to write this for nanami i feel like he would slowly grow more and more jealous LMAOAO

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mrchoppedslefthand · 2 months ago

Text

Homicipher Random Headcanons/Scenarios [NSFW]

Edit:11/07/2024

I desperately needed to post the random head canons and scenarios of our husbands that my brain kept cooking up (+ some from discord friends), so the list is not organized. Also, since we shape shift, I'm going to assume we can choose whenever we have a cock or pussy (because I want to be fucked and do the fucking) Anyways...enjoy the food thought.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped Mr. Silvair, Mr. Hood, Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Warnings: mentions of NSFW, mentions of some canon-typical violence, implications of dubcon, mentions of somnophilia, implied cuckold

Mr. Crawling

He can be submissive top. Constantly asking you if you love him during intimacy. He would ask if you enjoy playing with him as you pound yourself onto him. He would be a moaning mess and probably wouldn't know what to do about it as he clumsily places his hands around your waist.

He would definitely eat you out without you asking once intimacy had been initiated.

Afraid of hurting you, he wouldn't be too rough, instead he would be more tender and gentler when it comes to intimacy.

He definitely would love it when you play with his hair, allowing you to braid it or do whatever as long it doesn't involve cutting his precious hair.

He actually gets jealous easily, but he doesn't verbalize it, instead he shows it through his actions.

He is better with his hands, than his cock. So sometimes you prefer that over his cock. His cock is more on the average/smaller side and it's cute.

He definitely has a praise kink.

Mr. Chopped

He lacks a body, so to make up for it he is extremely expressive and open with his feelings. Which makes him a little fun to bully, to see all those cute expressions he could make.

He probably would be very good with his mouth and tongue, let him be your personal rose toy/fleshlight if you will. He can't fight back and have no choice but to whimper about it.

Imagine getting sick and fainting with him nearby, he can't move or do anything but helplessly cry for you to wake up and starts crying out help for Mr. Silvair to come help him and you.

Maybe one day, for a day of tricks and pranks. Mr. Stitch will allow Mr. Chopped a day in his body, so they swap places, stitching Mr. Chopped in place of Mr. Stitch's head. It had been a very long time since Mr. Chopped felt sensations beyond his head, so he happens to be very sensitive and clumsy with his hands. Everywhere you touch overwhelms him, he melts and becomes a moaning mess, but Mr. Chopped isn't the only one feeling all these sensations. Mr. Stitch can still feel it too. He is intrigued by today's type of play.

He definitely would be more on the whiny and needy side when it comes to pleasure, he lacks a body, but he can still feel lust. He can't do anything about it, which makes him extremely needy and extra pouty.

Mr. Silvair

Definitely would have had intimacy with other ghosts/humans before to research the body and performance during mid transformation if it differed.

Imagine one day he finds a mysterious liquid that fell from the 'other world' and feeds it to you, himself and the other ghosts in your crew. Only to find out it was an aphrodisiac. It was the first time he felt such a strong sensation of lust. At first, he mistakes this strong desire to be violence, so he starts to self-inflict wounds onto himself. You attempt to stop him, but soon find yourself to be underneath him as he bites into your neck, drawing blood. Surprised at seeing the often-composed man, turning into a ravage beast. You somehow manage to find something to tie him up and have your way with him.

He probably likes overstimulation on you...but also himself. He would love to research on how much his body can go and handle.

He would actually be a switch, for research purposes. To take and give he'd do anything for research. It had been long long ago since his body used to be human, and he often forgets about his own experiences if he doesn't write them down, but no worries, he has you by his side now to keep remembering.

Mr. Hood

He is quiet but speaks whenever he finds it suited for. But if you need him, he would be happy to talk with you.

He is a bit insecure about his body, he doesn't have arms or hands or even legs, he is an entity of nothing. The clothes are what shape his form, and well maybe he not entirely a entity of nothing. You had a glimpse before, a small glimpse and sensation of a squishy and somewhat slimy part that had belonged to him. You never mentioned though, but if it was you'd love him still anyways.

He realized that some words had been a bit harder for you to keep in mind and remember and so he thought of a special way to get you learning. Learning with what humans call pleasure. He fucks you and asks you what certain things are, and if you get it wrong, he denies you from coming. You have become determined to learn your words properly even more so now. Because if you remember you get rewarded with the most absolute fulfilling fuck of your life.

Since most of his body is invisible or nothing. If you mouth fucked him you would be able to see that real good, it is strangely erotic watching your cock move inside his mouth.

Mr. Gap

When you're sleeping, sometimes he might just cuddle against your leg or lower half. He loves the feeling of warmth, compared to his hollow darkness.

He definitely seems like the type of person to eat you out while you're asleep. Playing around and waiting for you to wake up to watch your reaction. Of course, he would only do this though if he knew you'd allow it. He values consent.

Imagine taking your backpack to school and you have to take out a pencil for a test. When you open your backpack, you realize it is just an empty void and hear a voice asking for your heart in exchange for the pencil. Yeah... you accepted your fate. You just failed your exam...

When you become a moaning mess under him, he can't understand but he knows that from your sweet voice, and moans, that it's a good thing. He knows to keep continuing.

One day Mr. Gap gathers his usual newspapers that fall from the rubble or somehow manages to grab one from the human realm. He notices a magazine that discusses about marriage and giving rings on the fourth finger. Intrigued about this idea, he asks you for your all four of your fingers, but you misunderstand and refuse to give him your fingers. He's sad but soon you later find out that he was asking for your hand in marriage, literally but also figuratively.

Mr. Machete

We would wonder aimlessly for an eternity together searching for his/your home. But eventually our subconscious would recognize each other as home instead.

He would definitely mock and laugh at how fast you would falter/melt under his touch. Calling you "weak" for coming so fast but would give kisses here and there after the mocking.

He'd probably be into throat fucking and laugh at you looking pathetic, he loves reactions that aren't boring, so seeing you choke on his cock seems like a great idea.

He definitely would come inside most of the time.

When he fucks you, his cock would probably bulge out a little from your stomach, fascinated by it he'd roughly press his hand down near that area.

He is our beefy dumb macho, perfect.

If you mouth/fucked him he would tell you he feels nothing, but his eyes would already be red and tearing. He's a pathetic coward.

Mr. Scarletella

He belongs to you, and you belong to him, together forever, in a hellish world. He loves the destruction you bring into his life and does the same for you.

Oh boy, he would absolutely devour you, his queen, in pleasure. Fuck you stupid to the point you're just a blabbering mess, hands on waist, and long fingers in your mouth, as he pounds deeply into you.

He seems like the type of guy to fuck you during your period.

Definitely gets jealous easily and he makes it know when he gets that way.

Imagine your fucked/fucking another ghost and you hear static within the distance, the sound slowly starts to come closer and closer until you hear the static in the room. Your crimson servant arrives and witnesses your fantastic display of intimacy. Jealous, he kills them and becomes extra possessive and quite terrifying, but you love it so much. How he seems so lost and pathetic without you.

You don't know his name, but neither does he know yours. Despite this disconnect, you still manage to give him some sort of other named to be called. It's connected to your name, but he knows it's not all of it, he can't fully whisk you away, but he's okay with that. You are still bound to him for an eternity anyway.

If Mr. Scarletella went back to the human world with you instead, he would appear to be the one most suited for fitting in. Just slack some foundation on his face, make him wear gloves and he would blend in quite well. Well...except for his odd habit of asking every stranger for their name and laughing and giggling crazily each time.

He would have a praise and degradation kink, he's not a whore. He's YOUR whore. He likes being YOURS.

#文字化化 #homicipher #homicipher headcanons #headcanon #my headcanons #mozibake #mojibake #horror games #horror vn #visual novel #mr crawling #mr chopped #mr chopped head #silvair #mr silvair #mr gap #mr machete #mr scarletella #mr hood

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ch3rriiii-bunn · 10 months ago

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You belong to me

Paring: upper ranks + Muzan x Fem!reader

Synopsis: In different pov's, their jealously turn them a bit crazy

Content: possessiveness, jealousy, hinted smut, choking, fave grabbing, slight blood play, demon reader in Akaza, Nakime and kokushibo's part, kidnapping on Douma and Muzan's part, escape attempt, Muzan grabs you by the neck like that one guy in 365 days lol, arranged marriage theme on Muzans part

A/n: yall know that song by the weeknd? had to write some possessive jealous shit based on that song with some demons! WHAAAA I NEVER WRITTEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS!!🥴might do one with the hashira next🤭

Akaza

Akaza is known to not like his fellow upper ranks. You've seen it first hand when Muzan allowed you to attend an upper rank meeting since you became a demon by Akaza. He hated them all with a passion. Especially the ones ranked above him. With this knowledge, what in the hell possessed you to give any of them your attention?

Not just any upper rank, either. Douma in particular. In your defense, once Douma starts speaking, it's hard to shoo him off, especially given that you're much weaker than Douma is, so you play along to keep your reputation on a good note. You simply smile and nod at his nonsense. You knew Akaza wasn't going to step in since he'd rather run in the sunlight than talk to Douma if you were on your own.

How wrong you thought you were. Once Muzan actually left, Douma become more bold. Asking you personal questions, standing to close and even about to hold your hand, but before you could answer, you heard the sounds of blood splatter on the floor. Your eyes widened at how quick Douma's arm was severed.

"Oh, come now, lord Akaza. I was just joking-" "Shut up for once." Akaza snarled at douma in pure disgust. You wanted to say something, but you felt your feet leave the ground. Akaza had grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder and walked away from Douma while holding you. It always amazed you just how fast he was, but you knew how mad he was. The anger was just raiding off Akaza.

Akaza made sure to be far away from the other upper ranks in the infinitely castle and walked into one of the many empty rooms. Akaza put you down, but then, he backed you up against the wall. You felt your back press flat with your hands on the wall as well, giving how close he was to you. "Lord Akaza, please don't read too much into it. Douma was just being an idiot. " You tried to explain, but Akaza wasn't having any of it.

Akaza raised his brow. "So you're defending him?" His voice rasped as he tilted his head to the side. "No.." Your tone softened and looked at Akaza, worried since that wasn't your intentions. "I don't think I've made myself clear enough if my actions haven't shown it already." Akaza said and brought his hand to your collar bone and rested it there for a moment.

"Demon's I hate don't get the right to talk to who belongs to me." Akaza's face comes closer to yours with his lips now inches away from yours. His hand moves from your collar bone, up to wrap around your throat. "And you entertain a demon like him. Even saying his name from these lips. His fucking, name" Akaza's jaw clenched, and his hand tightens kts grip on your throat.

"Aka..za" his name hitched in your throat. His grip was deadly. You could still breathe. However, Akaza's grip was firm. He wouldn't dare kill his precious demon. It was just a "light" punishment. However, he needed you to learn your lesson and to show your loyalty to him and him alone. "Say my name properly. Or is my strength too much for you to speak?" Akaza smirked.

"L-lord Akaza. Lord Akaza~" you say his mamw twice. The second time you say it, you let out a heavy gasp as akaza lossend his grip on your throat. "You belong to me. Understood?" Akaza asked, keeping that eye contact and tightening his hand around your throat if you dared to look away. You nod quickly, your eyes almost teary from the slight lack of oxygen, and you watch Akaza's lips curl into another smirk.

"Good girl." He chuckled and gave you a kiss.

Nakime

Your girlfriend, Nakime, had summoned you to the infinitely castle. It's her job to always summon the 12 kizuki at the request of Muzan. Naturally, you felt terrified but remained to have a calm once you were summoned. However, Muzan was nowhere to he seen. Just Nakime, sitting there, a level above, and you looked up at her in confusion.

"Pardon for speaking out of turn, but where is lord Muzan," you asked, assuming it was him who wanted to speak with you, but it turns out that wasn't the case. "It was I who summoned you." Nakime spoke, her tone a bit quiet yet blunt. You chuckled and cut the formal introduction since Muzan isn't here, and you can speak freely since it's just you and your girlfriend.

"You do know it's probably a bad idea to summon me since you're taking me away from my work. Search of the blue spider lily and all." You grinned at Nakime and palced your hand on your hip. "I was keeping an eye on you. One of upper 4's clones has gotten closer to you. Haven't he? " Nakima said. You detected slight irritation in her voice, mentioning one of Hantengu's clones, but instead of asking a question for a question, you always knew it was better to answer her first.

"Ah, Urogi, yes. I wouldn't say we are close. However, he's a fun demon to work with. He likes to have a bit of joy and humor on our search," you answered. It isn't abnormal for Nakime to use her blood demon art this way. Especially since she's on the lookout to find the ubuyashiki family in the demon slayer core. Still, you couldn't hide your smile knowing Nakime was most likely thinking about you and wanted to check in on you.

"I forbid you to speak to him. Your task is to look for the spider lily. Not entertain each other with humorous jokes and touching," Nakime said. Her words made your heart spot for a moment and knew exactly what she was talking about. Urogi has always been proud of his sharp talons and would often tease you with them, but on this mission, he wanted to take it up a notch and poked your cheek.

To you, it was a wholesome moment. Urogi was just teasing, nothing different he dosnt do to the others, but Nakima had to see that, and she was furious. Urogi only touched you once in a playful manner, and it was enough for her to use her blood demon art to summon her back to you in that very moment. "He was getting too close to you for my liking and being bold enough to do that. Especially bringing those filthy claws of his to touch my woman's pretty face."

During this entire time, her facial expression remained unchanged until now. You could see her lips form into a frown and even watched as her teeth clenched together in a snarl. She was jealous. "Urogi was just being playful. I wouldn't read too deep into it, love. Sekido is probably scoling Urogi right now for wasting time to focus on finding the blue spider lily." You reassure Nakima, but she wouldn't let it go.

"Come here." Nakime took her biwa off her lap and rested it gently beside her on the floor and motioned her finger for you to come sit in front of her. You did as Nakime asked and sat down in front of her. You wanted to explain further to find the right words to reassure Nakime, but before you could, her hand grabbed your face

You gasped. Your breathing became unsteady as you felt her firm grip, her four fingers on one cheek while the other had her thumb, or rather her nail, poking onto your skin. The same spot Urogi poked at. "I will not allow a man's to touch to linger on what belongs to me." Nakime's voice turned cold. "You belong to me." She said as her thumb nail pressed harder, breaking your skin until blood slowly pours out.

Your jaw opens, and you inhale a sharp breath with your eyes barely open as you feel the sting. You're a demon, so of course it'll heal, and Nakime didn't pierce too deep. It was her way of wanting to hear her words come out of your mouth. You kept your eyes on her and eventually spoke up. "I belong to you~" Your voice hitched as you felt nails nail pull away from your skin.

Nakime leaned in closer to lick the blood from your cheek and watched as your cut healed already. She kissed your cheek and then came closer to your ear and whispered, "That's right. You belong to me, beautiful." Nakime said. Her hand lets go of your face and then trails her sharp nails down your neck.

You shivered until her fingers reached your kimono, near your tits and Nakime smirked. "I should remind you of how a woman's touch feels. So you'll never let another man touch you again," Nakime said. You bit your lip softly, feeling the heat rise higher in your body and your thighs squeezing together more. "I want that," you said, and Nakime's smirk only grew.

"Open your thighs for me and lay back. I'll show you how good these fingers work other than playing a biwa"

Kokushibo

His brother has been dead for centuries. Yet his name still echos throughout history but never would kokushibo think that his brothers name, yoriichi, would leave your lips.

Although you're a demon now and have been for a while now, you could still recount memories you had during your times as a human, especially in the demon slayer core. It was basically a law for any of the 12 kizuki to never speak of Yoriichis' name, yet you just had to talk about him since gyokko was curious to know how humans thought of him.

"Yoriichi has sun breathing. That's the best way to describe why he's well known even after his death. He could kill any demon in seconds. It's quite impressive," you admit to gyokko, and he nods his head, humming in response. Kokushibo had already been looking for you, but he never interrupted any of your conversations when you had them. However, hearing Yoriichis' name from you alone set him off to act out.

He came from around the coner and stood behind you. "Do I think yoriichi could beat Kokushibo? Well maybe-" you said but then saw both of gyokko's mouths open as he looked behind you. Your brow raised in question, and you turned around to see what shook him so much, but now you realized. "Kokushibou hi" you smiled nervously at him.

"It was good talking to you, bye!!!" Gyokko hides inside his pot, probably in another one by now, so it was just kokushibo and you. "Listen, I was just- oh!" Kokushibou picked you up, and then you heard Nakime's biwa sound, transporting you back to his home. You knew you fucked up. You and gyokko tried to talk in secret, but now kokushibo was going to punish you, a demon for speaking about yoriichi but in his own way.

Kokushibo put you down, turning your body away from him to face the wall with your body pushed up against it. You grunted from the sudden pressure but gasped once your hair was pulled back to face kokushibo. The view was upside down, but you could see just how angry he was. "You know to refrain from using that name. Have you lost your mind?" Kokushibou said, his deep voice almost turning into a growl.

His hand had a fist full of your hair, and not only that, his lower half was just inches away from pressing up against you. "I know- I was just telling memories from my human life I didn't think it was a big deal-" "and you actually believe a person like him could defeat me. Do you really think that? Dose his name interest you so much that you've forgotten just who's wife you belong to?" Kokushibou said.

You had a confused look on your face. Is he seriously jealous at the mention of his brother's name from his lover? You knew kokushibo was jealous, but you didn't expect him to be this possessive. "I'm sorry~" This is all you could mutter out. "Do not. Ever say that name. Again." Kokushibou crouches down to your ear, speaking slow for his words to be understood.

You mewl softly, biting your lip as you nod quickly, understand his words. "My name should be the only name said from those lips." Kokushibou now brought his other hand up to your chin and holding it while his other hand is still gripping your hair. Your back arches just a bit more once you felt Kokushibou press himself up against your ass.

He let out a heavy breath with a deep moan mixed in. "Having your jaw broken for speaking his name is the normal punishment from lord Muzan, since you're a demon and it'd grow back." Kokushibou grinds himself against, letting go of your hair and placing his hand on your tit.

"However, I have my own punishment. Just for you." Kokushibo's breaths become heavy, feeling himself get into heat, and he whispered in your ear.

"A punishment where you'll never remember to say his name and only mine. You belong to me, my pretty demon~"

Douma

His "church" wasn't a church at all. You made the dumbest mistake to have even joined this religious cult. Your "savor", the one who saved you that day from eating eaten like an animal from a group of demons and showing you such kindness was just a cover-up for his true identity, which was a man-eating demon and not just any demon, the 2nd highest rank in 12 strong demons led by an even more powerful demon. The realization sunk in, and you made an ever worse choice than the first one.

You wanted to escape. You wanted out. You thought you planned your escape for a week, asking around what Douma's schedule was like so you knew the perfect days on when to leave, but that back fired on you. When you noticed nobody outside the temple, keeping guard and, of course, no sight of douma, you made a run for it.

You felt relieved. No one was there to stop you until a dark figure appeared from the shadows and snatched you up like you weighed nothing. "I caught you! You sure ran fast. Are you sure you weren't a demon slayer before you came to my temple?" Douma said, smiling from ear to ear.

You tried to catch your breath from running up, but your breath quickly turned into a panic. Douma frowned for a moment, "Oh you poor thing. Don't be scared. We'll get you back to the temple so you can rest for the night," Douma said. With such fake empathy in his tone, it almost sounded sarcastic.

Douma continues to hold your body off the ground in a bear like hug. His muscles flexed to hold you firmly so you couldn't escape. However, looking at Douma more closely, you noticed changes about him. His teeth looked more like fangs. His body against yours felt so cold, almost like he was dead and worst of all. He had "upper 2" written in his eyes. Was this a demon's technique? How was he able to hide these features on him so well around his cult members.

"I don't want to go back!" Your voice trembled. You tried to speak soft, but the panic got to you. Douma only just smiled, speaking in his cheerful voice. "If you're worried about being eaten alive, don't worry, you aren't my type of woman to eat, but you are my type of woman to be around. So I will be keeping you since you asked for my help to save you from those demons that day, so it only makes sense for us to stay together." Douma chuckled.

"What??" You sighed, looking at Douma with worry, fear, and confusion. "I don't belong to you, so let me go!" You hit Douma, but you knew your strengths was no where near compared to his. Douma places his hand on the back of your head, making your rest your chin on his shoulder while he embraces you more and nuzzling his face to your neck, taking in your scent.

"You still don't get it y/n? You're mine. I'm going to keep you until your time as a human is up." Douma said, throwing you over his shoulder and began to walk back to the temple.

"You belong to me and me alone~"

Muzan

2 years had passed since you were kidnapping, and you were finally back and safe with your family. Although your kidnapper, known as the most powerful demon, kidnapped you was bad, he could've been a lot worse. So you like to think of it that way. He could dispose of you at any moment, even when you couldn't help him find the blue spider lily, but he didn't.

You're family for owning a flower company, educated on flowers even so that's the main reason why Muzan took you but he let you go when you were of no use to him anymore. The bond you had with Muzan wasn't always about his work. There was soft intimate moments between you two but you knew not to get your hopes up since in the end, your knowledge wasn't all that useful and he let you leave, putting his work before you.

Your life continued to move forward, and eventually, you had an arranged marriage. A soon to be husband for you. He wasn't bad. He did promise to treat you right, give you his money and etc but deep down, you knew you couldn't love this man but went along with it for the benefits and your familes sake.

The wedding took place during the night. Your in-laws thought it would be a great idea to see how lovely your wedding dress would look in the moonlight. You asked to be alone in the fitting room, and you turned off the lights. Despite being human, you've gown accustomed to the dark and toy opened the window, feeling the night's breeze. Your hands slide down your sides to your hips, and you smile at yourself in the mirror, seeing just how gorgeous you look.

"You look stunning, my dear. They were right. The way the moonlight shines on that beautiful dress is just Devine," a deep familiar voice said. You gasped and turned your head to the window and saw Muzan, sitting in the edge and watching his glowing red eyes trace every inch of your body and even smirking at how the dress hugs your hips and holds up your tits perfect.

"Why are you... h-how did you find me?" You stepped back. Muzan came into your fitting room further and made his way towards you. Your body froze, but your eyes softened once you felt his hand on your cheek. His hand was so cold. "Do you think I'd let just anyone actually go?" Muzan bluntly said. That line alone confirmed your thoughts from a year ago. You weren't actually free, and like you predicted, Muzan would come back to you. However, it wouldn't be for the reason you think.

"I don't have any more knowledge on the spider lily. Even after you let me go, I couldn't find it." You explained to Muzan, but he only grinned. "I have upper ranks to do the job much better and faster than you," He said. His words cut a bit deep since you used as much energy as you could've helped him before. "But you can be useful to me in... other ways," Muzan said as his eyes gestured to your body and then looked back at your face.

It's like the old feelings came rushing back. In your own sick way, you missed this man. Muzan is the worst, curel and dangerous man-eating demon you could've ever met. Yet you knew leaving with him was a choice you had to make now. Your mind snaps out of it once you head a knock at the door. You and Muzan look at the door and hear a woman's voice on the other side.

"Um, y/n? Are you almost done?" One of your maid of honors asked through the door. "Yes, im-" you paused. Your eyes look down to see Muzan's hand slide on your hip and even slide his hand down lower, just like how he used to, but you stopped him. "I'll be right out. Just give me a minute," you say in a worry, and then look at Muzan, his lips inches away from yours, and you spoke quietly.

"You can come by tomorrow night, and we'll talk about this. You came at such an odd time. " You rolled your eyes halfway, trying not to let all these emotions cloud you. You turned around, but the second you did, Muzan had grabbed the back of your neck, making you gasp as he pulled you back to face him. "Mm.." Muzan brought you into a heated kiss, making you stumble back and sit in the mini table in your changing room.

"Y/n!?" Your maid of honor placed her ear on the door after hearing a thund sound. "If you think for a moment I'd let you have some random mam in bed with you, then you're more stupid than I thought," Muzan said as his jaw tensed. You pant as you feel his fingers press into your neck and you placed your hands on his chest for some kind of support.

"You belong to me, and I'm taking you back. The connection we share won't ever disappear, so don't think for a second it will," Muzan said, pulling you into another kiss. This time, you kissed him back. His words may not have been the sweetest, but you understood them. He wanted you, and you wanted him. He pulled away once he heard hard banging on the door.

"Let's go," you said, lifting up your dress, not hesitating for a moment about leaving. Muzan had picked you up, and you heard a biwa sound, transporting you to Muzan's room in an instant. Muzan, put you down. His hands made their way to your body, with one hand on your ass and the other playing with the zipper on your wedding dress.

He smirked at you, letting out a dark chuckle. "Now. Won't you let me give you that wedding night you deserve to have"

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #muzan x reader #muzan smut #akaza x reader #akaza smut #douma x reader #douma smut #kokushibo smut #kokushibo x reader #nakime smut #nakime x reader

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writersdrug · 4 months ago

Note

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty

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slytherinslut0 · 3 months ago

Text

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th — virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART ONE | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

pairing: mattheo riddle x berkshires!sister

summary: mattheo’s conscience can only hold him back for so long.

warnings: 18+, hogwarts uni (putting this even tho it’s obvious), jealous mattheo, flirting, tension tension tension, “we can’t do this” type of vibe, “your brother is right over there” type of vibe. bestfriends lil sister trope. part one of two.

Morality—what is it, really? How is it measured? Is it a linear scale? Could someone be morally sound yet sometimes make an exception when the situation called for it?

Perhaps it's subjective. Anything that falls outside of the law, that is.

Mattheo forced a breath from his lungs, the drink in his hand was tasteless, some watered-down excuse for a cocktail. But that didn't matter, not really—what mattered was the way you kept laughing, the way your hand lingered a second too long on that random bastard's sleeve. The sight made something concerning coil tight in his chest, but he stayed where he was, back against the wall, sucking down drinks like he'd been tasked to it.

God, this was stupid. Morality. Right and wrong. He knew the difference, of course he did. Just because he was a Riddle didn't make him a monster. Not yet, anyway. But that line, the one between you and him—the one drawn so clearly in the sand—was practically mocking him with its absolutes and daring him to cross it. Forbidden, off-limits, the one thing he shouldn't want.

His best friend's little sister. The good girl. A virgin, no less.

"Riddle—you coming?"

Mattheo's head jerked slightly, but his mind was miles away.

He waved a hand. "I'll catch up in a bit.”

Malfoy and Zabini nodded, slipping into the night, leaving him behind in the dim, crowded ballroom. Spring dance. Hours past dusk. He didn't even know why he was still there. Normally, he was long gone before the clock struck twelve, but tonight the room pulsed with bodies and the music hummed under his skin. His drink was half-forgotten in his hand, and his gaze was fixed on a group across the room.

Or, more specifically, on you.

You were standing, black dress to your mid-thighs, half-listening to boys from your year drone on about quidditch tryouts and the usual chatter that filled the space between your breaths. But your eyes—your eyes weren't on them. You were looking at him. A soft smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, like you knew something he didn't.

His heart kicked against his ribs. Where was that line again?

You winked, and he sipped his drink. He'd always said bad decisions made good stories—but even if this (unnameable thing between you) was a story worth telling, the people to hear it would be few.

The tension grew suffocating and he finally looked away. You took that as a win, but you weren't about to let the game end there—not after you noted the tense of his fingers around his cup. You excused yourself from the group, your body moving through the crowd like water, fluid and unhurried, weaving your way toward him.

You knew the line well, the one Mattheo pretended so hard to respect. Restraint wasn't his nature—it never had been, not in the decade you'd watched him take whatever he wanted without a second thought. He wasn't made for holding back, and it showed every now and then—every time his lips crashed against yours in some hidden corner, whispering confessions of how badly he wanted more, how he ached for what he couldn't have.

You loved pushing him to that point. You loved knowing how bad he wanted you. Your brother would lose his mind if he found out. But that didn't matter, not even a little. Not when Mattheo looked at you like that.

"Having fun?" He asked upon your approach, his voice a shade too flat.

"A little." You leaned against the wall beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, your presence seeping into the space between you. "What about you? You seem a bit...tense."

"Tense." The word came out bland, barely audible, and he took a slow sip of his drink, like he needed it just to find his voice. "Why would I be tense?"

You wet your lips, slow, deliberate, studying him with that sidelong glance that made his pulse skip. His jaw tightened, and his eyes—those beautiful, dangerous brown eyes—scanned the room with something too close to desperation.

"Good question." You tilted your head, gaze playful, curious, like you were dissecting him right there in the half-light. "Maybe it's because you've been watching me like a hawk. Like you're waiting for me to do something...wrong."

"Maybe I'm just looking out for you," he muttered, his gaze sliding to your brother across the room, lips locked with some brunette. Mattheo's eyes flickered back to you, just for a moment. "Your brother's a little...busy, after all."

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into an amused, almost wicked smile. "Ah, so that's it. You're just being my big, overprotective babysitter."

"I don't need to babysit you," he grumbled, though his gaze betrayed him, darting over to the group of boys you'd been talking to. "Just keeping an eye on the company you keep."

It was almost amusing—the way Mattheo stood there, sizing up your guy friends like they were targets in a lineup, probably mentally noting who he'd hit first if any of them dared to step out of line. He was different tonight—and you could have brushed it off, could have let that flicker of vulnerability slide, but that wasn't how this game was played. Not with him. Not with you. There was no room for naivety here.

You turned to face him now, full-on, shoulder resting against the wall as you raised a hand, fingers brushing lightly up his arm.

"Keeping an eye," you repeated as you traced the hard line of his shoulder, then down, lower, over his chest. "Ever my hero, Mattheo Riddle."

When your fingers grazed his abdomen, his breath caught and he grabbed your wrist—hard—the suddenness of it making you gasp. Then, he turned to face you, and his gaze finally met yours—really met yours—for the first time since you'd crossed the room.

"Don't." His voice was low, strained, like he was fighting himself as much as you.

Your eyes widened in mock surprise, that innocent look you'd perfected like a sport. You wore it like a halo you knew you didn't deserve.

"Don't...what?" You damn-well knew what.

His grip tightened, just enough for you to feel the heat of it, pulling you closer, so close you could feel the tension radiating off him. He wet his lips, and you melted—remembering how it felt to kiss them.

"Don't play games with me." He said. "Not tonight."

The warning was clear, but instead of pulling away—heeding his words and letting that heat simmer down—you leaned closer, defying every unspoken rule. The thrill shot up your spine, into your brain, turning everything hazy, electric. You were drunk on it.

"Why not?" Your free hand traced up his other arm and his gaze followed the movement, lips parting ever so slightly. "...afraid you'll lose?"

Before you knew what was happening, he had you spun around—so fast you barely registered the movement before your back hit the cold stone wall. His drink found the table beside him, his focus entirely on you.

"Don't to this to me. Not here," he whispered. "Your brother is right over there."

You glanced toward Enzo, still too preoccupied with the brunette to notice a thing.

"He's a little distracted, don't you think?" Your fingers on your free hand resumed their path, this time up toward his collarbone. But his other hand found them, too. You looked down. Two large hands, wrapped tight around your wrists, like he could stop the fire running through your veins if he just held on hard enough. Your thighs shook. "Gods, you really are tense tonight, aren't you?"

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, two embers gleaming in the night— his lips twitching in a way that made your pulse stutter. There was need in him now, a raw, visceral energy that vibrated between you. Untethered.

He leaned in, closer, his breath brushing against your skin. "You're impossible."

"Impossible..." you echoed, the space between you shrinking with every second. There was no choice in it. It was magnetic, inevitable. He leaned closer, and you—against all reason—matched him, drawn by a force you couldn't name. "Impossible to...resist, Matty?"

Your lips were so close, you could almost taste the flavours lingering on his breath. The heat of him drew you in like gravity, pulling you into that dangerous space where everything blurred—boundaries, rules, reason. His eyes flickered down to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way that felt instinctive—

And then, the world snapped back.

Cheering—loud, raucous—followed by the sharp crack of glass splintering against the floor. It cut through the moment, pulling you both back to reality. Mattheo's gaze jerked toward the sound, and in an instant he took a step back, his hands releasing your wrists like you'd burned him—like you were the danger here, a fire he'd gotten too close to.

"We can't," he whispered, and it sliced through you. It hit harder than the crash of glass, harder than the noise around you. "You don't want this. I promise you don't."

You stared at him. You knew what he meant, what he was trying to say, the warning etched in every tense line of his body. The two of you had been over this before. You knew Mattheo Riddle was not the man who would love you, not the man who would stay, who you'd call your forever. You weren't that naive. You weren't looking for forever—you just wanted a beginning. A first. A first that would teach you the edge of desire, with someone who knew what to do.

Someone experienced.

"I do," you whispered, barely holding steady under the weight of it all—the realization that you'd almost kissed him, right here, where anyone could've seen, where your brother wasn't far. "More than anything, I do."

His jaw clenched, that flicker in his eyes darkening. He ran a hand through his hair, curls falling messily back into place, his face twisted in thought, already calculating the fallout, already seeing the inevitable consequences.

"Your brother will kill me," he muttered. "He'll kill you."

"He’s not my dad, Mattheo. I’m an adult. He doesn't have to know." The words came out firm, too firm for how fast your heart was beating. You didn't dare move closer, but the tension between you was still electric, still alive. "No one except us."

For a heartbeat, his eyes locked onto yours, and you felt it—that gravity pulling you both back to the brink. It was visible—the weight of his indecision, the way he was measuring the risk, the pull of you against the walls he was trying to keep intact. It'd been months of this. You were relentless. His scowl deepened, but he didn't pull away. He let the silence stretch, your words simmering between you like a match lit, waiting to catch fire.

And then, a nod.

Barely there, just a sharp dip of his head, almost as if he didn't want to acknowledge it himself. You couldn't tell if it was for you, or some silent permission he was giving himself, a final surrender to the pull that neither of you could fight.

"Room of Requirement," he said, vibrating with the tension that still hummed in the air. "Ten minutes."

Your stomach leapt into your throat, every bone in your body suddenly weak. After a moment that felt as though it went on forever, you nodded, and he took another step back.

"Ten minutes." You repeated.

"Ten minutes." He confirmed, before turning and heading out of the ballroom.

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ssahotchnerr · 5 months ago

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I hope you meant it to be dropped here 🥺

So, about jealous Y/n: I had been thinking about this after seeing the episode where Beth (that runner-woman?) appears. I thought about the scene, with "y/n" either getting to know he was handed a paper with a number

Or maybe Aaron and "y/n" had been running together and Beth approaches without any care and reader just is like: 🤨 watching the interaction, lol

knowing you

🤭 cw; JEALOUS fem bau!reader, teasing banter (hehe r and aaron are sooo in love), suggestion/sex allusions (i'm blushing), based off of aaron and beth's first interaction in 7x10 wc; 1.3k

"Okay, okay." You panted, coming to a stop. You directed your voice forward, loud enough for Aaron to hear you, a few feet ahead. You resumed walking, slowly, hands on your hips. "Let's take a breather, yeah?"

"What's wrong?" Aaron asked as he met you halfway, a teasing smirk growing on his face. "Can't keep up?"

"I can keep up jus' fine." You insisted, still catching your breath. The afternoon breeze blew into your face, cooling the sheer layer of sweat that had collected. "Just... not for a prolonged amount of time. There's a," Another staggered breath, "difference."

"Is there?" He asked humorously. His chest rose up and down, regulating his own breathing as well. "I can easily go another mile or two.

"Fantastic. I'm so happy for you." You quipped sarcastically, causing him to laugh and a smile of your own pulling at your lips. "And that's why you're the one participating in the triathlon. Not me."

"You know..." He began proposing in a light tone of voice, eyebrows raised wittingly. "There's still time for you to sign up."

"You know, you're funny." You bantered back, a pained expression pulling onto your face at the mere thought. You shook your head, "I think my time is better spent cheering you on from the sidelines, along with the others. And then reviving you afterwards."

"Oh yeah?" He chuckled, a fondness in his eyes. All banter aside, he switched tactics, softening to a sweet sincereness. "I appreciate you accompanying me. Seriously. You know you don't have to run with me, although you do inspire me to persistent. Gotta impress you, keep you interested."

"Please, as if there's anything you could do to cause me to become uninterested." You poked a finger at his chest. "And if running means I get to spend an extra hour with you, I'll gladly accept. Besides, there's something in it for me too. Makes it all worth it."

"And what's that?"

You looked around, spotting a park vendor supplying drinks, playfully brushing his question aside. "Want a water?"

The warm glint in his eyes lingered, admirably amused. One that read: you were the most difficult person he'd ever met, but he wouldn't have it any other way. "Sure, sweetheart."

"I'll grab it," you began walking, "You stay here. Catch your breath."

Aaron grabbed your hand the moment you had stepped a foot away, smoothly drawing you back with just an equally suave grin. Once in reach, he placed his lips onto yours, interrupting your growing smile.

Your nose scrunched when the two of you parted, "You're all sweaty."

"That's never been a problem before." His smirk returned, the wet cowlicks draped over his forehead bringing a multitude of images to come to mind.

This is why you ran with him. You'd never deprive yourself the hot visual, one you'd never get tired of. The overexertion, the sweat, the defined athletic wear clinging onto his body, the heavy breathing too.

You playfully rolled your eyes, granting him another kiss before you trailed off. You steadied your breathing again, in attempt to slow your heart rate a second time.

Retrieving the waters couldn't have taken you more than five minutes: waiting in a small line, supplying cash, issuing a thank you. But when you turned back towards Aaron, your feet already moving to their own accord, you stopped short - suddenly. As he wasn't alone.

He was talking to some woman - brunette, in workout clothes of her own. Her backside was facing you, so you couldn't see any specific features; to determine who she was, a familiar face or not.

You tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of jealousy filling your body, drawing the conclusion that she wasn't an old friend rather quickly. It started from the bottom of your stomach, crawling up your spine, spreading widely to your limbs.

Could it be harmless? Sure, that's what you were telling yourself, until the woman in question handed him a small piece of paper. She began to retreat - finally - causing a breath of relief to escape you, until Aaron calls after her.

When she turns, you're able to see her face. She’s cute, all smiles and outwardly confident. She responds to whatever he said, follows it with a laugh, before continuing her jog.

You bit your lip, returning to Aaron with a bit more urgency, your ponytail gliding swiftly between your shoulder blades.

"Here," You handed Aaron his water, your gaze moving past him and continuing to watch her leave. As if she can feel your stare, she looks back. Your eyes may have been playing tricks on you, but you could've sworn she gave you a cunning smirk.

Your jaw clenched, nothing but that red-hot jealousy overtaking you. It blocks out all of your surroundings - Aaron's going on about something, but you don't hear him. He's muted, fuzzy, far away. You don't realize he's talking to you until he says your name, with a tad more volume.

You startle, blinking, "Sorry, what?"

"I said, do you want to go again? Or we can take a slow, evenly-paced walk back." His lips turned upwards humorously, taking a drink. "More your speed."

He's attempting to resume the ongoing, fun banter to draw your focus elsewhere, knowing you.

"Who was that?"

"Oh, nobody." He shrugged, securing the cap. "She just, er, handed me this." He explained carefully, holding up a small piece of paper.

He did it quickly; again, making it as nonchalant as possible. But even at the heightened speed you're able to see her number scrawled across the surface.

You immediately impede forward-

"Sweetheart," Just as he expected - he grabs your arm, holding you back from any impending confrontation you were set on.

"She gave you her number?" You looked at him, perplexed. The audacity. "Did you see the way she looked at me? She probably saw us kiss and yet-"

"I know, I know." He comforted, his voice a deep contrast compared to yours, hardening the more you spoke. He can practically feel you vibrating in fury. "Hey, it's okay. I'm discarding it, of course." He crumbled it in his fist, "Have zero need for it."

"But that doesn't excuse what she just did." You try to look past him again, but he uses his body to shield your view. "And I don't like it. Not at all."

"You're right, it doesn't, but it's okay." Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead, muttering his next sentence into your skin. "I'm yours. Nothing changes that."

"Damn right you are," you huffed, crossing your arms. Despite the distance (she's almost long gone by now), you're at the ready to grab Aaron, to kiss him fiercely if she ever so lightly takes a peek back.

"Forget about it, and I don't mean that in a dismissive way. Look at me when I say this," He tossed the paper in the nearby trash, grabbing ahold of your shoulders instead. "I'm uninterested. Unfazed. Utterly in love with you and greatly anticipating showing you how much once we're in the privacy of home. Preferably in the shower, and then again in bed afterwards."

He manages to pry a smile out of you, a blush forming at your cheeks, although it doesn't dissolve your pout just yet. "But..."

"But what?" He asked gently as he releases his hold, swiping his thumb across your cheek soothingly.

"What if she can run faster than me." You mumbled pitifully. You said so half jokingly, half seriously.

Aaron laughed warmly, spanning an arm over your shoulders and pulling you directly to his chest. "I highly doubt that."

"You promise?"

"With every ounce of me."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

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Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

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

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things.

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax.

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration.

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers.

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler.

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words.

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers! How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?"

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!"

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling.

"I could do this all day, princesa. "

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure.

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit.

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive.

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time.

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far.

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him.

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar.

"You okay?"

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you. "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all."

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two.

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand.

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over.

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you.

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass.

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder.

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?"

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink.

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar.

He stretches out his hand, and you take it.

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words.

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck.

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do.

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him.

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you.

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer.

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in.

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness.

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him.

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension.

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip.

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck.

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders.

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out.

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper.

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile.

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face.

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more.

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words.

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is.

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate all your needs.

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order.

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk.

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -"

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains.

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary.

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-"

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious .

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body.

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something.

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up.

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?"

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression is steady, just as unreadable.

"Do you want to?"

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over.

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me."

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust.

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod.

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man.

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper.

"Fuck, Miguel."

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot.

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares.

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans.

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters.

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm.

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?"

You nod frantically with a stifled sob.

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please."

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?"

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks.

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers.

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath.

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought.

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy.

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum.

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago.

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process.

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?"

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles.

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa."

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #light angst #kat_writes😼#miguel o hara x reader #headcanon #miguel o'hara headcanons #jealousy

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ylangelegy · 24 days ago

Note

hello! can i request woozi with jealous prompt 'what? me? jealous? never'? thank youuuu ><

ⵌ jihoon x gose director!reader. ⵌ word count: 1k ⵌ notes: i can't stop writing about jihoon,, 🧎

Jihoon has long since accepted that he can be a jealous man when it matters.

He considers it harmless because it gets him moving. Jealous of a different group's success? He works doubly harder to make good music. Envious of someone else's build? He puts in more hours at the gym.

Jealousy is Jihoon's friend. At least, that's what he keeps on telling himself as you praise Soonyoung for his 'initiative'.

Another day, another filming for Going Seventeen. Today's concept is Christmas-themed: A Secret Santa shopping trip with a negligible budget per person. Jihoon knows he should be focused on getting something halfway decent for Chan— the member he had randomly picked earlier in the day— but he keeps getting distracted.

Soonyoung is looking just a little too pleased, a little too smug at your doting. Jihoon can practically hear the way his best friend is preening as he announces, "It's nothing, really. Just a little idea I had."

Jihoon doesn't even know what the two of you are talking about. He does know, though, that he's not going to hear the end of it from the rest.

It's an open secret, after all, that Jihoon has a crush on you.

He's always found it a bit inconvenient, really. He never thought he'd be the type to catch feelings for a staff member, but forced proximity and your undeniable charm have left him helpless.

It's just a crush, Jihoon has told anyone and everyone who teases him about it. I'll get over it.

Except it's been maybe a year and Jihoon is decisively not over it. He's preparing to deliver some variation of the same denial as Wonwoo sidles up to him, the latter grinning in an infuriating way.

"Don't start with me," Jihoon grumbles, his fingers tightening around the extension arm of his designated GoPro.

Wonwoo raises his shoulders in a shrug. "I'm not saying anything," he says in a tone that very much indicates his plans to say something.

A beat. And then, Wonwoo prompts, "Jealous?"

A derisive snort of laughter escapes Jihoon. He could lie, say something along the lines of What? Me? Jealous. Never, in an attempt to get his friends off his back. But they'd see through him anyway, so what was the point?

"Maybe," Jihoon answers. When Wonwoo only stares at him, Jihoon amends, "A little."

Wonwoo laughs at Jihoon's easy acceptance. The older man throws an arm around Jihoon's shoulders, the force of it almost sending the latter faceplanting into a shelf of keychains.

Jihoon is in the middle of biting out an annoyed "Could you not?!" when Wonwoo stage-whispers to him, "Don't worry. The director has a favorite, and it's not Mr. Steal-Your-Girl over there."

Before Jihoon can even question the taunt, Wonwoo is already peeling off to accomplish his task. The words echo a bit in Jihoon's mind. A favorite. Your favorite.

He wonders, briefly, what it would be like— to have that privilege.

He shakes his head, as if to empty his head of the thought. Wonwoo was just teasing, and Jihoon still has to find a gift for Chan. He spends the next thirty or so minutes wandering the department store, internally debating what to get the group's maknae.

Jihoon is weighing the merits of a Bluetooth shower speaker when he next hears from you.

"You know," you say from behind him. "Those have terrible sound quality."

It's only through years of conditioning that Jihoon doesn't jump, but he can't help the way his heart rate picks up ever so slightly. Still, he manages to keep his expression perfectly calm as he glances over his shoulder.

You look every bit like you always do. Clipboard in your hands; headphones hanging around your neck. An easy grin. The picture of the director who has robbed Jihoon of all his rational thought time and time again.

"Well, you didn't give us much to work with," he answers dryly.

"That's the challenge," you tease. "A low-budget exchange gift."

Jihoon sets down the speaker before turning to fully face you. "What would you suggest, then, if this is a bad gift?"

Your gaze flicks down to the GoPro. You didn't typically converse with the boys while they were shooting; if you did, the content was typically cut.

Something compels Jihoon to hit the 'pause' button on his device. "Off the record," he insists, a corner of his lip tugging up in the ghost of a smirk.

There's something unmistakably fond in the way you laugh, in how you choose to indulge Jihoon instead of insisting that he should keep filming.

"You got Chan, right?" You tilt your head to one side as if you're mulling it over. "I saw him fawning over the tealight candles earlier. If you're in the mood to be a menace, though, he thought the beanie hats were deplorable."

Jihoon lets out a chuckle of his own. "Got it," he says. "Candle, hat. Thanks for the intel, director."

It should end there. He should walk away, should turn the GoPro back on and film the rest of the show.

But Jihoon has never been very good at doing what he should, and his mind keeps replaying Wonwoo's earlier words.

And so, he finds himself asking, "What about you?"

Your eyebrows raise. "Me?"

"What would you like for Christmas?"

You look thrown off. Understandably so. "Oh," you say, your tone just a little softer. "That's not—"

Necessary, you're probably going to say. Jihoon cuts you off with a small shake of his head.

"We could have a little exchange gift of our own," he goes on. Jihoon has no idea where this is all coming from. The confidence in his flirtation. The smoothness of his words. It's a rare thing, but he's not going to let it go now that it's here. "I'll get you something if you get me something."

You laugh again, and then you give Jihoon the perfect opening. "What would you even want for Christmas, Jihoon-ah?"

Jealous has always been Jihoon's friend. It gets him moving.

It gets him to admit, "Easy. I'd want you."

୨ৎ * GAME, SET, PLAY ! ( JEALOUSY ) DRABBLE GAME.

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #jihoon imagines #woozi imagines #jihoon drabble #woozi drabble #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #୨ৎ game set play .ᐟ #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy #( smooth jihoon. save me smooth jihoon )

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cream-stew · 6 months ago

Note

hai i rlly liked ur last post about scara n the porn fic!!! sorry if this is a dumb request but i was wondering what you thought sum of the genshin men's porn history/intrests would look like?? like xiao, kazuha, heizou... and any other characters youd like to add!! sorry if this is such an odd request lol u dont have to do it ;; ur fics r always super great i get rlly excited whenever u post!

🔞minors dni

warnings: afab reader implied, watching m/f porn, more warnings before each section so you can skip what you want

// note: not odd at all bestie I loved this req <3 I wanted to add some twitter links to this but all my fave porn accounts have been deleted so you don't get anything sorry

xiao / cyno / wriothesley -> warnings: bondage, oral, choking

loves really long videos that are mostly set ups of a girl getting tied up in all different poses before being fucked So Good or, even better, having her mouth put to good use as her companion fucks her face instead and makes her gag on his huge cock. bonus points if he makes her swallow all his cum, tho ofc they're very happy to see him cum on her cute little face as well

kazuha / thoma / diluc /neuvillette -> warnings: lingerie, "good girl" as pet name

very very into pics and clips of ladies showing off their lingerie sets or other kinds of sexy clothes, esp if they get eaten out right then and there with their panties pushed to the side ! he keeps daydreaming of doing this to you and making you cum over and over on his face as he calls you his good girl <3

heizou / childe /alhaitham -> warnings: gangbang, degradation

almost exclusively watches gangbang or threesome videos, mostly bc he's so jealous over you that he'd never be able to share you with someone else but he still craves the high of group sex </3 he loves making you watch those kinds of videos as he fucks you, taunting you and asking if you'd like to have several men stuffing your holes, calling you his perfect little slut when you're too fucked out to reply

itto / zhongli / kaeya -> warnings: rough sex, daddy kink, size difference

absolutely obsessed with cute girls smiling up at the camera as men twice their size grope their tits. when the girl calls out to him as he stretches her out on his huge cock, begging her " daddy " to go slower/faster depending on the kind of video...... <3 could watch that shit for hours as he jerks off furiously and thinks about you <3

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manikas-whims · 4 months ago

Text

Skincare with the LADS Men

inspired by THIS recent text with Xavier where he said we left our pack of face masks in his fridge 🥺

SYLUS

🐦‍⬛ He maintains good skincare and overall hygiene. He's the type who's like “if i’m going out to commit some illegal deeds or kill an enemy, might as well look good doing it. His healing ability helps maintain a better skin as well.

🐦‍⬛ When you find out, you're kind of surprised that he's so well-maintained. And he takes offense that you'd have such low opinion of him just because of his profession. He scoffs. “Your assumptions wound me, kitten. Even the leader of Onichynus cares a little for his appearances.”

🐦‍⬛ Luke and Keiran later on giggle and reveal to you how their boss makes an extra effort to look better whenever you are coming to see him.

ZAYNE

❄️ There's a difference between hygiene and skincare. So just because he's a doctor, doesn't necessarily mean he's good at taking care of himself. Yeah he might take a bath and always put on clean suits but he doesn't really bother much with skincare itself.

❄️ It's not that he cannot do it but he simply doesn't have the time for it due to his packed schedule at the hospital. Almost twice or thrice when you surprise-visit him during his late night shifts, you've found him shaving his stubble at his office’s washroom lol. There are some faint cuts on his jaw and you fuss over them much to his delight.

❄️ His skin and body suffer mostly due to his eating habits. More often than not you've caught him sneaking way more macarons than good for his teeth. Not to mention, he doesn't eat proper meals due to his work.

❄️ “It’s not what it looks like. I'm a doctor. Obviously I know how to manage my health.” He laughs sheepishly because it's not often that he's on the receiving end of scolding, especially from you. You end up having to pay regular visits and watch over him for a while, bringing in full meals as is needed for him.

RAFAYEL

🌊 Thanks to him working at odd hours, eating at odd times, passing out on the couch every now and then that it's expected he'd be careless but he does in fact take proper care of his skin. And it's better than yours. (well ofc his Lemurian genes are partly to thank but he's a fish out of water so he does need to take care).

🌊 He knows his skin is amazing and he'll make a show of it in front of you. Not to make you jealous but because he wants you to praise him for it, call him pretty and handsome. “Come onnn!!” He drawls out. “Admit that I’m way prettier than those idols you're a fan of.”

🌊 Definitely enjoys doing skincare routines with you. Will indulge in manicures and pedicures if you ask, chatting with you all the while. Even recommends certain products that would benefit your skin. And offers to do your facial and massage.

XAVIER

⭐ Canonically isn't concerned with skincare. Even MC is shocked at the fact that his skin is doing so good despite any proper care. Probably the type who uses those “5 in 1” products 😭. Or grabs just any product without much care for the actual ingredients involved. How his skin and hair are doing alright? You have no idea..

⭐ You offer to do his skincare and he agrees because that just means he gets to spend more time with you. Enjoys the sensation of your hands on his face. Melts into a puddle if you wash his hair. You also try fixing some of his eating habits because alternating between cup noodles and meat ain't it. And though it takes a while, you figure out his skin type and help him get his own products.

⭐ You both develop a habit of putting on sheet masks while watching late night movies or playing video games. Sometimes you two just end up lazying around and talking about mundane stuff.

⭐ But even if you set up a whole routine for him, if he stays over at your place, then he's definitely using your shampoo. And if you ask him why, then he smiles innocently and answers, “Oh..it’s not that I am particularly biased to the product. It’s just that I like it when I smell like you.”

» MASTERLIST «

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roosterforme · 9 months ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

--------------------------

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!"

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

-------------------------

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.

-----------------------------

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

-------------------------

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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uranometrias · 9 months ago

Text

✮ꜜ : ❛ guilt's a motherfucker : spencer reid x fem! reader

pairing: spencer reid x bau! reader

summary: denial was an art, especially in a field like the one that you worked in. as a profiler, it was almost impossible for anyone to pull the wool over your eyes. you'd spent enough time with your team to know that this gift, this specific sort of perception was not something you were immune to either. meaning, no matter how much you tried to keep things a secret, someone on your team was bound to read right through you. especially spencer. 🔱 ━━ alternatively: the one where your inability to say what you want leads spencer to accept the affections of someone else.

content warnings: i think this could be considered angst . spencer reid having a crush on reader. reader being jealous of spencer getting attention from someone else. cute friendship between derek+ emily + reader. reader is the youngest on the team. set in s6, pre- jj’s departure.

read part two here

“You doing alright, babygirl?” Derek’s voice isn’t hard to miss, and the obvious smugness that was attached made your eyes roll. You knew from the moment that you’d leaned forward in your chair, lips pulling down into a deep pout that someone would clock you and quite quickly put two and two together. You didn’t mean to be obvious, in fact, usually you did a much better job at keeping your cool. However, there was something glaringly different today.

Spencer had gone for a new look, you remembered the day he walked in with his hair freshly cropped, shoulder-length tresses replaced with what Hotch had affectionately referred to as "boy band" hair. The rest of the team had laughed, you'd even cutely hid your own snicker behind your hand, but you couldn't deny that it fit him. It was flattering, dare you say cute as hell. In the weeks that followed though, he'd went even shorter, gone were all traces of boy band.

The look he sported now was distracting, incredibly so. He looked good, and it seemed you weren't the only that seemed to notice.

"She's eating him with her eyes." you grumble, arms crossing as Derek comes up behind you. He's got his chin pressed to your shoulder, following your line of sight, as a boisterous laugh escapes him. "It's not funny, Derek." this hiss of yours only seems to fuel his amusement as he starts to chuckle even louder.

"You've been mean mugging that girl since she walked in this morning." Derek rounds your desk now, obstructing your view of the betrayal taking place across the bullpen. It was a slow day, a good day. No cases, but loads of paperwork. Your desk was covered in nothing but files, some you'd started, some you'd finished. You're still cross, but you allow yourself to look up at your long time friend.

"I'm not mean mugging." you huff, blinking slow as you think over your clear fib. "There's just something in my eye." you whisper, and it's not convincing. You can tell by the way Derek's bag chuckling.

"Yeah, a green monster." he retorts quickly, and you can't deny the way it catches you off guard, as a choked laugh at your own expense escapes you. "Jealousy's not a good look on you, little bit." he hums and you droop, because of course you know that. "Why don't you just talk to the guy? Look him in the eye and tell him straight up how you're feeling?" he asks, and despite all his jokes and quips, Derek Morgan was perceptive, and he cared about you.

"That's a horrible idea." you exclaim, and your entire body jerks back, recoiling as if you'd been stung. "God, aren't you supposed to be some kind of smooth criminal?" your eyebrows quirk upward, "What type of advice is that?" you proceed, and Derek's bemused, looking down at you as he waits for you to finish your spiel.

"Just tell him straight up how you feel?" you deepen your voice to mock his, "Why don't I just run around the bullpen in underwear too, since we're doing dumb things." you huff, and your dramatics are amusing. They always have been. You'd been a member of the team going on two years, and you'd made a mark so deep it almost felt like you'd always been a part of the Unit.

You were a stark contrast to Emily and JJ, and a complete 180 from the angsty bombshell that had been Elle Greenaway. You were a wide-eyed 20-something year old that still had so much light behind your eyes, and a hope that you wouldn't shake. You had a way of making everyone laugh. You could pull anyone out of their heads, even Hotch, who Derek had caught many times fighting back small content smizes as you took the team's mind off the gore of the job.

"That's one way to get attention." he hums, and you huff again.

"Derek, you're not being helpful. If you're just here to laugh at my misery, I'm gonna start rethinking your place in my life." you hum, and you lean forward, chin resting against your palms. Derek appraises you, head tipping to the side as he offers you a charming grin.

"All I'm saying is, you've been crushing on the kid since you got here." he reminds you, and your frown deepens. "And the world wont be blind forever." he mumbles, and you know what he means. Spencer Reid to you had always been the most beautiful guy, but he'd been buried under mountains of trauma and insecurities that he had never been able to accept that. With time though, Spencer had begun to blossom, and this new haircut seemed to be a testament of this.

He was coming into himself, there was a new confidence budding in his steps, less stammers between phrases, and you didn't really have to fight for eye contact much anymore. He was still Spence, and in his words, he was far from an Alpha Male, but he could be. And he would be, you just knew it. Which meant that the more confident he became, the more women would see him the way you saw him. Damn. Derek sees the way the cogs in your mind move, and he sighs.

"Take it from someone who's been around-." you can't help but to insert with your own little quip. "What are you calling yourself a dog?" you tease, and his eyes roll, but he still grins wide.

"Listen." he stretches the word a bit, and he's looking you right in the eye. You can see sympathy swirling through the pretty pools of brown, and you believe that maybe if you were a bit older, and had met Derek first, you'd be swooning for him the way you were swooning for Spencer. You shake these thoughts of his beauty away, as you give him the space to speak freely. "I know what it's like to miss a window." he reminds you. "Rejection's a bitch." he adds.

True. It was precisely why you'd never bothered to say anything to Spencer. You got through life by pretending things were fine, by making a joke out of the hard stuff. You wouldn't be able to handle opening your heart to someone, and being told 'No'. That you weren't good enough, that you weren't what they needed. Maybe that was selfish, rejection was a part of life. It was necessary, but still. You'd rather deal with your unresolved issues alone. You saw no need to bring Spencer into conversations about your feelings for him at all.

"But guilt's a motherfucker." and Derek's words stop you short. You blink. What was worse? The sting that rejection could cause or the gaping hole that guilt would bring? The thought of getting an invite to a wedding day for a future Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Reid while you sitll held romantic feelings close to your chest made you want to vomit. Perhaps Derek had a point. At least if Spence turned you down with time the two of you could work around it, become friends again.

If you never said anything though, you'd have no right to be angry or hurt or jealous if some woman with much more confidence than you managed to swoop in and knock him off his feet Damn, you hated when Derek was right. His chuckle is what alerts you that your begrudging inner thoughts had been uttered aloud.

"What's Derek right about?" you smell the familiar scent of Prentiss' perfume before you see her face. It's subtle but comforting, and it makes you unconsciously relax in your seat. Derek's moving out of your line of sight, and you're met with the sight of Spencer still talking to the woman. She had a firm grip on a mug of coffee in one hand, her other hand leisurely tracing circles on Spencer's arms. You inhale sharply, swiveling in your seat as you turn to face Emily.

"Everything." Derek takes the swing, winking as you and Emily share a dry glance. He then subtly nods his head towards the woman crowding Spencer at the kitchenette and Emily's lips form a thin line of understanding. She turns to you, hand resting on your shoulder as she gives it a firm squeeze.

"Don't you think it's time to take a swing?" she offers, and you hate that immediately she falls into step with Derek. The duo forming a united front against you to ensure you put your big girl pants on and tell him the way you're feeling. "Here's an idea," And Emily's looking for a second to make sure Spencer is still too preoccupied to make his way over. "You've been trying to find someone to go with you to that new movie... what was it?" Emily snaps her fingers.

"Crash of the-" you cut her off with a deep sigh.

"Clash... it's Called Clash of the Titans." you mutter, and you pout. You had been trying to convince Emily, JJ, and Penelope to give the action film a shot. What could be better than watching Sam Worthington run across your scream for nearly two hours as you're transported to Ancient Greece? But, alas... the girls were far more interested in other things. In truth, they'd all agreed that they'd prefer to see something a little less packed with gore and violence.

Just for a change of pace.

You couldn't slight them for their polite rejection of your plans. The last case you'd been on had been especially taxing and nightmare inducing. "Why don't you ask him instead?" she hums, and you look over at the chatting duo, they'd really been talking for a while. There's this easygoing sort of look on Spencer's face, and the beauty across from him has turned about the same shade of red as the lipstick smeared across her full pout.

"Looks like she beat me to it." you mutter, and you think maybe God hates you, because as you let the words out, the girl is beaming even brighter, slipping something she'd written on a napkin into the palm of his hand. She offers a flirty wink before she's sashaying off, hips moving from side to side as she makes her way back to her own little cubby. "Ah well, who cares?" you try your hand at playing nonchalant. "It's not like I was in love with him or anything."

And the thing about Denial was that you'd spent so long making it your security blanket that you often forgot you were working with some of the most brilliant minds the FBI had ever produced.

Derek pats your shoulder, he's sympathetic to your plight. He was probably the only person you had been the most forthcoming with about these feelings you harbored. Emily frowns, and she offers you a side hug, chin resting on the top of your head. Their comfort makes you feel better, but the coil of feelings in your gut only seems to tighten. You wanted to be alone, you'd been perceived enough, if any of them pushed any further you may have broken into tears.

"I-I should get back to work." you mutter quietly, and they both know what you're doing. For once they resist the urge to comment, and they leave you be. Your desk was farthest away from the rest of the team. You and Hotch had agreed it was necessity. You could focus more when your back was to the rest of them. You let out a quiet sigh, fingers drumming against the table as you swallowed your emotions. You tiredly reach for an unfinished file, flipping it open.

Blurry words peer back at you, and you're shocked to realize that despite all your efforts you were still about to cry. Fuck.

You close your eyes, counting up to thirty in both english and spanish, by the time you'd finished breathing treinta under your breath, you had a new guest in front of you. Spencer stretched up for what felt like miles, his eyebrows furrowed as he stood before your desk with a look of confusion on his face. "Hey, are you alright?" he asks, and his voice always has this tenderness throughout.

"J-Just fine." and your stammer gives you away. Your voice is coated with mucus, a surefire signal that you were about a few seconds shy of having an immature meltdown. How silly of you to be this shaken up over the prospect of Spencer being with someone else. How dare you? You didn't even have the balls to admit that your playful flirting was just you overcompensating for the fact you couldn't do it foreal.

"I read somewhere that breathing exercises help you get through boring things." you motion to the file, and you've perfected your fake grin. Spencer doesn't look convinced, but he plays along.

"Oh, yeah? Where'd you read that?" he asks and you blanche.

"Uh. Just somewhere." you answer, and he's raised both his eyebrows. You recover quickly, clearing your throat. "You've replaced me, huh?" you ask, and you're playing it off like one of your jokes. Spencer looks shocked for a second, before he tips his head to the side as he looks down at you as if you were the most important thing in his world. If only.

"What do you mean?" he pries, and you motion with your head to the coffee station.

"Found another pretty girl to boost your head up, huh?" you mutter, and there's this flash. Something you can't quite catch, mostly because you're not in the mood to profile and analyze what all his facial expressions meant now. "You guys looked like you were having a good time." you add, and you hope you don't sound bitter. Jealousy or not, if Spencer was happy, you'd be happy too. You'd try.

"Yeah." he replies, and his face is turning red. "S-She was just being nice." he answers, and you hate that the first thing you notice is how he hasn't said 'No, I haven't replaced you.' You sour all the more.

"That's nice, Spence." you hum, and it's clear you've now become uninterested. So much for trying.

Still, Spencer was nothing if not selectively oblivious. You guys had been playing this game for almost a year, he wasn't going to make it easy for you to cop out and make him the bad guy. "She actually asked me to go see-" the rest of his joy-ridden words are mush in your head, and you can imagine how unamused you looked as you half-listened to him go on about how they were going out Saturday.

Yippee.

You don't mean to be rude, not really. But you couldn't bring yourself to listen to anymore. "Congratulations, Spencer." you cut him off abruptly. "But I've got to finish this, so if you could just-" and you're ushering him off as he stares at you aghast.

"What's your problem?" he pries, and you blink owlishly.

"Nothing." you insist, and you look over your shoulder. The team was not-so-subtly watching the exchange. Typical.

"I find that hard to believe." Spencer retorts, and he's got this unimpressed look on his face, like he knows something you don't. His genius has never irked you before, but right now it just makes you feel more perceived. Like he knew how you felt and was rubbing this all in your face. He couldn't possibly be that cruel though, right?

"Well that's not really my problem is it?" you snap, and Spencer's reaction is instantaneous. His scoff rings in your ears.

"Yeah, actually it is." he shoots back, and you rear back in surprise. What was that supposed to mean. "You know this is getting really old." and your strangled gasp escapes you before you can stop it.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you narrow your eyes as you set your glare on him. He's got his own challenging sort of glance on his face, almost like he's daring you to keep playing dumb. You will. If only to push him to spit out whatever was so clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue. "Go on. Please tell me, Mr. All knowing." you press and his eyes roll. You look like a perturbed toddler ready to fling yourself on the ground and scream.

"Grow up." is all he says, and it slices you clean in half. "If you're gonna play the role of the jealous little girl, at least respect me enough to not play dumb about it when you're caught." and then he's leaving you sitting at your desk, and you're gawking.

Fuck.

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